“My name is Michael Nariovsky-Trent.”
Sophie frowned. What was that accent? It sounded familiar, like something she’d heard before but more…authentic, somehow.
“My family lives here in New York City, but I was born in Europe, where I lived until I was fifteen. I have been accepted to the medical school at Harvard in Cambridge, where I have already completed my undergraduate studies.” Like everyone else, he recited a laundry list of accomplishments, including some foreign honors Sophie had never heard of. He sat down abruptly at the end. The teacher looked as if he expected more, but Michael glared back with a startlingly hostile expression.
“Thank you, Mr. Nariovsky-Trent,” the teacher said, moving into a lecture on the rules that governed GYL. No drinking or drugs. Curfews, dress codes, mature behavior. Intra-student relationships were permitted, but had to be kept reasonably chaste.
The group walked the hallway of the main building to a large, airy cafeteria. Sophie took a tray, feeling awkward. She saw a Brazilian girl, Ana, sitting alone. “May I sit with you?” she asked. The two spent the next half hour making tentative forays into friendship, the conversation drifting to their lives at home. Sophie asked about the ring the other girl wore on a chain around her neck.
“Ah,” Ana said, blushing. “My boyfriend, Raphael, gave it to me. He was scared I wouldn’t come back to him! Like I would ever want anyone other than Raph.”
Sophie nodded. “I have a boyfriend at home too,” she said. “Matt Cain. He’s pre-law at Berkeley. No one here could replace him.”
Ana’s eyes darted over Sophie’s shoulder, and she giggled. “You’re sure of that?” she whispered. “Because that guy, Michael with the complicated last name, keeps looking over here, and he’s not staring at me.”
Sophie peeked back over her shoulder. Michael was definitely staring at her. She returned his intense gaze for a moment. A tall, athletic guy – Carter DeVries, Sophie thought his name was – tapped Michael on the shoulder, and he turned away. Sophie looked back to Ana, then gasped as recognition struck.
Michael’s accent had been Orlisian.
-
“Why didn’t you tell the class?” she asked him a few days later. “You aren’t ashamed of who you are.”
“Of course not. I do not tell people right away because I have so much pride in being Orlisian. My pride will be my downfall.” He paused. “Here in America, people know nothing of my country. The blank looks I receive when I say I was born in Orlisia bother me. Now I tell only the people I feel comfortable with.”
“I wouldn’t react that way.” Sophie felt oddly put out that he hadn’t told her.
Michael smiled. “I know. But I was shy.” Sophie nodded. “We no longer have a reason to be shy. So now, we will speak in Orlisian.” He switched languages. “Tell me how you learned to speak the language of my country.”
“Not easily,” she replied. “So few people outside Orlisia speak it since it is a relatively new dialect. I taught myself the written language from books. Then I located a professor of Eastern European languages at the university in my city who could speak not just Latvian, but the Orlisian dialect of Latvian. I’ve studied for three years with him.”
“This professor must be from the south of the unified lands,” Michael said, “since your accent is provincial.” Sophie’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “Do not be ashamed. Many claim to speak Orlisian, but few do it properly. I will teach you.” Her heart soared at the prospect of private language lessons from a native speaker.
Who also happens to be gorgeous.
“That would be wonderful,” she managed.