We spend the next however many minutes looking through a well picked over store. The only thing we come up with is a Freddy Kruger mask or Mike Meyers. Neither are the message I’d like to send. Behind the counter, I spot a Batman mask. The type that covers your hair and neck but leaves your mouth open; it’s similar to the facial disguise Christian Bale wears in the movies. I buy it and then head to one of the bigger department stores and pick up a suit. I figure I can return it or use it for the hockey banquet at the end of the season.
Hogan and I grab some dinner and when he drops me off, he tells me he’ll text me with the address for tomorrow. He repeats the rules, which is technically only one rule, and makes me promise not to bail. I promise, even though I’d really like to.
Inside, I make sure to hang my suit up, and while doing so, I hold the mask in my other hand. “We’ll Devon, you just became Bruce Wayne. Except, you’re poor as fuck, but you’re great with your stick.” I laugh out loud at my corny joke and finish putting my things away. After transferring my laundry, I crawl into bed, and dream about the cat I haven’t seen since I arrived.
ChapterTwo
Charlie
The mid-afternoon sun shines brightly in the quad, illuminating the different shades of orange, yellows, and reds. Autumn here is a far cry from back home in the UK. There’s no grey skies, miserable rain, or cold, dark nights. I can’t say I miss the cold October nights much.
It’s still a pinch-me moment to know I’m here. My parents are worriers. And even though they’ve encouraged my choice of education, they’ve been dreading my year abroad, where they know they can’t drop food parcels off for me every few weeks or offer to do my washing and ironing. Some of my school friends used to tease me about their overprotectiveness. I guess the fact I had to give them the finer details whenever I was invited to a party or similar—transport options, start and end times, and contact numbers—didn’t help much. The thing is, I’m not mollycoddled; it’s more “only child syndrome”. I was a miracle baby in their slightly older years, and they’ve had a hard time watching me fly the nest. My dad, in particular, took some convincing. He’s not exactly strict, but he also isn’t the most relaxed father in the world. When I had my first taste of alcohol at sixteen, he gave me a thirty-minute lecture on the pros and cons of drinking. Being a doctor gave him medical knowledge he felt he should impart on me. Thankfully, my mum is a little more relaxed and often talks my dad down from his ledge, which gives me some leeway in experiencing my young adult life. So, with a promise of regular phone calls, they watched me cut the apron springs and board a flight with a year’s worth of belongings in two suitcases.
With that said, I’m pretty certain they’d both have raised eyebrows and horrified expressions on their faces if they knew where I’m going later (“a college party at ahotel?”). Still, I can’t help but miss them and smile fondly when I ponder what they’re up to at the moment.
“Hey, Britannia!” a voice behind me calls and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It seems I’ve earned myself a nickname with some of the football team—and in this case, I mean American football (kinda like Rugby) and not, soccer (a la OG football)—since being on campus. Apparently, they’re all very much taken with my accent and thought it funny to give me a term of endearment to reflect that fact. I turn around to find Javi and a couple of his mates walking up to me.
“Javi, boys,” I say, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine afternoon?” Okay, I’ll admit, I’m playing around with them a little and may be exaggerating my accent for their amusement. It clearly works, given they’re currently giggling like schoolgirls.
“Man, it’s just like being in an epi of Downton Abbey,” Javi’s friend, Donte, comments.
“Dude, when have you watched Downton Abbey?” his other friend, Colin, snort-teases in return.
“Are you kidding, my mom loves that shit. She was absolutely obsessed with the actor who placed Thomas Barrow in the early seasons and cried when he left the show.”
Trying my best to hide my smile, I reply, “I hate to ruin the illusion, but you know the majority of Brits don’t actually talk like they’re queen of the manor, right?” Donte dramatically clutches his chest, with a horrified expression on his face.
“What? Don’t tell me shit like that,” he says.
“Yep, it’s the truth,” I continue, before leaning in to whisper dramatically. “We also don’t have afternoon tea with cucumber sandwiches and scones every single day at three p.m., nor do we travel in a horse-drawn carriage everywhere.”
“What? No! No, this is definitely ruining the illusion. You can’t do this to me. I love living vicariously through my mom’s all-things-British obsession.”
“Sorry, dude. It’s all buses, tubes, Maccy D’s at three, and, if you’re lucky, a kebab at midnight after a few pints.”
“Well . . . Daaaammnn. But, at least, tell me there’s a red phone booth and double decker bus on every corner. Don’t ruin everything for me.” Donte pleads and we all laugh.
“Yeah, okay. Whatever you want to believe, Donte,” I laugh, causing Colin and Javi to join in. Once I’ve recovered somewhat, I turn to Javi, “So, you wanted something?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, “just checking that you’re still coming tonight.”
“To Hogan’s party?” I doublecheck and get a nod in return. “Sure, wouldn’t miss it.”
Javi clutches his neck, almost in a nervous gesture, before responding. “Is, er, is Jamie going too?”
And now we get to the crux of the matter. Javi has been harbouring a crush on Jamie for weeks now and, truth be told, I have a feeling Jamie feels the same way. I know they’ve hooked up a couple of times, but she insists it’s just a “friends with benefits” type of thing. I have a feeling, however, the pair of them wish it was more, but neither have the guts to make the first move. It’s really kind of cute to see them cast the odd wistful, longing glance in each other’s direction. Very reminiscent of a classic British period drama.
“Last I checked she was,” I tell him.
“Hey, we should all go together,” Colin suggests. “You know, hire a limo, arrive in style. You lov-er-ley”—he says, in what can only be described as a piss-poor attempt of my accent— “ladies on our arms. We’d make an entrance.”
“Which is all good and well,” I reply, “except for the fact that Steph will already be there with the birthday boy himself, and me, Jamie and Allie have all agreed to be each other’s dates tonight. So, bad luck boys.”
“Gah, Britannia, you’re killing me here. What’s a guy gotta do to get a date with a British Princess?” Donte groans.
“Well, for starters, you’ve gotta find one first. Because I hate to break it to you, that ain’t me! See ya later, boys!”
With that, I bid them farewell, and continue my journey to my next class. Even with the Britannia references, I can’t say I’m all too bothered about my new circle of friends, and friends-of-friends, being enamoured with everything from my country. Beats being ignored, that’s for sure.