Page 71 of The Last Special Thing

Twelve miles and fifty minutes later, they arrived at one of the many UCLA parking lots.

“You might want to consider biking or something when you move up here,” Madisson suggested.

Amelia quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, probably not. Plan ahead so you can be on time!”

Amelia kept her eyebrow raised.

“Oh well, you’ll get to class when you get there, right?”

“That’s the one.” Amelia pointed a finger. Being on time was never going to be a priority for her.

Last year, Amelia had toured the school with her parents. The tour guide with a crew cut and khakis pointed out the significant buildings, rattled off the extensive histories, and boasted about the published professors. James embarrassingly quizzed him on all the information. Was Royce Hall built in 1929 or 1939? The guide had it right in 1929, but her dad sought an opportunity to show off. Amelia rolled her eyes when James, as expected, told the guide that he had gone to UCLA back in 1990. Then, of course, his father had been here in the 60s. The guide responded. “Wow, that’s so cool, you could probably give this tour.”

Amelia wanted to throw up at the predictability of the response and the entire day. She learned nothing that couldn’t have been found in the UCLA brochure.

Today, Amelia was excited to have an experience with the things she cared about. Exploring with Madisson would give her an idea of what school and the people would be like in September.

They headed to one of the university apartments. Amelia wasn’t thrilled about sharing a room. As much as her parents tried to secure a single room, they couldn’t. In fact, she was initially supposed to share a triple room with bunk beds. The promised double room was at least a step up.

They walked along the concrete stamped path to the side of the Gayley Heights apartment complex. The day had remained beautiful. She was glad the L.A. climate wouldn’t be a change for her. The weather mirrored what she was accustomed to in San Diego.

Her mind drifted to Weston and the cold of Boston. Would he adapt or despise it? More preparation would be required for his daily routine there. Screw the umbrella in his car; he would need a whole snow set. She wasn’t quite sure exactly what that entailed. Her snow experience was limited to cabins in Lake Tahoe, where the hired help handled shoveling and whatever else needed to be done. A guilt that she still hadn’t seen Weston tried to creep in. She pushed him out of her head. She would see him at some point. She was pretty sure about it.

Benches and bistro tables surrounded a bubbling fountain in the apartment courtyard. Tall trees wrapped in fairy lights perimetered the area, their branches extending partially over the tables. A student was hunched over a large textbook at a table. A pair of guys slouched against a wall, passing a joint back and forth. She crinkled her nose at the skunk smell. It was quaint, but quiet. She had expected it to be more lively than this. Summer classes were still in session, and there should have been hustle and bustle.

“Come here.” Madisson shout-whispered, waving to her from across the courtyard, her foot propping open the door to the lounge area. A petite girl passed by Amelia, clutching the straps of her backpack.

“Good call.” Amelia followed Madisson inside.

The common area had more activity. The conference room was laid out with purple carpeting. A group of nerdy guys reclined in the plush, computer-style chairs. The decor could have been fabulous and funky, but came across as tacky. A pair of yellow couches was pressed together in the center, with a girl on each, both lying horizontally and wearing yoga pants. One was reading a book, while the other was napping with her hands interlaced behind her head.

“This is pretty cool!” Madisson commented.

Amelia wished she shared the same enthusiasm. She wanted to come here to see what her life would be like in a month. She couldn’t tell where she belonged at all.

They wandered down a hall, an elevator closing in front of them.

“Hey!” Madisson yelled. A hand intercepted the doors, triggering them to reopen.

They stepped inside, and two guys decked in lacrosse gear moved to the left.

“What number?” asked the taller one with oily skin.

“Five,” Amelia lied.

He pressed the number, and the elevator rose.

“If you ladies aren’t doing anything later, we’re on floor seven.” The shorter one with a bowl haircut winked at them.

The girls smiled politely and scurried off at the fifth floor. Art had nothing to worry about, that was for sure.

Madisson led the way, skipping down the hall. “I can’t believe you’ll be living here! We have to make our plans for me to visit.”

Doors were propped open as they passed the rooms. They were identical and cramped. She would hardly be able to bring any of her things. She poked her head into one of the rooms. A girl sat on the couch with a book on her lap.

“Excuse me?” Amelia asked her.