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I shake my head no.
“You know,” she starts speaking with an exaggerated frown on her face. “They talk like zisss, and the especially rude ones always look like they need to defecate.” She winks conspiratorially.
I just nod and smile.
It works, and she starts talking again.
“Anyway, I love American and British accents. Die for them. So, I’m glad the first friend I’ve met is American. I’m from India. Delhi, specifically. South Asia generally. But I grew up in Rome. I went to the American school there for one year before we moved to Geneva. In Switzerland. My father works for the United Nations.” She pauses, and this time I nod before she has to prod me.
“Anyway, it’s beautiful, and I could have stayed there to do my Master’s. But UCL’s law course is really great.”
“Do you mean, the University College of London?” I ask confused.
“Yes, that’s where I’m studying,” she says brightly.
“But this is SOAS. You’re on the wrong campus. UCL is over on Gower Street.”
“Oh, I know. I came over here because I heard there were a lot of Americans here.” She looks down at the prospectus she’s holding. “You’re doing your Master of Islamic Art!” she says as if she’s informing me of something I didn’t know.
“Well, SOAS is the best place to study Islamic Art. The Brunei Gallery holds some of the world’s most amazing treasure. So, where are you from? Where are you living? Isn’t London to die for?” She swoons.
“Yes, I love it here,” I say.
“Where’d you say you were from?” she asks suddenly.
“Las Vegas. Or rather, Paradise,” I tease.
She blushes and gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I forgot. When I’m nervous, I forget my name. My father didn’t want me to come here. I had to threaten to cut off all my hair and never marry before he agreed. It just showed how little he knows me. As if I would ever cut my hair. It’s one of my best features.” She strokes the long, thick ponytail that’s sitting on her shoulder and leans in to whisper.
“He’s sent his personal bodyguard Karim to shadow me. I can’t even live in the student housing because they wouldn’t agree to let Karim live in one of the rooms,” she complains.
“Why are we whispering? Is he here now?” I ask and look around the room to see if I see any shadowy bodyguard types.
“No. I don’t want anyone to know I have a bodyguard. They’ll think I’m rich and maybe plot to kidnap me.”
“Uh ... o
kay.” I can’t help but giggle. “I understand. I had a driver who was also sort of a babysitter.”
“You had a driver. Why? Who are your parents?” she asks, her eyes more assessing now.
“No one you would have heard of. My father owned hotels. And my mother didn’t like to drive. So, she hired someone to take me around.”
“Oh, okay. Well, my mama is here for a few weeks, but then she’ll go back home. And I’m so afraid Karim is going to scare off any potential boyfriends. But if I have a friend with me, maybe he won’t walk as close, and boys will approach us. Do you have a boyfriend already?”
“Yes,” I say and know that smile doesn’t reach my eyes.
“I can’t wait to hear that story. But not today. Today is about new beginnings and new friendships.”
“Wait, what story?”
“Why you said yes to having a boyfriend like you were saying yes to having diarrhea.”
“I did not,” I protest but I feel bad because I know she’s right.
I know it.
I wait a few seconds to make sure she’s done talking.
