2

~Ali~

It is a long and initially bumpy drive to Barmouth. Getting out of our village is a challenge in itself along the slick, serpentine country roads. Even the pot holes in the road seem dangerous, firing off like land mines each time the car dives into one. But once we were clear from the only countryside I know, we slip effortlessly onto the motorway and it is smooth sailing from there.

The heavy weight draped over the car is crudely broken by the effervescent din of the radio in a manner that seems both sacrilegious and uncouth in our silence. I crack a window open hoping that the rush of the wind will drown out the buoyant sounds. The brisk air wafts over my clammy forehead, drying the scattering of nervous perspiration that I didn't even realise was accumulating there.

But not all is forlorn. Despite mum's muffled tears from the front seat, I know that she is excited for me. She feels this is the means to install some 'independence' and 'character' into myself so I can 'mature into a strong and capable young lady' (you can probably tell that those are her words, not mine). Dad was certainly less formal about the whole situation. He bought me extra credit for my phone, even after I told him that it wasn't necessary, but he ignored my protests and simply advised me to enjoy myself. Oh, and to call at least twice a week - or email as an absolute minimum.

Countless junctions up the motorway later and our car veers down a slip road, rolls through a round-about and we drive onto a minor tarmac road. We slip in and out of multiple towns until dad takes us off to the right and we glide onto a wide, freshly paved road, passing the sign that welcomes us into Barmouth.

Minutes later as we reach the centre of the small city, Mum spins the dial to mute the radio and we cruise past a slab of limestone with university's looping logo etched onto its grainy face. An elaborate wrought iron fence encompasses the campus grounds with rows of gold tipped bars and we slow on our approach to the double gates. A sensor beam is tripped as we coast forwards and the gates sweep open for our passing.

We meander through the sumptuous tree-lined driveway until we enter a clearing where a stately, sandstone building dominates the small meadow reception. Small spire designs embellish the tips of the layered slate roof and two supportive columns frame the dark wooden door. Evenly spaced sash windows are thrown open to the warm breeze and a small plaque with the building's year of construction is imbedded above the door reading 1798 in weathered, hand-cut numbers.  The entire property should have come off as ostentatious but instead it looks thrillingly impressive. We ease into one of the few available parking spaces in the corner of the gravel lot and when the engine is cut, the silence is laden with anticipation.

"We are going to miss you so much! The house will seem so empty without you." Mum flips down the visor and dabs at the corners of her gently mascaraed eyes with a wad of tissues she packed in preparation.

"And I am going to miss you both, too. But I will be home for the Christmas holidays soon and I will call you as much as I can." I respond veraciously, looking at each of them from the back seat in turn, smiling widely despite myself.

"Make the most of this opportunity, Ali, and enjoy every minute of it!" My dad adds enthusiastically, smiling with his rosy cheeks and I nod eagerly.

"You know I will."

My door opens with a soft pop and I slide out, taking in the tangy scent of freshly mowed grass and the wispy drifts of sugary honeysuckle from a nearby bush.

"It looks even better in person!" My mum applauds, grinning happily as she sweeps the area with excited but red-rimmed green eyes - eyes shaped and coloured exactly like mine. "You are going to do so well! I just know it." She pulls me in for a tight hug and kisses the side of my head happily. I hug her slender frame back tightly.

The sound of my suitcase thumping against the floor brings me back to my dad as he pulls up the metal handle bar, ready for my leaving. I easily fall into his hug, enjoying the feeling of being shrouded by his gentle size. His freshly shaven face is smooth against mine and he grunts sadly as he lets me go. He hooks the strap of my duffle bag over my shoulder and gives me a final thin-lipped smile of encouragement, his eyes saying more than any words could.

I take the handle of my large case and begin to drag it over the gravel, hiking the duffle bag higher onto my shoulder. I reach the smooth pavement and wave a final goodbye to them over my shoulder as I slip around the corner of the building, following the signs to the reception around the back.

A wall of nerves take flight within me and I reserve myself a private moment, pushing myself into  a small nook on the side of the stone building to calm myself. It takes a few moments but when I have everything under control again, I take a final breath and step into the courtyard; a small, greened haven in the centre of the campus.

I cast my eyes to the University complex with its polished framework and large glass windows hung across the buildings like art pieces in a gallery. Paths slice oblique patterns through the manicured grass, connecting each building to one another in a web of thin cement.

Tracing my eyes across the colourful gardens, I hone in on a weeping willow tucked safely in the far reaches of the grounds. An impulsive breeze tosses the long strands of willow leaves across the floor and they momentarily part, teasing a glimpse of a bench engulfed within.

With a gait that I hope portrays confidence, I stroll through the glass doors of the reception. I drag my bags to the simple front desk and introduce myself to the receptionist, her acrylic nails tapping eagerly on the keyboard.

"Hi, I am Ali Bliss," I begin tentatively, trying to catch her attention. After a moment her typing pauses and she peers up at me over the rim of her horned glasses looking more expectant than rude in her silence. "I am here to sign in and get some direction to my room."

Her eyes drop back to her computer screen and she straightens the keyboard. "One moment please while I look for you in the system." I shift patiently on my feet, letting my eyes wander over the notices tacked with colourful pins to the cork board behind her. The printer machine spits out a warm sheet of paper and the receptionist plucks it free. "Right, Ali Bliss - room 117." She reaches under the desk and unhooks a key looped onto a simple ring. "Here is your key and timetable." She slides the freshly printed page towards me over the counter with the key resting on top. "Introductory classes will start later today after orientation. You are in group five for the campus tours so be sure to listen for your number when the announcements begin. If you follow your timetable and keep an eye on the sign postings around the campus, you should have no problems getting around." She opens a draw, the rolling mechanism somewhat squeaky from use, and presents me with a clipboard and pen. "Just sign yourself in beside your name noting the time then take the elevator on the left to the fourth floor. Your room should be at the end of the hall." She points across the reception to where two elevators sit. I take the pen offered and quickly locate my name near the top of the alphabetical list, signing in the space provided and glancing at the wall clock before jotting down the time beside my signature.

"Thank you," I answer quickly and snag the key and schedule, keen to get settled and unpacked before the day begins.

I hold the key ring between my teeth, the coppery metal seeping across my tongue as I fold the paper schedule into my pocket and haul my luggage towards the elevator. The button illuminates red when I press it and I fiddle the metal loop of the key while I wait.

The doors open with a soft ding and I step inside, touching for the fourth floor. The elevator jolts and moments later the doors slide open again with a gentle sigh.

A long hall stretches before me painted in a light, nondescript creamy tone. Small square ceiling windows are placed periodically down the corridor bathing the space in bright light. It looks like I scored the top floor. Along each side of the walls are lines of neatly spaced doors, each with a metal number hung on the outside.

I walk down the hall keeping an eye out for room 117 as my duffle bag thumps against my hip with each step. The wheels of my suitcase sinks into the thick carpet and I give it an extra tug to get them rolling.

115, 116, there, 117! I thrust the key into the keyhole and turn the stiff knob. The gently worn door swings easily on its hinges and I step into my new room. I leave my suitcase standing by the door and duck under the strap of my duffle bag, sighing as I am released from its weight.

My first impressions of the room are good as I take a sweeping itinerary. Tucked in the far right corner is an impressive, if uninviting, iron-framed bunk bed. The bottom bunk has already been claimed by another person with the placement of a home-brought pillow and a stuffed travel bag. I guess top bunk it is.

On the opposite side of the room are two matching, mass produced desks, each with a simple upholstered wooden chair tucked under the desktop. On the far side is a kitchenette consisting of just the necessities; a sink, a two-hob electric stove, an oven and a kettle. In the centre of the room, a worn, off-white rug is rolled out, breaking up the cheap wooden floor. A small two-seater fabric sofa and wooden coffee table occupy the space on top of it. The entire room is well equipped and small, but some would call that cosy.

There are two more doors to the room other than the front door and I assume these to be the bathroom and a cupboard of some sort. My suspicions are proven correct when the flush of a toilet sounds and a tall, tenuous girl wanders out with her eyes stuck to her phone screen, not noticing me hidden behind the door as she passes.

In my brief anonymity I am able to quickly study her - straight, chocolate waist-length hair, a natural face with cool, pale skin offset by the spritz of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her clothes are trendy with heavily ripped jeans hinting at long, athletic legs in its tight silhouette, paired with a cropped t-shirt and an expensive looking pair of heeled ankle boots. The way she carelessly taps at her phone and saunters around the room with a turned up chin exudes confidence.

I jump nervously on the balls of my feet, suddenly aware of my own appearance and wishing I had put more thought into it this morning. My muted jumper seems to hide the few curves I have grown into and the new pair of metallic converse I eagerly purchased for this occasion look suddenly less than impressive, bordering on childish.

"Um, hey. I'm Ali." I squirm and the lack of reply and try speaking a little louder this time. "What is your name?" She unwillingly peels her gaze from her phone  at my change in decibel and huffs a response as if it takes a generous amount of effort to do so.

"Jaz." Her voice leaves little room for me not to believe I am already a thorn in her side. At the unnerving thought of sharing this confined space with her for the rest of the year, I try again to resurrect the conversation.

"Is this your first year at Barmouth?" I pull the door closed behind me and shuffle on my feet.

"No." I stand by the door, waiting for her elaborate. She doesn't.

I mumble frustratedly under my breath and take my bags over to the bed, trying to forget that this whole introduction even occurred. Categorically I unpack my clothes, meticulously storing them into the drawers and hangers provided, trying to replicate something that resembles my organised wardrobes at home. It isn't quite the same.

I fish out the last of my stationary, sorting it onto my desk and stuff my empty cases into the cupboard. Collecting my phone, I scale the side of the bed and sit on my uncomfortably thin mattress, allowing everything to sink in, including the uncomfortable revelation of my roommate.

An announcement crackles through the intercoms installed in the ceiling, summoning all the new students in group five for the orientation morning. I quickly fire a text to my parents confirming I have found my room but I deliberately omit any information - or lack of - about my roommate to save their worrying, then I slide back down the bed and grab an empty rucksack.

Glancing at my print-out schedule for the day, the intercom repeats it's message and I rush to gather everything I believe I will need; a folder, lined paper, room key, phone. I sling my zipped pack over my shoulder and head for the door.

"Bye Jaz," I call over my shoulder and quickly shut the door so I don't have to listen to the silence in response.