I missed London. I missed how busy, yet perfectly peaceful it is. America had not been good to me.
I need a coffee.
I walk into a Starbucks on the corner and order a hot Chai Tea Latte. Not exactly a coffee, but it sounds perfect at the moment. After receiving my tea, I turn and start walking towards the door.
“Haylei? Haylei Watson?”
I turn towards the voice. It came from a girl, small in stature with long brown hair and wide eyes, who is sitting in a corner. When I make eye contact, she smiles and beckons me over. I walk over, pull a chair to the table, and sit. She sits there, smiling, her head tilted like she expects me to know her. She does look familiar. Then it hits me.
“Dominique? Dominique Thompson?”
“Yes!” She seems unreasonably excited that I remember her from secondary school.
“How are you? It's been ages it seems like,” I ask.
“Only two years. I've been fine. What about you? The last I heard, you were headed to the States to learn to solve crime.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Yeah, well...that didn't exactly...work for me.”
“No more placing murderers behind bars?”
“I wasn't going to place them behind bars in the first place. I would just take the evidence given and test it to prove guilt or innocence. I'd be in a laboratory, not the field. But it's still in the works. I've transferred to Oxford.” I took a sip of my tea.
“Really? Congratulations.”
“Yeah. Now all I need to do is find a place to live.” Dominique got quiet and thoughtful.
“In Oxford?” she asks.
“Well,” I take a sip of my tea. “I was hoping here in London. Something cheap—there isn't a lot of money, being a Uni student; even less being a transfer student. I would like it to me somewhere near a tube station so I can just hop on over to Oxford. I only have class two days a week.”
“Hop?”
“An American term.” I wave my hand, dismissing it.
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” We both take a drink, and Dominique clears her throat.
“I might be able to help you with the rooming issue. You'd have a flatmate, but it's pretty cheap, even before the price split.”
“Really? Thanks. Who'd be my flatmate? They would have to be very daring to want to share a flat with me.” I say. Dominique stands up and grabs her jumper.
“Come on. I'll take you to meet her.” We stand and I follow Dominique out of the shop. She halts a cab and we climb inside.
"Who are we going to see?" I ask after Dominique gave the cabbie an address.
"You'll see." We sit in silence for a while, then Dominique takes out her mobile and starts texting. A few moments later, we stop at the University of London's bookshop. Dominique pays the cabbie and we climb out. "Here we are. I think she said she'd be here today."
"Oh, okay." I timidly follow Dominique into the University of London's bookshop. When she stops next to a pretty blonde, I stop a few steps behind her. Dominique taps the blonde on the shoulder.
“Hey! What's up?” the blonde asks.
“I found you a possible flatmate,” Dominique points over her should at me. I see the blonde raise an eyebrow skeptically and turn back to the shelf. I see her say something, but I can't hear it.
“My name is Haylei Watson,” I say. I don't care how pretty you are; you don't blatantly ignore people. “I'm not invisible.”
“Hello, Haylei,” the blonde says as she turns back to face me. “I'm Betsy Holmes. Nice to meet you..” She extends her hand.
I involuntarily flinch back. In my mind, a raised hand slaps my face. After a few seconds, I push the image out of my head and hesitantly take her hand. We shake and I remove my hand from hers as soon as politely possible.
“Sorry. I didn't know you don't like to be touched. You were abused, weren't you?”
How does she know that?
Dominique's eyes widen as she says, “Betsy! That is not a polite thing to ask!”
The blonde, Betsy, bites her lip. “Um.”
I feel color rush to my cheeks. How does she know that? I never told anyone. Anyone.
“It's okay,” change the subject, Haylei. “What's the flat like?” Betsy gives a quick rundown of the place and I think about it. Questions blaze through my mind.
How did she know that? About my past? Is she some weird stalker? A good guesser? Do I want to share a flat with her? Really?
Apparently, I do, because I say, “It seems nice. Do you think we could see it tomorrow morning? Are you free then?”
Betsy nods, “Yeah. I don't have class tomorrow morning, so we can check it out.”
“Wait. Class? Where do you go to school?”
“Here, at the Uni. I'm eighteen, so of course I'm going to take classes.” Wow, full of herself much? “Majoring in criminal investigation and minoring in linguistics and forensics,” she finishes.
“Really?” She likes the same things I do? “I'm nineteen and I'm majoring in forensics. Lab work, you know. I'm transferring to—”
“Oxford. You originally went to the States and didn't like it, so you came back. Right?”
I stand there in shock. Who is this girl? Dominique must have talked to her beforehand and told her about me,
Dominique rolls her eyes, “Don't scare her away.”
“Yeah...” I say quietly.
“Anyways, I'm probably really hard to live with.” She turns back to the shelves and took a sip of her drink. “I'm a total slob. I'm moody. I have a temper. I don't talk sometimes. I keep weird things around the house. I don't always eat. I become obsessive-compulsive Um...that's all I can think of right now.” She reaches to the second shelf and pulls down a book.
“I can live with that.” I shrug. “I write a lot. Sometimes I lay around. I like to sleep in. Sometimes I mope around and I can eat a lot.”
“Good. Does nine tomorrow morning work?” She turns around with the book.
I nod. “What's the address?”
“221B Baker Street. Do you need my mobile number too?” I nod and she writes it down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. I do the same for her.
She glances down at her watch. “Gotta run, sorry. One of my professors is holding a body for a small group in our forensics class. See you tomorrow!” She checks out the book and dashes out.
After she is gone, I look at Dominique.
“Who is that?”
Dominique smiles, “She told you. Betsy Holmes.”
“I know that. I mean, how did she know that stuff about me? You had to have talked to her beforehand.” Dominique shakes her head.
“I haven't talked to her since yesterday morning, when she said she needed a flatmate.” I look at her. “Honest! She is always like this. Just best to be straight-forward when she asks you a question. She doesn't mess around much.”
“Thanks for the tip. I'd better go; I have a hotel room to pack up.”
“Alright. Have fun tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” I turn and walk out of the bookstore doors into London's end of summer air.
