An American summer night's dream

1: The start of something new

You truly and completely forgot about the application you have sent months ago, which is why the sound of your e-mail alert doesn't startle you one bit.

'Must be one of those Urban Outfitters newsletter emails' you think to yourself as you absentmindedly doodle on the blank page in front of you.

You have been staring at it for the past hour, trying to make your unmotivated neurons work together in order to come up with the topic of your next essay. Uni homework is so much more difficult compared to the stuff you used to do in high school and to be truthful, you miss how fun everything was back then.

Sure, being 20 has its perks ( you can't think of any other than being able to buy your favourite cider from the store with no worries though), but sometimes you wish you could go back to being 16, minus the acne and the lack of boobs. Not that your B-cups are out of this world, but they're certainly better than the flat chest that made you look like a prepubescent boy.

Groaning, you decide that you deserve a break and quickly grab your phone - a notification from Patrick pops up, and you tap it immediately, not caring about how thirsty you might come off.

You've been messaging back and forth for the past month. You know that Patrick likes you and you enjoy his attention, but you're really not sure if you want something more between the two of you.

True, Patrick is cool and you couldn't stop admiring his sharp jawline and the soft strands of hair perfectly framing his face the last time you went on a date - but that was it. You didn't feel any chemistry: no butterflies, no sweaty palms, no nothing. You kinda expected more from a potential first boyfriend, to be honest.

You didn't even kiss because you simply did not feel like it, and now you are sort of regretting it because at least the experience of a first kiss would have been nice. Practising on your own hand or whatever those shitty Youtube tutorials keep suggesting is starting to get really embarrassing.

Where the hell can a girl get her hands on a pair of juicy male lips to practice on anyway? Well, Patrick. But you don't want Patrick.

Maybe there's something wrong with you.

'Maybe my standards are just too high. Maybe I should just go for it'. You mutter under your breath.

After all, he is attractive, he is your age, he is single and he is your best shot at not being alone for eternity. At least, that's what your best friend, Clara, keeps telling you. She has been friends with Patrick for a while and, while she doesn't think that you'd be a perfect match, she thinks that he might at least scratch your itch.

'He'd take care of you, trust me.' She keeps telling you. 'He likes you, he totally wouldn't mind that you're a virgin, Y/N. I don't think anyone really cares nowadays anyway'.

And you want to agree with her, you truly want to. You're getting sick of thirsting over guys and the dream of having your first time with the one has long disappeared. Going for a moderately attractive boy who has feelings for you really isn't the worst option out there, you keep telling yourself. 

You reached a point where you just want to get it over with and simply have some kind of friends with benefits if asking for a boyfriend is too much.

It's just that being with Patrick feels like a lukewarm bowl of vegetable soup, and you are dreaming of a hot, cheesy, delicious pizza.

Your mozzarella-drifting thoughts are rudely interrupted by the reminder that you received an email in your inbox. You lazily open your email, and you almost drop the phone from your hand as soon as you read the bold text.

'Holy shit'. One second passes, then another, and you wonder if you should pinch yourself just to make sure it's real.

You have been accepted to the Boston summer scholarship, a scholarship you never thought you'd get. Sure, your professors were the ones who encouraged you to apply, telling you you have all the qualities of the perfect candidate, but you were sceptical. 

Thoughts of not being smart enough drifted through your mind the entire time while you were completing the application form, but you told yourself that there's no harm in trying, and look at you now.

One week from now, you will be a student at an American university for the entire summer. How absolutely insane.

You take a moment to calm yourself down and you continue reading the email. Scanning over the details in the document, you're excited to find out that twenty-nine other students from all over Europe will join you, and there are pictures with the University you'll be studying at.

The campus looks amazing, and it's close to the beach too. You're glad you just ordered three new swimsuits, and you mentally thank Clara for basically forcing you to buy them.

You already start thinking of what you're going to pack and how the hell you are going to fit your entire wardrobe in two suitcases, but you realise that there's more to the email.

Firstly, your flight tickets. One short flight to Vienna, followed by an insane 9-hour flight to Washington and then another to Boston is what your journey will look like.

You shiver thinking of the lack of legroom you'll have, and you can only pray that you won't be sandwiched between two weird strangers. You've heard way too many horror stories with people not wearing socks or with babies screaming the entire time to be too hopeful, though.

At the bottom, there's also a list with your future mentors and their short descriptions. Maybe it would be a good idea to get familiar with them before meeting them, you tell yourself. You quickly examine the pictures and your eyes fall on a certain person's photo.

'Oh my god'.