The Exchange – Part 1

I’d always wanted to go to the U.S. Just anywhere over the pond, really. I’d only been abroad when I was too young to remember it. So when the opportunity to move to Atlanta, Georgia, for the remainder of my studies, I bloody well took it. The campus wanted students with qualifications as good as mine, so they invited me, and even offered to pay for the plane ticket. Honestly, when I received that letter, I was flabbergasted. I called up to agree to move over there from dreary, bleak England, relieved I didn’t have many people I was connected to. Of course, there were a few tears from my family when I left for the airport, but they knew I would have a good time. However, I had no idea just how much of a good time I was in for.

After a long flight, I stretched my legs and yawned. Being 6’5″ and on a 10-hour flight isn’t really a good combination. I visited the bathroom before going for a cab, and I inspected myself in the mirror. I didn’t look too shabby, if I say so myself; shaggy brown hair down to my jawline, stubble across my chin, and thin rectangular glasses. “Eh, it’s just me,” I said to myself, “Just plain ol’ me.” I made a beeline for the taxi drop-off/pick-up zone and caught one quicker than I’d imagined. After giving the name of the campus to the driver, we set off onto the highway, and after 10 minutes, we’d arrived. I handed the driver the fare and thanked him before wandering onto campus, finding my way to the registration booth.

I filled out the application pretty smoothly, “Name? Jordan Evestone. D.O.B.? October 25th, 1998. Majors? Creative Writing, Drama Studies and History Studies.” Everything else was just filler. I handed in the form and the guide gave me a key and showed me to my dorm, explaining about it. “The dorms are basically small apartments, y’see,” he began, “They’re built for two to three people. Yours is a two-bedroom, and your roommate’s already unpacking.” We stopped outside a door that read ’36D’, as did my key. The guide simply patted my back and left, as I knocked on the door and slowly entered to find my roommate, wearing nothing but a tight vest, booty shorts and slippers, holding a Cookie Dough Ben & Jerry’s.

“Oh, hi there, you must be the roomie!” She exclaimed with a mouthful of ice cream, placing down the tub and holding out a hand for me to shake, which I did firmly.