A Field Guide for Heartbreakers (5 page)

Chapter Six

I
woke up facing a cinder block wall.
Ich liebe
Anja
was scribbled into the paint with such intensity that the letters went all the way down to the cement. I reached out and touched her name, and the
j
flaked off onto my fingertip. I turned over and flicked the paint chip onto the brown-carpeted floor.The light was on, and Veronica’s bed was empty. I blinked a few times, then pulled my blanket over my head. One whiff of my overtraveled, undershowered condition made me throw the blanket off. At the same moment, Veronica, very damp, burst into the room, swinging her arms, sending small water drops down on me.“That thing is a beast.” She stood in a towel in front of me and ran a pick through her hair.“Strong water pressure?” I asked.“You’ll see,” she said. “And don’t leave anything personal in there. Our suitemates could be degenerate thieves. By the way, the place is ours. They all left.” I grabbed my toiletries and towel and walked past the kitchen to our small bathroom. I noticed the problem right away. Up to this point in my life, every shower I’d entered had shared the same design. The nozzle was opposite a wall, so after you turned on the water, and it reached the desired temperature, you stepped into the shower’s flow. But here, in the dorm, the nozzle was opposite the curtain. So when you turned on the shower, water shot out of the nozzle and flooded the entire bathroom. The only way to prevent drenching the place was to stand in front of the nozzle as you turned it on, thereby being assaulted with cold water. Veronica and I could not have been the only people to notice this.When I came back to the room, Veronica was groomed and fully dressed. “Throw yourself together. Let’s escape this edifice,” she said. I rushed to put on my jeans. While I did this, Veronica began cutting pieces of paper. “What are you doing? Where did you get scissors?” I asked.“I’m making a man-wall. I brought the scissors from home. Because without them, I knew I wouldn’t be able to properly construct my man-wall.”“What’s a man-wall?” I asked.Veronica held up a cutout shaped like a paper doll. Sort of. “This is the paper replica of a hot-dude. We met four hot-dudes last night, so I’m going to stick them on the wall. By the time I leave Prague, I aim to cover my entire wall area in hot-dudes.”“What?” I asked.Veronica stopped cutting and looked up at me. “Let me start over. I’m constructing a man-wall out of hot-dudes. I’m making four hot-dudes right now. A Kite. A Waller. A Frank. And a Roger.”“Who’s Roger?” I asked.“The hot-dude in the ball cap who pulled superhot Frank out of the ficus tree.”“I can’t believe that you remember all their names.”“Dessy, it’s hard to conquer a man if you don’t know his name.” Veronica put her head down and resumed cutting. I selected a T-shirt and decided to view building a man-wall as an occurrence as routine as flossing one’s teeth. When she’d finished, Veronica taped the four paper guys to the wall and smiled. Then she labeled them and drew a big star on Frank’s head.“What’s that for?” I asked.“I plan to mark the extraspecial ones. I think Frank is double hot.”“The drunk one?” I asked.“Oh yeah.”She flashed a big grin and then put her face right up to paper Frank and licked his starred face.“That’s so unsanitary,” I said.Veronica shrugged. “Come on,” she said. She took a moment to study my outfit. “Good choice on the shirt. Guys always find buttons intriguing. But you can’t wear your sneakers.”“But they’re comfortable,” I said, loosening the laces and inserting my foot.Veronica’s jaw dropped. “Dessy, we didn’t travel to Prague to be comfortable. If that was our goal we would have packed tracksuits and togas. Seriously. Put on your sandals. You’ve got great toes.”Rather than object and create waves on our first morning, I took off my socks and rooted through my suitcase for my sandals.“Let’s hurry. We need to get out of here and scope a three-street radius so when orientation is over we have immediate destinations. Otherwise, we’re behind.” “Why three streets?” I asked.“Do you understand what scoping a street involves? No way do we have time for more than three.”Veronica looked very eager to leave, but I still had questions.“Do you think we should bring anything?” I asked.“Nothing beyond ourselves,” Veronica said.I sat down and held my bag on my lap. It contained three pens, a notebook, and—at my mother’s insistence—a small packet of baby wipes.“Are you going to tell me about the plan?” I asked.“Here it is in a nutshell.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and stuck up her pointer finger. “One: We gain rudimentary knowledge of our surroundings and locate all potential hot-dudes within our scoped area. Guys have fragile egos. Also, some are territorial. We don’t want them to know that we’re playing with multiple hot-dudes. For example, if we strike up a connection with hot-dude A, who lives on Main Street but shines shoes on Grand Street, we can never forget that. Because if we parade down Main or Grand with hot-dude B on our arm, we stand to lose both hot-dudes.”“You want to date shoe-shine guys?”Veronica frowned at me. “It was a hypothetical. And I spotted a few shoe-shine guys at Heathrow that weren’t half bad. Don’t judge my hot-dudes. I’ll do that.”“Okay. Scoping is important. I get it.”“Good.” She held up her middle finger and made rabbit ears. “Two: In order to isolate and interact with hot-dudes, we will need to create a map of hot-dude density. We have a month. We’ve got to focus our efforts in target-rich environments.” She lifted another finger. “Three: We need to capitalize on male friendships.” She pointed her three fingers back to the man-wall. “These writer guys are more than hot-dudes. They’re skeleton keys. Because they’re older, if we hang with them, we’ll look older too.
Legal
. And this will be essential in gaining access to the more exclusive parts of Prague. Also, odds are one of them is bilingual and that will unlock an entire new world for us.”My head was swimming. “How long have you been mapping out this strategy? It’s crazy.”Veronica waved me off. “Don’t interrupt me. I’m only at three. Moving on. Four: We need to befriend the janitorial staff. If we’re lucky, we can gain access to more than one hot-dude’s private living area. And in addition to uncovering whether they prefer boxers to briefs, I anticipate finding boatloads of useful information.”She’d gone too far. “Whoa, this isn’t so much a strategy as an unchecked impulse to stalk guys.”“So you’re not ready to hear the fifth major component?” Veronica asked.I looked out the window. Veronica made our excursion in Prague sound incredibly laborious.“Don’t you want to meet a guy? Wouldn’t you feel better if you had
somebody
?” she asked.I thought about my heart. Even though it was broken, I could feel it pumping away in my chest. I looked at Veronica and nodded. “Listen. We’re young and hot. Plus, we’re smart.”“What if there are other girls in the program who are hotter? And smarter?” I asked.“That’s why I devised the seven major components!” Veronica said. She sat down next to me. “And it doesn’t really matter, because our trump card is that my mom is basically a celebrity here. We will conquer the hot-dudes. I’m being serious, Dessy. We will rule them.”Veronica sounded almost combative, and I wasn’t sure why. I decided not to interrupt as she continued to dish out her hot-dude plan.“In addition to the major components, let me impart some useful hot-dude advice. We need to act mature and interesting. We need to laugh a lot at their lame jokes. And trust me, they will tell lame jokes. It’s some weird genetic disadvantage that hot-dudes are born with.”“I guess.”“Dessy,” Veronica said, reaching out and taking hold of my knee, “what I’m about to tell you next will be more valuable to you than CPR.”By the edge in her voice I believed her.“We need to be good listeners. Hot-dudes love to talk about themselves. Athletic accomplishments. Academic pursuits. Hunting expeditions. Video game scores. Childhood encounters with squirrels. The biggest advantage we have over all the other girls here is that we’re younger, so the guys will feel enlightened and knowledgeable around us. And we should never challenge that. We need to use that as a way to worm our way into their hot-dude hearts.”Even though vast amounts of what Veronica said were crazy, this advice made sense. But still …“Guys aside, don’t you worry about whether or not we’ll make friends and be liked?” I asked.“No,” Veronica said. “Because there’s always the
zoo strategy
. It’s a surefire way to win people over quickly.”“What’s the
zoo strategy
?” I asked.“If you want to make instant friends, give them free food.”“That’s dumb.”“No, it’s effective.” She shoved a cracker into her mouth. “You haven’t called your mom yet. Didn’t she want you to call her?”I nodded. “I told her I’d call her on the second day.”“That’s weird. Why not the first day?” “I don’t know. I guess I thought it would take me a day to find a phone and figure out how to use it.” Veronica picked up the receiver and studied both ends of it like she’d stumbled across a never-before-seen species of fish. “Don’t make fun of me,” I said. “I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to access phones in Prague.”“What did you think Prague would be like?” Veronica asked. “Burundi?”She was mocking me. I’d done a report on Burundi in Government last fall. I’d selected Burundi after learning that it was the poorest country on the planet and had the world’s lowest gross domestic product. The report had turned into quite a downer, especially the page on deforestation and soil erosion. Veronica had given her report on the Netherlands. I still remember her opening paragraph:
The Netherlands are cool. It’s legal to smoke pot there. You can buy it in coffee shops.
“Why are you just sitting there?” Veronica asked me.“I’m thinking about Burundi,” I said.“Let’s go!” I did as I was told. But sadly, before we could bolt, the phone began to ring. Veronica answered.“We’re coming,” she said. I could hear Mrs. Knox’s voice droning from the receiver.“Fine.” Veronica slammed the phone into the cradle. “I guess we scope later.”As I pulled our bedroom door closed, I noticed several hot-pink sticky notes fastened to it.“They’re from our suitemates,” I said.Veronica groaned. “Does this mean we have to leave
them
sticky notes?”“Come on. We have to read them.”“Wow. Our sense of obligation is triggered by very different things,” Veronica said.I pulled the first note off the door. “This one is from Brenda Temple. It says that she’s an early riser and from Maine and that she’s staying in room C. She’s already showered and we can eat some of her granola if we want. It’s in the cupboard.” “All that fit on a sticky note?” Veronica asked.“She writes small,” I said.“Is there anything else that’s actually worth reading?”“This one is from Annie Earl. She’s from Florida and she’s also in room C. She knits and she sleeps late. She welcomes us. And she says she brought extra blankets if we get cold.”“So we’re living with old women?”“Just because somebody knits and brings extra blankets doesn’t mean that they’re old. A young person can have poor circulation too. Okay. Here’s the last note. It’s from Corky.”“Corky?”“Yeah. She says that Annie Earl and Brenda made her write this note because they want everybody to get along. But she’s a loner. And we might not ever see her. Except in workshop. She wants to experience the counter- culture of the city. She’ll only be showering twice a week. Rock on.”“Did you say ‘rock on’ or did she?”“She said it,” I said.“Nobody says ‘rock on’ and only showers twice a week except for people who use hard drugs. Let’s avoid these wack jobs.” Had I been by myself, I would have written responses to Brenda, Annie Earl, and Corky. But considering Veronica’s current emotional state, I let her pull me out of the suite. A moment later we arrived at the double doors of the conference room on the ground floor.“After I open this door, the mystery is over. We will see clearly who is here and available. Their level of hotness will be quantified. No more daydreams. No more pipe dreams.”Veronica opened the door, and a flood of chatter tumbled into the hallway. “Oh my god!” She leaned her head into the room, and I leaned my head into the room, and we both took it all in.Dozens of college kids sat around tables eating pastries. And there appeared to be more guys than girls. Everybody looked young and athletic and happy. “There are a ton of brunettes,” I said. All my life I’d had a soft spot for guys with dark hair.“I probably should have worn tighter jeans,” Veronica said. I glanced at her. She was staring into the room, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. “You look great,” I said.Veronica squinted and then sucked in a big breath. “I know.”I turned my attention back to the room. I spotted Mrs. Knox sitting at a table.“There’s your mom!” I said.“Shh,” Veronica said, bumping me. “Why are you looking for my mom? Look for guys, Dessy.”She was right. Why was I looking for Mrs. Knox when the room was crawling with cute guys?“Hot-dude. Hot-dude. Hot-dude,” Veronica said, pointing. “Look, even that grandpa-dude is sort of hot.” I saw the grandpa-dude, but I did not find him hot.“This exceeds every expectation I had,” Veronica said. She walked into the conference room beaming like the sun. “This will be the best month of our lives. Follow my lead.”

Chapter Seven

I
did exactly what Veronica did. I grabbed an unglazed pastry, stood against the wall, and applied some lip gloss. Mrs. Knox sat at the head of a table. A big placard in front of her listed her name and her genre.
TABITHA KNOX: SHORT FICTION
An older woman and an attractive college student were sitting with her, but Veronica held back. “We stay on the periphery,” she said.There were five other tables with placards.
STEVIE BLOOM: POET
DINO WASHINGTON: PLAYWRIGHT
DORIS MOSES: THE NOVEL
SYD COVERT: EVERYTHING
AMY ALLEN: CREATIVE NONFICTION
Students continued to trickle in and join their workshop leaders. It looked like the program had about a hundred students. The nonfiction table was twice as crowded as the others. Veronica noted this.“If we’d gotten into that class, we’d have double the dudes.”“Our table doesn’t have any dudes,” I said.Veronica glanced around and bit her lip. “Our table has to have dudes. We’ve already met them.” She leaned into me and whispered, “They’re already on my wall.”“Right,” I said.I turned my attention to the faculty. I’d been researching them for weeks, and now here they were. I felt like I was glimpsing celebrities.“There’s the playwright,” I said, pointing to the table where Dino Washington sat with fifteen eager students.“That guy sucks,” Veronica said. “He was rude to my mom at a conference in Tennessee.”“What did he do?” I asked.“I don’t remember,” Veronica said. “Something involving a pineapple. It doesn’t matter. He’s a dramatist. Nobody respects those clowns.” She kept looking around.I think Veronica could pick up on my star-struck excitement, because she immediately tried to puncture my mood.“Here’s the deal: these people are not real celebrities and you shouldn’t treat them any different than bus drivers,” Veronica said. “My mom is the most respected writer here. After that, Amy Allen is the second-most respected.”I didn’t say it, but Amy Allen was actually more famous than Mrs. Knox. I’d heard an interview with her on NPR about her memoir, which had recently been turned into an HBO movie,
Kicking Apart the Moon
. It was about her turbulent affair with a former astronaut who suffered from a neurobiological brain disorder.“She looks so calm,” I said. “I can’t believe she held that astronaut hostage at that Taco Bell in Houston.” Veronica’s eyes bugged out with enthusiasm. “I know. She’s brilliant
and
insane.”“The poet guy is big too, right?” I asked.Veronica made a gagging sound. “Poets are never big. They’re basically miserable and poor and eat organic cows and avoid gluten and crap like that.”“There’s Doris Moses,” I said. “I heard an interview with her on NPR too. She’s fluent in six languages and does humanitarian work in Bangladesh.”“Dessy, turn off NPR,” Veronica told me. “That’s a total geek station. Besides, Doris Moses is a one-hit wonder. She wrote a novel about an alligator that ate, like, nine people in Florida, and then she ended up on the
Today
show and her book hit the
New York Times
best-seller list. Her whole plot totally ripped off
Jaws
. She’s been working on her second novel about a group of genetically mutated chickens for twelve years.” “That sounds interesting,” I said.“Dessy, don’t grow up to be a writer. Because when you live too much in your own head, you neglect the people you love and become an insulated wack job.”I doubted this was totally true. Because I felt that to become that way you had to have a fair amount of wack-job impulses already.“What about Syd Covert? He’s the director, right? I heard he’s a nice guy.”Veronica shuddered. “That guy offended my mom worse than the pineapple playwright dunce. Basically, we avoid him.”“Okay,” I said. I had no idea that the literary landscape was such a political place. I felt like I’d been dropped into a field of well-read land mines. “Let’s move in,” Veronica said.I followed her as she briskly threaded herself through the room. She took a seat right next to her mom. “What did you think of your first European pastry?” Mrs. Knox asked me.“It was flaky,” I said. “We’ll grab some groceries later. This climate always makes me crave quinces and crackers.”I stared at Mrs. Knox. I didn’t know what a quince was.“It feels muggy in here,” Veronica said. “Can you ask somebody to crank up the AC?”Mrs. Knox shook her head. “There is no AC. It’s called natural ventilation.”I watched Syd Covert come up and tap Mrs. Knox on the shoulder. Veronica leaned in and whispered, “You’re getting sweat marks near your pits. Try to lower your body temp.”“What?” I asked. “How?” “I’ll get you some water.”I didn’t want Veronica to leave me alone at the table, producing grotesque sweat marks. “I’ll come too.”We crossed the room again, and I glanced at my armpits. I was wearing a white shirt, and the fabric under my arms was saturated. “This is awful.”“You’re lucky you’re wearing sandals. Heat primarily escapes through your head and extremities.” Veronica handed me a glass of water, and I immediately started sucking it down.“You look nervous,” she said. “Stop it.”“It’s my first time in a foreign country.” “Relax. It’s not that different.”I almost choked on my water. “Yes it is.” “Whatever.” Veronica took a swig of her own water and frowned. “I heard somebody at a table say that we have to take a tour after orientation. Bummer.”“That’s great. It’ll help us scope.”Veronica rolled her eyes. “You can’t scope in a huge group with a tour guide. Maybe we can ditch the tour.”“Don’t you want to learn anything about Prague?”“I already know everything.”“That’s not true.”Veronica cleared her throat. “It all started a million years ago with a hunting party. There were settlements. Wars. Religion was huge, and they built a castle and a bunch of cathedrals. A bridge went up. They put a bunch of saints on it. More wars. Puppets exploded on to the scene and stayed. Russia took over and forced everyone to be Communists. People got sick of that. There was a fight over a hyphen. The Slavs went one way. Czech people went the other. And now I’m here. There you go. History of Prague.” “I think you’ve skipped over some stuff.”Veronica took another drink of water. “Let’s get back.” When we returned, the Short Fiction table was still disappointingly guyless, and Mrs. Knox was still chatting with Syd Covert. Contrary to what Veronica had said, she didn’t seem too offended by him. In fact, it almost looked like they were flirting.Veronica pretended to ignore them. “Your pits look way better,” she said.“Stop referring to them,” I said. I fished through my bag to locate my pen and notebook. A million conversations were going on around me. My mom had told me to always be ready to write down good restaurant and sightseeing suggestions. Most of the people I saw were college-aged, but there were a few older people too. One woman at the Novel table, when she laughed, looked a lot like my mom. “Wow,” Veronica said. “You’re going to take notes?”“Someone might say something useful,” I said.“Yeah. I’ve been saying useful things for six years.” Veronica shot me a devilish smile, and I smiled back.“We have a small group,” the older woman at our table said to me and Veronica. She was knitting something pink. It looked like a tubular-shaped hat.“Oh, there’s guys in the group too, but they got plastered last night. They’ll probably stumble in late,” Veronica said.“Well, the beer here is pretty cheap,” the woman said. She continued to knit. She seemed unfazed by Veronica, and I liked that.“That’s probably Annie Earl,” I whispered to Veronica.“I bet the other one is Brenda,” Veronica said.I looked at the attractive brunette with pale skin and delicate features seated next to Annie Earl. She was reading a book by Philip Larkin. “Probably.”Veronica didn’t look too happy. “I was hoping the other girls would be potato-ugly.”“I know.”“Wow,” Veronica whispered. “Do you see them?”I did see them, and I couldn’t believe Veronica was going to comment on Annie Earl’s scars while she was sitting right there.“Not now,” I said. “When I see something like that, it makes me think of my own mortality,” Veronica said. “Shh,” I said. I didn’t think Annie Earl could hear us, but the idea that we were discussing her discolored arms right in front of her made me squirm. “Maybe she escaped from a burning hotel room,” Veronica said. “Maybe she was riding a train and it caught fire and she had to run through the flames and then jump off into a random field like a hobo.” “Stop,” I said.“There’s a story there,” Veronica said.“Shh,” I repeated.And then somebody rang a bell.“Welcome to Prague,” Syd said from a podium. “A city of exceptional beauty.”At the word “beauty,” Kite, Waller, Roger, and Frank all rushed into the room. I sat up straight. Veronica’s beaming smile returned.When the conference room door slammed behind them, Syd stopped talking, and everyone turned to watch them find their seats. Syd said, “Welcome!” He seemed sincere, and I liked how forgiving this program appeared to be. I thought it boded well for Veronica and me.“Prague is a place wholly unlike any other. Here, I expect you to write and live. To explore and reflect.” Syd lifted his arms heavenward. “Here, you will dream. Here, you will drink. Except for our two high school students.”The audience laughed. Syd pointed to Veronica and me, and I felt myself blush. “They’re seated next to Tabitha Knox. Let’s do our best not to corrupt our underage colleagues.”The audience laughed again. I was mortified that he used the phrase “high school students” and “underage.” I already felt scandalously self-conscious about my teen status.“What a jerk,” Veronica said. “I feel so labeled now. Just like that woman we read about in freshman English in
The
Scarlet Number
.”“
Letter
,” I said. “
The Scarlet Letter
.”“Are you sure?” she asked. “I thought she had to wear a number that represented all the guys she’d slept with in the forest.”“No,” I said. “Her name is Hester Prynne. She gives birth after committing adultery and has to wear a scarlet
A
as a symbol of shame. But she ends up turning it into a symbol of identity.”Veronica looked at me like I was the seated embodiment of a fart. “Did you eat SparkNotes for dinner last night?”Syd had a lot of things to say about Prague. Goulash. Kafka. The plague. He briefly recapped the fall of the Iron Curtain. He then rattled off some vague warnings about pickpockets, money changers, and prostitutes. Something he said concerning the red light district triggered a short meditation about the journey of our souls. Finally, Syd closed by announcing that two tours were getting ready to leave the dorm. One was a historical tour highlighting sights of great cultural importance. The other focused on popular local establishments: restaurants, museums, clubs, cafés, bookstores. The latter sounded like stuff that was right up Veronica’s alley. Before Syd stepped away from the podium he called all of the instructors to the front of the room. After short introductions, followed by applause, the room filled with chatter. Veronica didn’t waste any time leaning over the table and waving to Kite, Waller, Roger, and Frank. Her eyes were bright and focused. Mostly on Frank. I wasn’t surprised: he was the sort of guy Veronica fantasized about. Tall. Blond. Athletic. Wholesome-looking, yet, based on the events of last night, most likely considerably flawed.“How are you feeling?” she asked him.“Okay,” he said.But I thought he looked a little yellow.“My name is Veronica. This is my friend Dessy. My mom is Tabitha Knox,” she said.“I’m Frank. This is Kite, Waller, and Roger,” he said.“Yeah, we’ve met,” Veronica said. “Last night.” Veronica pretended to face plant into the table. Then she popped back up. Frank looked at the floor and wiped his nose with his hand.“Don’t worry. It’s cool,” she said. “I’ve been to college parties. I’ve seen plenty of guys pass out before.”I felt the sweat glands on my fingertips begin to perspire. Veronica and I had never been to a college party. It was alarming to see her so grandiosely fabricating our social history. What sort of reputation was she trying to create for us? And where was she hoping it would get us?Out of the corner of my eye I saw Waller talking to Brenda. I tried to listen to what they were saying. I think Waller had read her story. He liked her “flow” or something. Veronica managed to keep Frank so occupied that he never had the chance to meet Brenda. Typically her strategy with cute girls was to shut them out and ignore them completely. She felt it limited their power. Veronica. She always played to win.Finally the terribly embarrassing news that Syd had disclosed about me and Veronica got repeated.“I didn’t know you two were in high school,” Kite said.Mrs. Knox returned from the gathering at the front just in time to hear Kite’s comment. “They are both definitely still in high school,” she said. “I just felt my chastity belt snap shut,” Veronica whispered to me.“Shh,” I said. I didn’t enjoy hearing Veronica talk about her private parts. Veronica looked at me and mouthed the word “chastity.” Then to my horror, I saw Roger grin. I caught his eye for a split second, then looked away. Oh my god. He could read lips.“Here we go,” Mrs. Knox said. Her arms were filled with light blue folders. “It’s everything you’ll need. Maps. Schedules. Tourist cards. Restaurant recommendations.”“Sweet,” Veronica said, plucking hers from the pile.I took my folder and flipped it open. There was a lot of information in it. I mean, there was a whole section on how to avoid being cheated by cab drivers.“And these are your travel passes,” Mrs. Knox said, handing me something that looked like a driver’s license.“I love that picture of you,” Veronica told me. “You have such sexy eyes.”I agreed. My eyes looked seductive and so did my lips. And in this rare instance my blond hair, flyaways and all, framed my face in a way that made me look amazingly hip. I’d turned my picture in last month, and until I was handed my travel card, I’d totally forgotten about it.“Use this to ride everything: metro, buses, trams, funiculars,” Mrs. Knox said. “And if a person approaches you with a badge, you’ll need to show her your pass. Otherwise, keep it in your pants.”I slid my pass into my wallet and nodded. Then I watched Waller take his pass, walk away from Brenda, and approach his friends. Veronica noticed this too.“Follow me,” she whispered urgently. “We can’t let them get away.” We passed Brenda and hurried toward the guys.“So are you going on one of the walking tours?” Veronica asked Waller.“Yeah,” he said. “We’re just deciding which one.”“Too bad we have to pick just one,” Veronica said.I smiled like I agreed, but really I couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking.“We’re doing the historical tour,” Kite said. “Roger and Waller have roots in this country.”“Poland, actually,” Roger said.As we all drifted in the direction of the dorm’s front glass doors, I looked at the guys. I don’t know if it was out of loneliness or curiosity, but I wanted to study them. They seemed so different from high school guys. Taller. Thicker. More chin stubble. And in addition to feeling that I could like them, I felt that I could trust them. They were high school graduates who, when faced with life’s many options, had decided to go to college. They read textbooks. And wanted to write novels. Their heads must have been filled with amazing ideas. I wanted to have conversations with them and prove to them and myself that I had interesting ideas too. I imagined talking with them about mature issues, like drug-resistant bacteria, oil prices, and soccer. “Which tour?” I asked.“Historic,” Veronica said.“Really?” I asked. “I thought you’d opt for the contemporary tour. I mean, restaurants, clubs. It’s catered to our interests.” I was curious about Prague’s history, but it seemed more practical to learn about the city’s immediate resources.Veronica flipped her head in disapproval. “It doesn’t matter what