Free A Little Too Far by Lisa Desrochers Page B

that.” She hands me a napkin, which I take. “Have you been through the National Museum yet?” she asks, as I mop myself up.
    “Not yet. I just got here a few days ago. But I’m going to the Vatican Museums tonight.”
    She grins. “Try not to cream your knickers right out loud.”
    My cheeks flame. “Um . . . yeah. So what are you studying?”
    “Anthropology, which means I’ve come to the right place too. I’ve already creamed my knickers down in the catacombs and again at the Forum. Glad I packed a few extra pairs.” She shifts her chair closer and holds out her hand. “I’m Abby.”
    “Lexie,” I say, shaking it.
    She picks up her phone and looks at the screen, then stands. “We should be shoving off.”
    I shoot the last of my espresso and scrape my chair back, hiking my backpack onto my shoulder. Despite what I told Dad, I didn’t explore yesterday. I was too busy beating myself up for going to confession—which, I guess, I’ll have to confess next time I go. “Do you know where we’re going? Because I’m clueless.”
    “The main building is just around the corner,” she says, leading the way to the door. She winds us through a narrow alley, and when we come out the other side, there’s an archway over the road. “Here,” she says, crossing the street to a pair of green double doors, which are propped open.
    We follow a few other semilost-looking people through the door, one of whom is a tall, lanky, blond guy in jeans, a blue polo shirt, and a Red Sox baseball cap. So I’m guessing he’s probably here for the orientation too. Abby grabs my elbow and tows me to a wide marble staircase directly in front of us, and we climb it to the second floor. There are a dozen or so other people waiting in the second-floor classroom that Abby leads me into, and Red Sox Cap Guy and another girl come through just behind us. A wiry man in a blazer, (despite the fact that it’s got to be ninety outside and there’s apparently no air-conditioning in here) with thick salt-and-pepper hair comes in a few minutes later and sits on the edge of the desk in the front of the room.
    “Hello. My name is Professor Avery. Did everyone find us okay?”
    We’re here, I want to say, so pretty much, yeah. But reality is, I’d probably still be wandering the narrow Roman streets, twisting my ankles on the cobbles, if Abby hadn’t saved my sorry butt.
    After a few mumbled yeahs, he smiles, revealing stained teeth that could use an Invisalign intervention. “Well, we want to get you comfortable here before classes start next week. We’ll be taking you on the tour, so hopefully you’ll know where to go when the time comes. You also all have individual meetings with your curriculum advisors at either one or two, so check your orientation schedules.”
    “Um . . . ?” Baseball Cap Guy says. “What orientation schedule?”
    “It was e-mailed on the tenth,” Professor Avery says. “Did you not receive it, Mr. . . . ?”
    “Higgins,” the guy says. “Grant Higgins.”
    Professor Avery leans back and rifles through some papers on his desk, like it’s magically going to turn up there. “We’ll visit the computer lab and print you a copy,” he says when he comes up empty. “Anyone else without a schedule?”
    We all shake our heads, and Grant grimaces.
    “Excellent. So you’re all aware that John Cabot University is English-speaking. All your classes will be in English. We do, however, encourage you to interact with locals . . . explore the culture. Though learning is our primary objective, the greatest experiences you’ll take home with you are the ones from outside the classroom. We offer a plethora of services and resources to make this the best experience possible for each one of you, so I encourage you to take advantage.”
    We spend the next few hours going over logistics, from the class schedules to the textbooks and fee schedules. We tour all the main buildings as well as the surrounding area.