Free Life Swap by Abby McDonald Page A

halt by a crowded coffee stand. “Hey, Rico, what’s up?”
    â€œNothin’ much, girl.” The boy on duty wipes his hands on his apron and gives Carla an adoring smile. “You want your usual?”
    â€œSure, and…” She turns to me expectantly.
    â€œOh, a latte would be great. Decaf,” I add, remembering my sister’s lectures about caffeine being one step away from crack when it comes to addiction.
    â€œDoesn’t that negate the whole point of coffee?” Carla laughs before turning back to Rico. “But you heard her.”
    â€œComing up.” He sets to work, the machine spluttering away as Carla surveys me.
    â€œSo, do you just hang out in libraries taking pity on us poli sci kids?”
    I smile self-consciously. “I suppose so. The guardian angel of democracy essays, that’s me.”
    â€œAnd there’s no catch?” Carla is still looking like she’s testing me.
    â€œWhy would there be?”
    She smirks. “You’re new to town, I can tell.” I must look puzzled, because she adds, “In Southern Cali, there’s always a catch. Don’t worry.” She takes our coffees and pays the boy. “You’ll learn.”
    â€œOh.” I sip my drink carefully. “So what’s the catch to this?”
    â€œThe coffee?” Carla raises an eyebrow. “Straight swap: your notes for the drink.”
    â€œI can live with that,” I agree, warming to her boldness.
    â€œCool.” She strides off again at double speed, leaving me rushing to catch up. “Now tell me about Oxford—full of entitled jackasses, am I right?”

Tasha
    I can tell my dress is all wrong before we even get inside. We’re waiting in the street by the hotel for the rest of Holly’s friends, and snaking down the block are groups of guys in tuxedos and girls tripping along in heels and long gowns; only thin wraps protecting against the cold night air. At first, I was feeling smug because these outfits are seriously Miss Teen Ohio, covered in sparkles and asymmetrical necklines, but after watching a parade of identi-girls slip by, my gorgeous Gucci doesn’t feel so special anymore. The skirt is short, for a start, and although the fabric is draped black silk and totally classy, it doesn’t seem to make up for the amount of leg I have on show. At least, not judging by the smirks that other girls are shooting in my direction.
    â€œYou look wonderful.” Holly catches my nervous look, but her comment just makes me feel more self-conscious. If she thinks I need reassuring at all, then it must be clear I’m totally out of place.
    â€œSo do you,” I’m quick to add. And she does—even if her turquoise gown could have used fewer sequins along the bustline. Holly’s hair is pinned up in tiny curls, and her eyes have a sweep of shimmer. It took us an hour getting ready with curling irons and eyelash curlers, but I always love that part.
    It strikes me that the preparation may be the most fun I’ll have all night, but I push the thought away and turn to the guy next to me in line to try and make conversation. “It’s James, right?” He’s the one with rusty red hair, now slicked back and neat to match the crisp lines of his tuxedo. I swear, put any guy in the black-and-white combo and they get cute.
    â€œYes.” He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, and I wait for something more, but there’s nothing.
    OK, the silent type. I can work with that.
    â€œThis is my first Oxford ball.” I make sure to smile, despite the fact I’m shivering violently in my thin gold shrug. “Do you go to many?”
    â€œAt least one a term.” James looks at me with what I’m afraid is amusement.
    â€œThat must be cool, having so many big parties. Back home we don’t really do the formal thing, but there were way more smaller events.” He nods politely.