Free Alexandria of Africa by Eric Walters

showoffy, pretentious, annoying pain.
    The next person got up and started talking. I stayed focused on Christina as she sat down. She was clearly the best-looking girl there. At least, she was until I showed up. I should have expected that she wouldn’t be pleased to have me around. It wasn’t going to be easy for her to share the spotlight. Who was I fooling? With me around it wasn’t about sharing. I was going to keep the whole spotlight to myself. I’d have to keep a close eye on her, though. If she was smart enough to instantly size me up as a threat to her alpha status, then she was smart enough to try to stay top dog.
    Person after person stood up and talked. Different names, different faces, different voices, but the same basic story. The same basic sermon. If they were pretending to be saints for my benefit they could stop wasting their breath and my time. I was hardly listening, and what I did hear didn’t impress me. At least I had an excuse. I
had
to be there. These people were so stupid that they’d made a choice. I couldn’t even imagine that. Didn’t they have any better place to be, things to do, or people to hang with?
    One of the staff got up, thanked everybody for sharing, and then told them it was time to leave to get back to work. Everybody practically jumped to their feet. The way they were acting, all excited, you would have thought she had said get back to the
spa
instead of work. Reluctantly I got up too. My legs felt wobbly.
    “You won’t be going with them this afternoon,” Renée said. “I think you need to unpack and rest.”
    I felt so grateful I almost said thank you.
    “Your luggage has been brought to your tent.”
    I was glad I didn’t have to bring it all down … did she say
tent?
    “Excuse me? I’m staying in a tent?”
    “We call them tents, but really it isn’t like you’ll be camping.”
    “That’s good, because I
don’t
camp.”
    “It sounds like there are lots of things you don’t do. Lots of limits you place on yourself. Come and see before you judge.”
    I trailed behind her along the path. I was tired of following her. We rounded a corner and there was a cluster of large green tents. It was easy to see which one was mine because my luggage was on the front step. The bright pinkof the suitcases and forest green of the canvas looked rather striking together. I never would have placed those colours side by side, but it was something to keep in mind for the future.
    We stepped up onto the wooden deck of the tent. The canvas formed a roof and there were two folding chairs sitting outside.
    “The tent itself has a concrete floor and there are electrical outlets,” Renée said. She opened the zipper and pulled back the canvas door. She stepped in and I followed behind and … wait … there were clothes on the bed, and they weren’t
my
clothes.
    “This has to be a mistake. Somebody else is already in this tent.”
    “Your roommate.”
    I gasped. “I have to share this tent with somebody?”
    “Two beds. Two people.”
    “I
don’t
share.”
    Renée smirked. I hated that smirk. “This is the only unoccupied bed in the whole camp, so I think that your choice, once again, is limited. Do you want to spend time discussing this further or do you want to unpack and take that shower?”
    “I want to shower.” Seventeen hours in the air and six more in a dusty truck had made a shower my top priority, over almost anything else imaginable.
    I looked around the room. “Where is my shower?”
    “Your shower is down the way in the big cement building.”
    I gasped again. “You aren’t telling me that I have to share a shower with every other person here, are you?”
    “Not everybody. Just all the girls. Two stalls for the boys and two for the girls. Common showers.”
    That all seemed so … so … 
common
. In my whole life I’d never had to share a bedroom, shower, or toilet. Maybe jail would have been better. Then I remembered the stainless-steel