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Connecticut or some other state.
    “Oh, no problem.” I fan my hand dismissively. “Have a good evening,” I say, taking a few awkward steps backward.
    “Alright,” Carter says. He smiles and I bump into a mirror. I take a step forward before turning around and moving to the right to get my things. Because I’m now truly embarrassed, I don’t turn back to look at him but head to my car instead.
    I drive home, slowly, thinking that I don’t want to drive further away from this guy I’ve just met.

Chapter 4
    I have a couple of weeks before the semester begins, but since I’m taking an extra class, for a total of fifteen credits, I want to get a head start reading a history book for the European History class I’m registered to take. One of my friends, who took the class before, tells me that the professor always assigns it as required reading. And it’ll be nice to read and highlight the important passages ahead of time. Having four other classes in the upcoming semester and a part-time job, any leap ahead of the race is good for me.
    But instead of reading, I’m lying on the couch. The first of two loads of laundry is spinning, and I’m contemplating going to Bar Code. A few of my friends are meeting there around seven o’ clock. It’s a small bar wedged at the corner of a group of businesses, but it’s a popular hangout spot for the younger working crowd. I’ve only managed to see a few students from university there, maybe because it’s a good half hour away from the main campus.
    I decide to go to meet them; I need a little break.
    It’s a Sunday night, and I don’t really feel like dressing to impress. I’m not a believer in the whole notion that a girl can meet a nice guy in the bar anyway. I take off the gray sweat pants and matching gray tank top that I’ve been lounging around in all weekend and head to the shower. After toweling off, I get dressed, putting on a pair of faded blue jeans, a white tank top, and black heels, then some black mascara and light-colored lip gloss.
    I’m with my friends forty minutes later, eating cocktail peanuts from a small bowl in the center of the table.
    When I look across the room, I see him. It’s not possible for me to miss this man. It’s Carter. He’s wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He stands by the bar, looking tall, his dark hair cut a bit shorter than during the first week of yoga. If I’d known about him being here tonight, I would’ve made more of an effort in getting ready. Still, I’m happy to see him a day earlier than expected.
    I stand up and casually make my way to the bar and grab a toothpick from a cup, not wanting to be too obvious. Within a minute, Carter and I are having a conversation. He says he’s been so busy this summer, that the yoga class, though work, is a good outlet to relieve some stress.
    I take Carter in and glance at my friends, who are enjoying themselves. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think that I have to get home early enough to finish the laundry. Tomorrow’s Monday and I have to work. An hour passes then an hour and a half, and I just want to keep talking to Carter. It doesn’t matter where we are.
    He tells me of his family’s move from London to Connecticut when he was eleven. His dad’s company transferred him, and his parents thought living in another country would be a good experience for their two young boys.
    His parents had since moved back to England, choosing the farming country town of Kent, to settle down in. But America’s now his and his brother’s home; they grew up here, so they chose to stay behind.
    I tell him about my sister and brother and our ideal childhood in the suburbs.
    “My older sister didn’t really yell at me when I went through her closet. I’m just a bit hard-headed once I want to do something, so maybe I just thought ‘Stay out of my closet!’ was part of the older sister-younger sister routine,” I tell Carter. He gives me a face of mock surprise and laughs, and I