Big Roomie by Penny Wylder (young adult books to read TXT) 📗

carousel. I look around as the suitcases spin in lazy circles on the conveyer belt. People jostle for space, lugging huge bags away. I quickly find my smaller valise with all my toiletries and odds and ends. I pull it from the belt with ease and then stand back, waiting for my other bag.

As I wait, my eyes automatically scan around the airport, seeking out a head that towers above the rest, wide shoulders, and a face that women would literally cage fight over. No sign of the mystery man I groped on the plane. Again, I tell myself that’s a good thing and if I saw him again it would just ruin this vacation. The mortification would wash over me afresh if I looked him in the eyes. I mean, just the thought of what happened in the aisle makes me cringe with embarrassment. And yet, a part of me kind of wants to see him again—but more like behind a two-way mirror. I want to see him, but I don’t want him to see me. You don’t see faces like his very often, and I wouldn’t mind being able to study it for a while without being noticed.

I shake my head, still unable to believe I groped him like that. Thank goodness it was on a transatlantic flight and not my daily commute to work. Having to come face to face with him again would be the worst possible scenario. God, if my friends found out, they would never let me live it down. I would be utterly humiliated. The chances of seeing him again are slim to none.

Lillian and Deb stand a few feet from me with their bags, and I notice they’re looking at the belt with growing concern. That’s when I realize the conveyor belt is now empty. Shit.

“Have you guys seen my purple suitcase?” I ask, although there’s little hope in my voice. The bag is hard to miss; bright purple with pink polka dots, a gift from my mother for the trip. She’s travelled the world and knows a thing or two. She said it’s always best to have busy, one of a kind luggage so no one accidentally walks off with it. And if someone tries to steal it, the bags would be easy to spot by security.

Deb and Lillian both shake their heads. I close my eyes and sigh. This can’t be happening. Why is my luck such shit? Of all the bags to lose, that’s the one that is the most important. It’s the one with all my clothes in it. I could easily replace everything in the bag slung over my shoulder, but it would take a lot of time and money to buy an entirely wardrobe for this trip.

Everything in me wants to freak out, but I’m not about to ruin this trip for my best friends. Instead, I go to the counter at baggage claim and make the report of my missing bag. They give me a tag and tell me they’ll call or deliver it to our rented flat when it’s found. I speak very sweetly and calmly the entire time, despite the pounding headache that’s brewing behind my eyes. I will not let this bring me down. I’m in England!

I meet up with girls outside and give them my cheeriest smile. “They said it usually takes 24 hours to locate baggage, so I’ll bet I have it in the morning.” I’m not sure my optimistic forecast is believable or realistic, but the girls go along like true friends, and we hop in a cab to our vacation rental.

I must doze off on the drive, because I wake up when I sense the cab has slowed down. We’ve arrived in Odiham, a small village in the county of Hampshire, outside of London. The village looks like something out of a fairytale. All of the buildings are centuries old and have historical markers in front for the tourists who visit this quaint town. The town is small, with just a single café, a doctor’s office, some pubs, and a grocery store about the size of a gas station on the high street. The little town also has a gothic church constructed in the 13th century and an old graveyard tourists like to meander through. Odiham is just an hour drive from London, but it feels like you’re stepping back in time.

The cab pulls into the driveway of an adorable two-story brick house. This house also has a plaque on it, but it’s so old the engraving has been worn away by weather and time. The house is so cute and quaint, better than the pictures. It’s been owned by the same family for generations, and the current owner rents out rooms on a vacation rental website. There are four bedrooms, so each of us has our own private space, and the host told us it’s very unlikely the fourth bedroom would be rented out to another girl. It’s not a big deal if it is, though. We’re a friendly bunch.

We’ve been planning this trip for two yearsI’ve never done anything like it and the thought seems exciting—very European. Seeing the home makes me excited. I refuse to let a few setbacks ruin this trip for me. I’ll get new clothes; I brought plenty of money. I’ve been saving up for two years for this experience and I plan to embrace all of it.

We walk inside and I take in every detail of the house. The first room is the sitting room. There are two small couches in front of a fireplace. Behind the sitting room is a sweet little kitchen, with a large dining table and a lovely window seat looking out onto the garden. Instantly I imagine myself getting lost in a book, sitting by the window.

I walk up the narrow staircase and hear Deb and Lillian opening doors to bedrooms, claiming their beds already. The second floor is decorated with floral wallpaper, and at the