Betting Boy

Chapter Two - Kian

I'm making a mental list of my new flatmates. I'm usually good with new people, but five at once is a lot to take in.

Everybody's moved in now, and we're all in the kitchen. I make another mental list of all the things I'll need to buy – I didn't bring any silverware or dishes with me. I brought one mug. Because it was a going-away gift from Pops.

We're currently binging out on Dominos, and one of the boys brought out a crate of beers.

Casual drinking was something I got used to a couple of years ago, but it's still kind of weird to know it's legal here and none of us are twenty-one yet.

So. New flatmates.

There's Henry. Studying Maths. From Basingstoke (wherever that is). He took a gap year to travel and has a lot of stories about it. He looks pretty cool, I think. He says he's into football (but he means soccer).

They all keep saying what they did for A-Levels too. That's another thing I find bizarre – most of them studied three subjects for the last three years. Just three. And none of them get what a GPA is.

They're all kind of mesmerised by the fact I'm American and I'm from actual New York, and that I'm older than they are, in my third year of study.

The other guy in the flat is Mo, from Manchester. He isn't drinking, and he's studying Psychology. He's a little on the chubby side, and he keeps cracking jokes and he swears worse than Pops.

"It's short for Mohammed," he tells us all, "but it's just Mo."

"Are you religious?" Henry asks straight off the bat. "Is that why you're not drinking?"

Mo laughs. "I mean, I am religious, but I'm not drinking because beer tastes like piss. I just figured it was a little early in the night to crack open this whiskey."

Then there are the girls.

There's Sasha: long and lithe with full, pouty lips and an actual flower crown in her hair (fake, though). She nibbles at a slice of pizza she's had for the last ten minutes. One of the first things she said to me was that she has a boyfriend, and that she's vegan.

Which is a bit of a disappointment, and cool, I guess.

She's studying Psychology too, and she's from somewhere near London. I forget the name.

Hannah, from Oxford, is studying Biology, and although she's holding an open can of beer, she's hardly drunk any. She's looking at the can like it's a live bomb.

She doesn't say much. I can't tell if she's decided already she doesn't like us all, or if she's just shy. I'm not sure I care either way.

And then, then there's Is.

Isabelle.

From York, she's studying Law and French. She took a year out to work, so she's already nineteen. She's on her third beer and she's practically eaten an entire pizza to herself. Like Mo, she's a little on the big side, but it does everything for her. She's curvy, and she looks totally comfortable as she reaches for another slice.

Confident.

I like that in a girl.

She catches me looking at her and smiles, and I give her a slow smile back, enjoying watching her blush. But she doesn't look away, like I thought she would.