At half past six on Monday morning, I wake up as suddenly and completely as if someone had just shouted in my ear. I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, as the knowledge of what the day holds settles in my stomach like an iron weight.
For a few moments, I allow myself to fantasise. Would Jamie be here with me, if he were still alive? His university didn't start until a week after mine. Would he be here, the two of us squashed together in the single bed? Would I wake up to the feeling of his kisses peppering my cheek, to the smell of him cooking me breakfast, making sure I had everything, wishing me luck on my first day? When I realise I'm drowning in him, in trying to remember the smell of him when he woke up in the morning, the exact way his hair curled over his forehead, the way his hands looked when he was cooking, I shake him off and get out of bed. I don't have to leave for two hours yet, but anything is better than the memories.
A brisk shower and a coffee later and I'm standing in front of my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. I don't want to wear my ballet uniform, because if no one else does I'll look stupid, but I have to wear something I can dance in. Eventually I settle on my black leotard with the criss-cross back, black tights, and grey jogging bottoms on top to combat the chill in the morning air that I feel when I open my bedroom window for a cigarette. I throw on my favourite fluffy white jumper that Mum bought me last Christmas, and some thick socks so that whatever we're put through today I won't get floor burns on my feet.
Issy pokes her head around the door while I'm pulling on my shoes. 'You're up early,' she says.
I nod. 'Too nervous to go back to sleep.'
'Me too. I couldn't sleep for hours last night. I wonder what we'll have to do today.'
'Probably just icebreakers and presentations about health and safety,' I say, lacing my shoes up. 'That's what we had the first day of dance at college. I'm pretty sure we didn't start any practical work until the second week.'
Issy laughs. 'Let's hope so,' she says. 'I'm really not in the mood to make a fool of myself in front of everyone. I'm sure I'd be so nervous I'd mess it all up.'
She walks further into my room and flops down on my bed, looking around her at the order I've imposed upon the little space. All of my stationery is laid out in front of my laptop on my desk, my shoes are stacked under my bed and my small collection of potted succulents forms a line along my windowsill. 'This makes me really embarrassed of my room,' she says ruefully. 'I've only been here five days and I've trashed it already.'
'This is just a way of making me feel like I've got my shit together,' I assure her. 'It'll be a mess by Friday. Breakfast?'
She shudders and shakes her head. 'I couldn't. I'm sure the second we started moving I'd throw it all back up, I'm that nervous.' She shakes her hair back out of her face and checks her watch. 'Would it be too sad to show up an hour early? I can't sit around here any more.'
I shrug. 'There might be free coffee.'
And with that endearing thought to sustain us, we leave the block (getting lost multiple times as we try to find a door that actually leads to the outside) and spend the next twenty minutes trying to find the right bus stop. By the time we've actually arrived on campus, found the free coffee and then located our room, we're almost late.
Studio Three is large and airy, with skylights in the ceiling and a spotlessly clean white floor. There are clusters of students sitting on the floor in small circles, clutching small cardboard cups of coffee and looking anxious. A few girls are in pink tights and ballet shoes with their hair scraped back into a severe bun, but as I predicted, most of them are in joggers and sweatshirts. There are more boys than I expected, too – I count at least four as Issy and I make our way to the back of the studio and find a free space to sit down.
