Sophomore Switch Read Online Free

hour of drunken fun to be the single defining moment in my whole nineteen-year existence.
    Sighing, I grab my shower caddy and head for the bathrooms. I’ve had weeks to mope about the whole thing,but even I have to admit that being alone and anonymous in England is way better than being a recognizable joke back in L.A. Lathering up my hair under the dribble of lukewarm water, I resolve to be more positive. I managed to get out of the States; now all I have to do is find some kind of social life. It’ll just take some effort, right?
    Wrapping myself in my huge, terry-cloth robe, I step back out into the communal bathroom. I thought the place was empty, but now that the shower is off, I can hear a kind of muffled sobbing coming from one of the stalls. I pause.
    “Hey, are you OK?” I ask.
    There’s a sniffling sound, and then a thin voice emerges.
    “I’m fine.”
    “You don’t sound fine,” I point out. “Can I get you anything?”
    “No.” Another sniffle. “I wish you could, but . . .” She starts sobbing again.
    I gingerly push open the cubicle door and find a girl curled up on the toilet seat, legs tucked tightly against her chest. She’s wearing striped pj’s and has limp blond hair hanging in her face.
    “Really, I’m fine,” she protests, trying to wipe her face with a shirtsleeve. “I just . . .”
    “Don’t worry,” I say softly, not wanting to scare her. She looks younger than a freshman, but maybe that’s just the distress on her pale face. “Look, my room’s just down the hall. I could make you a coffee. Or tea, if you want,” I add, remembering how Brits are about their tea.
    “Thanks, but . . .” She shakes her head and grabs another handful of tissue from the dispenser. “It won’t help.”
    “Won’t help what?” I ask again. “Look, I know you don’t think I can help, but maybe I can.”
    She takes a deep breath and then looks me in the eye for the first time. Another sniffle, and then her voice comes, so soft I have to lean forward to hear.
    “This morning . . . The condom split. I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to do.”
    Other people’s problems may suck for them, but at least they give you some perspective. It takes me less than twenty minutes to Google the Oxford student services, wait for Holly to dress, and make our way down the twisted, cobbled streets to the offices behind the student union buildings. I’ve done this with Morgan so many times, I didn’t even raise an eyebrow when Holly told me about the boyfriend (older), the sex (bad), and her feelings of general helplessness that were clouding whatever judgment got her into Oxford in the first place.
    As it was, she only had to chat to the physician for a few minutes before emerging with her prescription and the glow of somebody who will never, ever have unnecessary sex again. Morgan usually lasts about a week before jumping the next guy, but I’m betting Holly waits longer.
    “OK?” I ask, my ass already numb from the cheap Formica seats they have lining the small waiting area.
    She nods happily. “Yes. Thank god!”
    “Cool.” I look around. The place is empty, litteredwith flyers and health-awareness posters. “Want to stock up on freebies while we’re here?”
    Holly blushes, but she goes over to the jar of condoms all the same. I browse the notice board instead. There’s no way I’m so much as going to
kiss
a guy while I’m over here. No dating, period.
    “Yes, just let me check for you.” A voice emerges from a back room, and then the familiar stocky body of my classmate walks out. I cringe.
    “Oh. Hi. Natasha, right?” Carrie looks as uncomfortable as me, frozen by the front desk with an armful of paperwork.
    “Yup. Hey.” I give an awkward wave.
    “What brings you . . . ?” Carrie glances from me, to the physician’s door, to where Holly is helping herself to a liberal supply of condoms. “Oh, right.” She gives me a knowing look. Of course the dumb Californian would be