Chapter Four
She sat in Charleston's English 331 class, European Literature. He was nineteen. The obvious in was that she was European, with a lilting accent and always dressed in foreign fashions. Her shirt wasn't especially different, just unavailable in America. It sported some Euro soccer team design.
One morning he timed his entrance a step ahead of her and skillfully held the door in order to ask, "Hey, you're French, right?"
"Belgian," she said.
"Oh wow, Belgium. That's like central Europe?"
"Northern."
He tagged along after her like a dog who'd caught the scent. Her short dark hair was cut at an intriguing angle, and her dark lipstick suggested she was hiding something.
"So you an exchange student?"
"Something like that. Why?" Her face, guarded, yet petite, burned into his
