Page 14 of First Impressions of You

I still don’t get why our parents let her move here. Olivia has never been an academic type, and when she dropped out of college in Brazil, I kind of expected her to stay home and work rather than coming here to start school again. I’m not even sure what she’s studying now, to be honest, but I think I heard Mom mentioning something about a business degree.

Still, after four years sharing a minuscule dorm room with my college best friend and roommate Cecilia, a two-bedroom apartment felt like a palace for three people.

It took a while for me and my sisters to make it feel like home. I only got the essentials before Julia arrived, and then we started buying decorations together, carefully choosing each item to make the place look like ours.

My favorite spot is the combined dining and living areas. The wooden table I paired with red wooden chairs, the nut-brown leather couch the last tenants left behind, the IKEA floor lamp that looks like it belongs in an old theater, the pictures on the wall that hold so many memories sometimes I find myself staring at them for so long I miss half of the show episode I was trying to watch on Netflix.

Every detail in this apartment is a piece of me, Julia, and now Olivia. Every time I remember that I might need to leave it at the end of the year, I feel an ache in my chest.

This is my home. I made it my home. How am I supposed to walk away from it?

Thinking about leaving this place hurts, but thinking about what waits for me if I truly have to go back home to Brazil… that makes me physically ill. It can’t happen. Going back is not an option. Not when I gave my parents my word that I would hold up my end of deal. That I would go back to med school if I didn’t make it as an actress in the limited time I had here.

“Can you pass me the butter?” Julia asks, reaching across the coffee table, snapping me out of my thoughts. I hand it to her before pouring some warm milk in my coffee mug. I place the jug with the rest of it close to me, as far away from Olivia as I can because I know she hates the smell of milk.

I might be a bitch to her sometimes, but I’m not that much of a bitch.

Our breakfast is a solid mix of American and Brazilian. Having lived here for over four years, I’ve gotten used to having eggs, bagels, bacon, pancakes, or cereal in the morning. But when Julia arrived in January, she brought back some habits I had forgotten I had, and I started craving toasted bread with butter, cheese, and ham. Pão de queijo when we’re feeling fancy. Now, when we have the time to have a good breakfast like today, we go out of our ways to prepare what looks like a feast.

“So,” Julia starts faintly. She’s trying to hold a smile in, but it’s a failed attempt. Her lips curve at their own volition. “When were you going to tell me that you gave Cameron my number?”

“Oh my God!” I can’t help the excited squeak that comes out. “He texted?”

“Finally,” Olivia says just as excitedly, but I give her a pointed look for her choice of word. She rolls her eyes at me.

Julia looks between the two of us, the tiniest of frowns cover her face for a split second before she decides to let it slip and focus again on the text. “Yes, he texted last night to ask me out.”

She doesn’t give us anything else until we look at each other in confusion and, in sync, look back at her with mirroring expressions of impatience. A sly smile curves her lips again. “We’re going out tonight.”

“Tonight?” Olivia and I say in unison. It’s jarring how alike we can be sometimes.

Julia nods enthusiastically. “He asked me when I was free, and I told him the truth, so he was like, ‘Why wait?’”

“Wait.” Olivia’s hands fly up, palm out. “You said he texted last night. What time?”

“I don’t know the exact time, Liv.” She eyes me quizzically, but I’m as lost as her. “Why?”

“It wasn’t late at night, was it? What was the text?”

“Hello and a smiley emoji.” Julia’s answer sounds less certain, like she’s being graded on a quiz she didn’t sign up for.

“What are you on about?” I ask our youngest sister, confused by her line of questioning.

“Just making sure it wasn’t like a ‘u up?’ text.” She shrugs. “We all know what that means.”

“Of course it wasn’t.” Julia sounds defensive.

I don’t know what throws me off the most if it’s Olivia thinking Cameron would be that type of guy or… “Have you been getting many ‘u up?’ texts in the middle of the night, Olivia?”

Her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink, but she refuses to look embarrassed by it. The look she gives me is almost proud. Before I can say anything to her, Julia interferes. “I’m gonna need your help.”

“With what?”

“Clothes!”

“That’s not my department,” I say, brushing the crumbs of bread off my hands on the plate in front of me.

“I’ll help.” Olivia squeals with joy. I think there are very few things she gets more excited about than guys. Fashion is one of them.

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