Up Over Down Under (15 page)

“Fab. Now get out of here and have a corker of a night. Okay?”

“Wish me luck.” Eliza gave Jess a hug and hopped into the cab.

“Where to, miss?” asked the driver from the front seat.

“Trinity College, please? Royal Parade.”

“Going to a formal tonight?”

“Yeah, I guess, I am. It's my first.”

“Good on ya'. You're going to have a great night.”

 

 

The cab made it through the city in no time, and soon they were dodging trams as they headed up the tree-lined avenue she had first come down with the Echolses on the way in from the airport. They swerved out of the center lane and came to a stop outside the main gate to Trinity College.

An ivy-covered stone wall surrounded the grounds, and the main gate was a large wrought-iron fence, like something out of a Tim Burton movie. The gate was open, and inside she could make out a lawn and some sprawling, Gothic-style buildings.

Eliza paid the taxi driver, thinking again how glad she was that she'd been fairly frugal with her spending money, and stepped out of the car. There were a number of young people arriving at the same time—some walking from the other colleges, others in taxis and cars. Everyone looked so glamorous. The guys were all in tuxedos and the girls were in an assortment of cocktail dresses ranging from modest to extravagant. It was like being at the Oscars, if the Oscars were held at an Australian university. And attended only by actors twenty-two or under.

Eliza had been to plenty of black-tie fund-raisers with her dad, but they were always boring functions in some banquet hall filled with government workers and, well, old people. She'd still never been to an American prom, so the idea of getting dressed up and going to a gala with people closer to her age made her feel very adult. Seeing everyone all glammed up, but with Macca nowhere in sight, Eliza was suddenly struck by a moment's anxiety.

What if this is a joke? Maybe he thought twice about inviting me, and brought another date? Or worse, maybe he stood me up. Maybe he isn't here at all. Are they going to notice that I'm still just a high school student?
Eliza remembered Macca's advice from before and tried to act as if she belonged.

Before she could let her thoughts completely get the best of her, she spotted Macca. He was standing off to one side of the front gate where they had planned to meet, leaning against the high stone wall of the college. He had one foot up against the wall, and his hands were thrust into the pockets of his tuxedo pants. He looked like an old photo of James Dean or something—gorgeous, and cool, and completely disaffected. As Eliza came up he spotted her and broke into a broad smile.

“Well, don't you look spunky?”

“Excuse me?” Eliza asked. “Spunky” sounded more Orphan Annie than Academy Awards.

“You look good. I mean…r-really good.”

Was it possible that a boy as ruggedly cool as Macca could be nervous? How else to explain the stammering? Eliza allowed herself a moment to tick off a mental victory for herself.

“Oh. Thank you. You look…nice.”

It was an understatement, of course—but a girl had to keep some of her tricks to herself, didn't she?

“Come on. Things are getting started, and this night is fixing to go off!” Macca took her hand, looped it under his elbow, and began walking away from the gate.

“We're not going in?” Eliza asked.

“No, we are, we just don't have the proper invite, so my brother's meeting us at a side gate to let us in.”

Eliza's stomach did a small flip of nervousness at the idea of even more subterfuge, but she pushed it aside, deciding not to be too bothered by this. Once they were inside, everything would be fine, she told herself.

She and Macca walked along the outside of the wall to a parking lot, which they cut through until they'd found their way to the back of what looked like a dorm. Macca let her hand go, walked up to one of the ground-level windows, and pounded on it. A moment later the door opened.

“Hamish!” came a yell from inside.

“Oi!” Macca took Eliza by the hand, and they ducked inside. Holding the door open was a guy who looked like an older version of Macca. He gave young Macca a big hug and then turned to Eliza.

“And you must be the Yank.”

“Yes, I guess I must be.”
Yank.
It was better than
spunky.

“How you going? Good to meet ya'. I'm Piers, and this is Kate.” He gestured behind him at a striking girl with jet-black hair and bright green eyes, who in turn smiled at Eliza.

“It's very nice to meet you. Macca's told me a lot about you,” Eliza said. Even if that wasn't strictly true, she felt like it was the right thing to say.

“Oh, yeah?” Piers looked dubious, but amused. “Well, first off, everything he said is a lie, and second, around here, he's not Macca. He's either Hamish or Little Mack.” Piers gave Eliza a big, toothy grin.

“Well, I guess that makes you Big Mack?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly.” Piers smirked. He turned to Hamish. “I like her.”

“Well, hands off,” Macca countered. “She's my date.”

Flattered, Eliza smiled to herself. This night was going to be a
total corker
, for sure.

 

 

As Big Mack and Kate led the way across the grounds to the party, Eliza got a good look at the college for the first time. It was a large quad with a broad green in the middle. On three sides were a series of large Gothic dorms like something out of Ye Olde England. The fourth side of the lawn was dominated by a large cathedral that was all graceful, soaring arches.

Twinkling votives lined a path across the lawn and toward a building with a tall, ivy-shrouded tower and vibrant stained-glass windows that appeared to be the main building of the residential college.

“It's beautiful,” said Eliza as she took the whole scene in. She felt like Cinderella making her grand appearance at Prince Charming's ball.

“This is the bulpadock,” Big Mack explained. “We're heading over to Bishops, the party is in the JCR.”

“Bulpadock? JCR? I'm lost.”

“This is the bulpadock.” Big Mack gestured to the large lawn. “It was where they kept the college cows in the old days. Hence ‘bull' ‘paddock.'”

“Aha.” Eliza decided it would be better just to go with things rather than spending the entire evening with her jaw hanging open. No overthinking was necessary in this case. She smiled at Macca, and he pulled her hand a little tighter against his side.

They walked through the bulpadock to a long, low adjacent building with cloisters running on the lawn side. There were lights and music coming out of a large room at one end.

Inside was a DJ on one side of the room and a fire-place and bar on the other. The students were gathered in clumps talking, joking, and dancing. Eliza looked around, expecting people to be staring at her, the American high school student, but in fact, no one seemed to take much notice one way or the other.

The whole room had the feel of the dining hall at Hogwarts, if on a bit of a smaller scale. At the far end of the room was a dais where the senior faculty sat. A very old man, who appeared to be asleep, was perched in the middle of the table.

“Who's that guy?” Eliza asked Piers. “And why is he sleeping?”

“He's Dr. Stanley, the warden of Trinity. And I'm assuming he's sleeping because he's tired.”

“The warden? Like at a prison?” Eliza blinked. That was just plain weird.

“Well, yes, I suppose. But the real discipline is handled by the angry-looking guy next to him. That's Mr. Cunningham, and he can make your life very unpleasant. But don't worry, they clear out before long and usually don't give us a hard time during the parties.” Eliza looked at the man and decided that he was someone she would prefer not to encounter under any circumstances.

As Eliza was taking in the rest of the scene, a tall guy with blond hair, a broad smile, and a glass of red wine in one hand came up and smacked Macca on the back.

“You wanker! I thought they wouldn't let you in this place.”

“I'm surprised they let you in, too,” Macca replied as the two guys gave each other a little bro hug. “Will, this is Eliza.”

“Good to meet you! I thought this loser was making you up, but you are a far sight prettier than I imagined. What are you doing with a yobbo like this?” Will asked, jokingly poking Macca in the shoulder.

“Buzz off. If you don't have anything nice to say, you can get stuffed, mate!” Macca replied, taking an openhanded swipe at Will's head. Will ducked out of the way and gave Eliza a wink.

“It's nice to meet you,” Eliza said. Feeling bold, she added, “But one might ask what Macca is doing with
you
!”

“Ahh,” Will said with a smile. “Now I see why he likes you.”

Piers had gone to Geelong Grammar and was only a year ahead of Macca. Because of their closeness in age, Macca seemed to be good friends with a lot of his brother's friends, and they were all surprisingly nice. It didn't take long for Eliza to relax into the scene, and eventually, her lingering anxieties about all of the white lies she'd had to tell to get to the party in the first place completely evaporated from her mind.

Everyone was interested in hearing about what living in Washington was like. She almost began to feel like she was taking a quiz, what with all of their questioning, but she didn't mind so much; there was plenty of champagne going around, and after a few sips she had warmed to the gentle barrage.

“Have you been to the White House?” (yes)

“Have you met the president?” (no)

“Have you been to the Australian Embassy?” (yes, for her student visa)

Finally Macca came to her rescue. The music changed to a slow song, and he grabbed her by the hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

“But of course,” Eliza replied, trying to stifle her smile. Macca pulled her close and spun around so they were now on the dance floor.

He wasn't the greatest dancer, but what he lacked in grace he made up for in charm. His arms were strong, and he made a grand show of spinning and dipping her. Somehow, his excess energy seemed to fit in with the spirit of the evening, as everyone was becoming more and more boisterous. Before she knew it, hours had passed, and the crowd was beginning to thin out. She and Macca had been dancing for a while, and the room had become hot and stuffy from the evening's festivities.

“You want to go outside and get a breath of fresh air?” Macca asked, reading Eliza's mind.

“Sure.”

“Come on.” Macca took her by the hand and, grabbing a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, led her out the door.

They walked around a corner and behind the building with the Gothic tower. Soon the narrow gravel path they were on opened into a garden of neatly ordered hedges and a variety of flowering plants that were not quite in bloom.

Eliza was in heaven. It was crisp, but not cold, and Macca's hand was warm around hers. The moon was out, and the air was sweet with early spring flowers. The night couldn't have been more perfect if she'd planned it herself.

Macca dropped her hand, poured a glass of wine, and held it out to her.

“I don't need any more,” Eliza said. She was having enough fun without it and wanted to be clearheaded so as to take in the whole evening in crystal-clear detail.

“Just to toast,” Macca prompted. “It's bad luck to toast empty-handed.” He poured her a tiny glass and then held up his fuller glass.

“To a wonderful evening with the finest Yankee bird I've ever met.” He clinked his glass gently against hers.

Eliza took a tiny sip, in accordance with the Hamish MacGreggor Laws of Toasting. “Have you met a lot of Yankee birds?”

“No. You caught me.” He grinned. “But you're still my favorite, hands down.”

“Glad I could beat out all of those other imaginary Americans that you've been seeing,” she teased. “Well, here's to a wonderful evening with new friends and the finest Aussie bloke I've ever met.” This time she didn't drink. Her toast, her rules.

Macca gently pried her glass from her hands and placed it on the ground next to his own.

“What is it?” Eliza asked, though she thought she might know.

Macca didn't say anything, he only pulled her closer with his hand, leaned in, and kissed her. His lips were soft and warm. Eliza snuggled against him.

“Ahem!” came a voice from the entrance of the garden. They broke their embrace quickly and turned to see the dreaded Mr. Cunningham standing in the garden.

“The Vatican Lawn is not open at this hour, and I must insist that you leave. The party has concluded for this evening, and it is time for you to make your way home. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they each said in unison, and they filed out of the garden after him.

Eliza didn't need to stay any longer, anyhow. The night had already been completely and totally perfect.