Page 70 of The Sun and Her Star

“Hi, I’m Reena. Are you American?”

Sitting in the seat next to mine is a very happy—if her smile has anything to go by—very pretty young woman. But I didn’t even see her sit down. A second ago, there was no one next to my seat, and suddenly, like magic, she appeared.

Her grin doesn’t falter or show signs of strain as she stares at me. I stare back in wide-eyed surprise. She smiles in what appears to be genuine pleasure. It’s contagious.

So, I smile back.

“Wow, you’re so pretty. Where are you from?” she asks in a perfectly ambiguously foreign accent.

“I’m from Nevada.”

“Ah, yes, Nevada is in the western United States. It’s where Las Vegas is. Las Vegas is one of the most popular gambling destinations in the world. Although the famous Las Vegas Strip isn’t actually located in Las Vegas. It’s located in the neighboring town of Paradise.”

I blink at her in surprise.

“Wow, I didn’t think anyone actually knew that but we who live there,” I say in awe.

“Well, I’m a connoisseur ofallthings American,” she says proudly. “I am going to move there one day and when the opportunity arises, I want to be ready. London is my stepping stone, but America is mydestination.” She flares her fingers out in excitement. “I was meant to live there. I can’t be who I was meant to be in Rome. I know that in America, my star power will be welcomed and rewarded. Isn’t that what we all want? To be seen for who we are? To live the life we were meant to live?”

She talks fast. But every word is perfectly enunciated. I wonder if that’s a skill you have to practice really hard at.

Otherwise, I like her. She’s friendly. And clearly, she loves facts. Just like me.

I extend my hand. “I’m Apollo. It’s so nice—”

“Ooh, cool name. I saw you sitting here, and I thought to myself, she’s American.” She grabs my hand and shakes vigorously. “This is wonderful!”

“What is?” I ask, massaging the hand she nearly crushed.

“That I’ve finally found an American who smiled back at me.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I went to the Sorbonne for my first degree, and there are hardly any Americans there. And the ones who were there didn’t seem to be interested in being friends with me. I mean, I know I talk a lot, but I’m really very nice. It was such a disappointment. And as much as I love Paris, I think their accents are too mouthy. You know what I mean?”

After a few seconds, she gives me an expectant nod, and I realize she’s paused for my answer.

I shake my head no.

“You know,” she starts speaking with an exaggerated frown on her face. “They talk likezisss,and the especially rude ones always look like they need to defecate.” She winks conspiratorially.

I just nod and smile.

It works, and she starts talking again.

“Anyway, I love American and British accents.Diefor them. So, I’m glad the first friend I’ve met is American. I’m from India. Delhi, specifically. South Asia generally. But I grew up in Rome. I went to the American school there for one year before we moved to Geneva. In Switzerland. My father works for the United Nations.” She pauses, and this time I nod before she has to prod me.

“Anyway, it’s beautiful, and I could have stayed there to do my Master’s. But UCL’s law course is really great.”

“Do you mean, the University College of London?” I ask confused.

“Yes, that’s where I’m studying,” she says brightly.

“But this is SOAS. You’re on the wrong campus. UCL is over on Gower Street.”

“Oh, I know. I came over here because I heard there were a lot of Americans here.” She looks down at the prospectus she’s holding. “You’re doing your Master of Islamic Art!” she says as if she’s informing me of something I didn’t know.

“Well, SOAS is the best place to study Islamic Art. The Brunei Gallery holds some of the world’s most amazing treasure. So, where are you from? Where are you living? Isn’t London to die for?” She swoons.

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