No sooner is my butt in the chair than my dad clears his throat and demands my eyes on him. I place the biscuits on the table slowly and wait for it.
“Nice of you to finally join us.” My father’s tone is more condescending than angry, much to my relief. “Kingston, this is our daughter, Echo Victoria Kelly.”
My full name? Maybe I was wrong about the no-anger thing. My dad’s either furious, or being way too formal for Mr. Fancypants.
“Echo, can you say hello to our guest?”
Before my humiliation from being spoken to like a toddler causes my face to erupt in flames, a smooth, familiar accent floats on air and rescues me.
“We’ve met, sir,” Kingston says to my dad. “Last evening. We passed in the loo.” He pauses to add another quick lie. “While cleaning our teeth. Lovely to see you again, Echo.”
“What’s a loo?” my nine-year-old little brother Sammy cuts in, tapping his fork on his empty plate.
“He means the bathroom, Sammy.” The twist of confusion on his face remains with that explanation, so I elaborate further. “They call it a ‘loo’ where Kingston’s from.”
“Does that mean Sebastian is gonna have to say ‘loo’ now when he has to go pee?”
We all laugh at his innocent question, my father the loudest. He’s probably thinking along the same lines as me: No way is my big brother Sebastian going to suddenly start talking all proper. We only just broke him from burping at the table.
“Not at all,” Kingston answers Sammy, with an amused smile. “Your brother can speak any way he wishes. You see, this experience—or exchange, as you may say—isn’t to change your big brother, Sam. No, I believe my father hopes that I’ll be the one who changes.”
His fickle laugh is edged with something bitter…perhaps even pained?
“Sebastian is having a fine time, I assure you. No need to worry,” Kingston adds quickly before throwing back a mouthful of orange juice.
Little Sammy’s concerned face brightens immediately. “Okay! Can I eat now?”
“Dig in,” my mother says as she sets the last platter on the table and takes her seat. “I hope there’s something here you like, Kingston. And please, let me know if there’s anything special I can pick up for you the next time I’m at the store.”
“The spread looks and smells wonderful, Mrs. Kelly. Thank you.” He lays it on thick, and I duck my head to hide my rolling eyes.
“Please, call me Julie.”
I wasn’t aware she even knew how to make the sound I hear next: a slight giggle that catches in her throat.
Oh, this wanker (you bet I did my homework—mainly to make sure Sebastian would at least be able to ask for a toilet, a phone, and/or the police) is quite the schmoozer.
“Well, Miss Echo.” I raise my head when my father addresses me. “I assume you used the time you couldn’t spare to join us at the airport or dinner yesterday to practice?”
“Yes, sir. Savannah and I worked on our new routine—the idea I told you about.”
“And how’d it go?”
I don’t make a habit of lying to my parents—or anyone, for that matter. I never do anything that needs hiding. But I can’t very well admit that Savannah hasn’t been catching on and that my time may have been wasted, so I structure my answer accordingly.
“It went better than last time, so I’m hopeful that it’s coming along.”
“Glad to hear it. Now I know you can afford to skip a session today to clean the risers of all debris and give them a good scrubbing.”
And there’s my punishment: cleaning the bleachers in the pavilion all day. Disgusting, not to mention Clay’s job, but better than what I was expecting.
“Yes, sir,” I answer obediently before filling my mouth with food, hoping to end the conversation.
My mother jumps in to squash the awkward silence. “So, Kingston! Tell us a little more about yourself. We spoke so much about our kids last night, we barely heard from you.”
“What would you like to know, Mrs.—eh, excuse me—Julie?”
My gaze darts his way, and he catches it. A small, fleeting smirk plays on his lips.
“Anything, really. John?” she asks, enlisting my father’s help.
“Well, I still don’t understand why my boy would want to sign up for this switching thing, so maybe you can offer some insight on the appeal?” My father’s timbre takes on a rough, slightly hurt edge. “Why’d you want to change places, and with Sebastian?”
“I didn’t,” Kingston states contritely, and my head snaps his way. He notices my sudden movement and peers at me from the corner of one eye before directing his full attention back to my dad. “My father sorted this on his own, and gave me a day’s notice.”
My mother gasps, and her brows crinkle in sympathy. “Why would he do that? You seem like such a good boy. Your papers said you have the equivalent of a 4.0, and plan to go into the seminary after graduation.”
Seminary? I choke on my juice and immediately bow my head for what seems like the umpteenth time this morning to hide my disbelief. Kingston’s no more suited to be a priest than I am a showgirl; of that much, I’m already sure. That was no “man of the cloth” in-the-making holding me captive against his bare chest (or, more pointedly, his erection) last night.
I dare a peek at Kingston and have to struggle not to burst out laughing. His face is pinched tightly, no doubt in an effort to hide his own shock. I’m absolutely certain that my mother just informed him of a big surprise in how falsely his father portrayed him on the application. He’s probably shaking in his Don Juan shoes right now, picturing himself going up in flames if anyone dares comes near him with holy water.
“Yes, well...” His words get lost, so he shoves a piece of egg into his mouth and looks toward me, as if I’ll have the answer.
My eyes widen in challenge as I wait anxiously to see how he plans to charm his way through a reasonable explanation.
When he swallows, I can see the confidence regained in his posture.
“I should be honest with you both,” he says to my parents. My father leans in, instantly suspicious. “You’ve welcomed me into your home and made me feel like a part of your family in less than a day, so I feel I must confess: I’ve not always been on a path the church would agree with. There’s been a fair share of acts of what you might call ‘teen rebellion’ in my past. And my father, always the diplomat in any situation, felt it best for me to have what he considers the ‘debauched influences’ in my life removed, so I could return to the proper track. I hope to finish uni after this experience, and make my father proud.”
And now I’m sure of two more things: first, Kingston’s father lied for a reason. And secondly, I finally understand why my father agreed to let this young, not-ugly stranger occupy a room last night that shares a bathroom with my own: He thinks he’s gonna be a priest!
“So, then, this rebellion,” my father replies. “What are we talking about here? Alcohol?”
“John, it’s not our business,” my mother chastises him for prying. “He—”
“The hell it’s not!” my father interrupts in a booming voice. “I have a right to know, if he plans on living in this house!”
This time, asphyxiation is a real possibility as my sip of juice burns its way down the wrong tube and I start coughing uncontrollably. Living where?
Before I can breathe again (a vital ability when asking for clarification, since he’s supposed to be staying at the dorms), Kingston speaks up—right as my mother thankfully notices I need a couple pats on the back.
“No, sir, nothing like that. I seem to have a tendency of speeding.”
“‘Speeding’? Is that a fancy word for doing drugs?” my father roars, keeping a white-knuckled grip on his fork.
Kingston shakes his head frantically. “Racing, sir, as in speeding in a vehicle. My eighth traffic citation was the reason my father set this exchange in motion. I do have a history of high marks in school, and I’d be honored if the church
one day found me worthy of welcome amongst them, but I do rather enjoy the adrenaline I find on the racetrack—and, unfortunately, the motorway as well. My apologies for my father not being completely honest. I fear he’s rather…well, ashamed of me.”
My mother speaks up, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I’m sure that’s not true. He just worries, like all parents. Besides, we all have our vices, dear—and as far as teenagers go, speeding is dangerous. But it could be worse. Right, honey?”
“I suppose,” my father says under his breath, but I can see the internal debate plaguing his thoughts from where I sit. “Well, I won’t have you racing on my land, or on my watch. Understood?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“And as far as your honesty, I appreciate it. So, uh…” My father smiles, slowly. “I’ll tell you a little secret about my boy Sebastian. His mother thought it was best he leave a certain run-in with the law he had last year off his application. He and his buddies thought cow-tipping was all fun and games. The cows won, of course—they were still standing on all fours, watching as my son was arrested for trespassing.”
I can’t bite my lip any harder without drawing blood, desperate not to laugh as I usually do when this story is retold. But Kingston doesn’t refrain, chuckling freely as his shoulders relax.
“Listen, nobody’s perfect, and my rules are pretty basic: I don’t tolerate drugs, alcohol, or truancy. Curfew is nonnegotiable. And if you so much as make one move on my daughter, your father will need to send a separate search party for each of your missing limbs. We clear?”
“Extremely, sir,” Kingston replies with a shaky nod.
Somehow, the conversation takes a sudden turn from dismemberment to my father’s fascination with the Autobahn, and how Kingston vacations in Germany often to enjoy this so-called “superhighway.” I’m not surprised, as Sebastian already had that particular destination mapped out before he left as a day of travel he plans to take during his holidays.
Unable to forget my father’s mention of Kingston living here, I butt in and ask, “What time are you taking Kingston to his dorm? I’m sure he’s anxious to get settled in.”
My parents exchange a glance, my mom unable to look at me as my father explains.
“The college called. Seems they’re not so organized over there, and wound up short a room. So we agreed, as his host family, for him to stay here. I’m sure you can understand and make him feel at home, right?”
It’s more a statement than a question, which I simply nod in answer to. But my stomach clenches at the idea of spending an entire school year with Kingston only a room away. We’re going to need some ground rules.
“Echo?” My brother spits food crumbs as he talks. “Will you help me with my magic tricks today, pleeease?” Lots of food escapes with the “p” sound.
“Sure, as soon as I’m done cleaning the bleachers. That might take a while, though.”
I continue eating, but with my eyes cast downward now as I feign aloofness and mask any trace of smugness, sure of what I’d find if I looked up.
And…
“I suppose,” my father grumbles, “Sammy can help you clean to get it done faster, so you can help him. But this is for Sammy’s benefit, young lady. You’re not being let off the hook by any means.”
“Yes, sir, of course not.” I nod, my head still slightly lowered since I know I can’t tame my knowing smirk.
~~~~~
After breakfast is cleaned up, I change into ratty clothes. Just as I’m heading out to the pavilion, there’s a knock at the front door.
“Come in!” my father hollers from his recliner.
That’s the nice, yet-sometimes-annoying thing about our town, Kelly Springs: no need to check a peephole, because everyone knows everyone.
And in walk Savannah and Clay—neither of whom I was expecting to see today, but I know why they’re here. Not many new or exciting things ever happen in this town, and the arrival of a young, hot guy with a hypnotic accent is too tempting for Savannah to resist checking out, or Clay to resist sizing up.
And how do they know he’s here instead of at the dorm, as previously planned? Because of another phenomenon in Kelly Springs: Everyone knows everything.
“What brings you two by?” my father asks as he turns down the TV. “You just missed breakfast.”
“Thought it’d be polite to come meet your visitor,” Clay answers him, though he stares at me. It’s no secret Clay has always harbored a small crush on me—one Sebastian has shut down several times, with both words and fists. And if Clay thinks my brother’s absence has changed my unreciprocated feelings, he’s dead wrong.
“That’s mighty kind.”
My dad starts to get up, to go find Kingston I assume. But the latter saves him the trouble by choosing that moment to descend the stairs, with Sammy at his side.
Savannah bounds forward, using the voice I thought was reserved solely for Sebastian. “Hi! I’m Savannah Turner, Echo’s best friend. It’s really nice to meet you, Kingston.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Kingston responds, taking her hand in his and laying a kiss on her knuckles. Yeah, he’s gonna want to watch that if he expects my parents to believe there’s a chance in hell he’s considering a future in the priesthood.
Clay steps forward, lowering Savannah’s arm for her and extending his own for a handshake, his voice as gruff as he can get it. “I’m Clay Morris.”
Kingston shakes his hand and eyes him up, a small curve forming at the corner of his mouth. He peers over at me and I’m shocked, because after only one night, I already know exactly what he’s thinking: Is this guy for real? Are those actual highlights in his hair?
I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter, but answer his unspoken question with a quick, subtle nod of my head.
“I’m Sebastian’s best friend,” Clay continues, seemingly unperturbed by our silent exchange. “Figure it’s my duty to get to know the guy who’ll be living in the room next to our Echo.” He taps the end of my nose, and I jerk my head away, like I always do. “If you’re not busy, me and my boys thought we’d take ya out—show ya around town.”
“It’ll be fun!” Savannah exclaims as she claps and bounces in place, making sure Kingston notices how well-endowed she is. And he obviously does, if the widening of his eyes is any indication. Not exactly sure when she became “one of the boys,” but it looks like Savannah has every intention of joining in on this so-called “tour.”
Enough of this fun. I grab Sammy’s hand and head for the door.
“Let’s go, Mr. Magic. Daylight’s burning!”
Chapter 3
After a long day of cleaning and magic tricks, I emerge from the shower, more than ready for bed. It’s nearly ten and there’s no sign of Kingston, but I’m not sure what my parents set his curfew at—nor do I care. He may be an adult, placed as a junior in American college, but I know my father will still establish a curfew of some sort, just like he did with Sebastian.
I wake sometime later to a nearly full moon, trying its best to illuminate my dark room. However, I soon realize it wasn’t the intruding glow that disturbed my sleep, but a commotion coming from downstairs.
I sit up to listen, unable to make out precisely what’s being said, but catch one undeniable thing: John Kelly, AKA my dad, is not happy.
I slip out of bed and tiptoe across the room as quickly and quietly as possible, opening my door a crack to more effectively eavesdrop on the conversation in which my father is laying into Kingston mercilessly.
“I don’t care how old you are!” The ferocity in my dad’s yelling shakes the walls. “As long as you’re in my home, you’re my responsibility! There are two children in this house who, like you, have school tomorrow! You will obey and respect my rules—one of which is curfew!” He pauses briefly. “I thought we went over this. Do we now understand each other?”
“Perfectly, sir. This was one-off, I assure you.”
“One-off what?”
&n
bsp; I’m with Dad. No idea what he means, either.
“Oh, um…” Kingston replies as he scrambles for, I’m guessing, American terms. “It will only happen this once?” He more asks than tells, sounding unsure of both whether he’s explained himself and will be given another chance.
“You’re damn right about that. Because if there is a next time, you’ll find yourself on a plane home. Now go to bed—and don’t wake my children!”
I smother my laugh at the irony. He just woke the dead with his screaming.
Kingston’s foot hits the bottom stair and I duck back inside my room, taking care to shut my door silently before jumping into bed.
Just as my heartrate slows and my eyelids start naturally resting shut, that riveting accent breaks the silence.
“Did my scolding amuse you, Love?”
Busted.
I jolt up in bed to find Kingston leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom—on my side. Apparently, his slinking skills surpass my own, because he obviously knows I was listening but didn’t hear him come through the bathroom. Too bad he failed to use those stealthy maneuvers to get past my dad successfully.
“It did, thank you for asking. And on a very important side note, you best knock before you ever come through to my room again. Got it?”
“Understood.”
His shoulders slump just a fraction, and Lord knows why, but I find myself offering him some helpful advice.
“My dad’s bark is much worse than his bite. As long as you’re not a repeat offender, he won’t mention this again. He’s a fair man—not one of those parents who holds things over your head and keeps reminding you of past mistakes. If he says it’s settled, it’s settled.”
“That’ll be bloody refreshing.” He walks farther into my room, and motions to have a seat on my bed. “May I?”
“Uh…” I hesitate, but then I think of how I hope Sebastian is being made to feel welcome, and guided kindly through his blunders.
Filthy Foreign Exchange Page 2