Filthy Foreign Exchange

by Angela Graham

  “Sure,” I sigh in surrender as I move my legs, scooting back as far against the headboard as possible. “So, are you just bummed about the run-in with my dad, or was your lil’ journey around our town not the bee’s knees?” I smirk at my use of the phrase I found in my translation research and thought funny.

  “You’d have to ask my nan, since only she would ever call or think something to be ‘the bee’s knees.’ But no.” His smile, having only just formed, fades back to a sullen frown. “I’d have preferred to clean the circus tent with you.”

  “Holy shit! We got a circus tent?” I feign giddy surprise. “This I’ve gotta see!”

  “Is ‘tent’ not the right term for the large, colorful…tent across the way?”

  “It could be, I suppose, although we refer to it as the pavilion. But circus? Not correct at all. Do you even know what a circus is?”

  “I believe so. Your parents told me about your family’s history: trapeze acts, ropes, and air dancing. A circus, yes?”

  “A circus, no. You see any elephants running around? Tigers? Bearded women?” I cock my head to the side, my tone edged with affronted sarcasm.

  “Well, no. But—”

  “But nothing. My family and I are skilled performers—aerial artists. Our shows are a town legacy started by my great-grandmother, the renowned Daisy Kelly—hence the name of the town being Kelly Springs. We don’t have sideshows, four-headed snakes, or a bunch of clowns climbing out of one small car. We work damn hard on our artistic expressions of dance, flexibility, and balance.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as I wait for him to absorb the distinct difference. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve delivered this same speech after enduring ridicule for being a so-called “circus freak.”

  “You’re quite breathtaking when your knickers are in a twist,” he responds with a chuckle. “I apologize for my ignorance, and I look forward to seeing a performance. Sounds absolutely brilliant.”

  “Well, thank you, I guess.” I don’t let him off easy, though, my body language saying I’m still slightly offended. And I’m undecided whether his words are genuine or he’s just reciting magnetic apologies out of habit. “Are we done now, or did you want to talk more about your shitty day?”

  And why it was shitty. Which I’d never admit I’m dying to know.

  He falls onto his back across my bed and throws one arm over his eyes.

  “Oh my God, are you drunk?” I hiss.

  He uncovers his eyes and turns his head toward me. “Do I smell pissed?”

  Pissed? Sure, he seems a little upset, but what exactly does pissed-off smell like? Or does he mean he pissed his pants? I swear to God, if he’s lying on my bed with piss on…

  Then it dawns on me. The language-barrier thing is rearing its puzzling head again. “Pissed” means “drunk” to him.

  I answer casually, as if I knew what he meant the whole time. “No, but you’d have to be either drunk or insane to think it’s okay to lie down on my bed.” I kick him in the leg. “Sit up! If Sebastian could see you now…” I shake my head. “Let’s just say there are boundaries—and you just crossed a big one.”

  He pushes himself up slowly, showcasing the corded strength in his arms while shining a coy smile my way. “Ah, yes, Sebastian. Tell me more about this famous brother of yours.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” My hands ball in defensive fists. “My brother is talented, kind, and my best friend. If you say a single bad word about him, I’ll knock your teeth out.”

  “Absolutely beautiful. I may just have to keep your knickers in knots—it’s a magnificent look on you.” He laughs, edging a bit closer. “I meant no disrespect. I merely heard a lot about him today, and the adoration in you and Sam’s eyes when you speak of him is unmistakable. I’m curious to learn more of the fellow whose place I’ve taken.”

  “You haven’t taken anything. No one could ever take Sebastian’s place.” I shrug a shoulder. “He wanted to see new things. I get it, I guess. But he’ll be back, and you’ll be gone. So you’re borrowing his place, at best.”

  “Of course. And it may be of interest to you to know he spoke just as highly of you, and the rest of his family, in his video. But especially you.”

  “What video?”

  “Forgive me,” he mumbles, turning away. “Perhaps I spoke out of turn.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” I poke him on the shoulder. “What video?”

  He exhales heavily. “Your brother made a video, to accompany his application to the exchange program. That’s what drew my father’s attention to him particularly, and had him working this whole thing out with quick determination. Suddenly being ordered to pack, out of nowhere, seemed dodgy, so I did some searching on my father’s computer and found it.”

  “I see,” I say in a hushed voice, tamping down the sting I can’t help but feel for him. I’m happy Sebastian has an adventurous spirit and always goes after what he wants. I just thought what he wanted was here—doing our act together, helping our family.

  “So, if you saw this video…why the questions about him?”

  “It’s late.” He starts to stand. “A chat for a different time, perhaps.”

  I lean forward and tug him back down by the bottom of his shirt. “Stop doing that! You can’t just spit out elusive sentences, then act like you’re too busy for follow-up questions. It’s a transparent game that I won’t fall for, and honestly, it’s pissing me off! Not the drunk kind of pissed, either—the it-makes-me-mad kind—so knock it off. You brought it up because you wanted me to ask, and I’m asking. So talk.”

  “No rubbish with you, then?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Brilliant.”

  “Talk.”

  He rubs his chin, taking his sweet time. “I have to wonder how an esteemed bloke who earns your unshakeable respect—no easy feat, I’ve already surmised—can be the same man who associates with such tossers.”

  Tossers, tossers... I wrack my brain for the translation, but finally give up. “Say again? Or differently.”

  “Your best mate, Savannah? Sebastian’s girlfriend, correct?” he asks, ignoring my request.

  “Yesss,” I drawl. “Why? No, you know what? Never mind. I got it. Sebastian’s amazing, but he’s also a twenty-year-old guy, just like you. Doesn’t take anything away from his character that, like you, he happened to notice huge boobs and a round ass attached to a perky blonde. But that’s not why he’s with her.”

  “I would hope not, because if that’s truly all he noticed, it was short-sighted. There’s much more to see there.” He mutters the last part under his breath—a weird layer to it that suggests it isn’t a compliment. “And Clay, his mate—your admirer. How’s he feel about that?”

  “Sebastian is well aware of Clay’s…I don’t know, crush? Flirtiness? Whatever you want to call it. And he’s already put a stop to it immediately, and repeatedly. Not that he needed to.” I shiver. “Never gonna happen.”

  “And that’s your only observation?” he asks, with an unmistakable, unspoken second question mysteriously underlining the one he airs.

  “I don’t spend a lot of time observing Clay. Why?”

  He stands again, and this time I let him. I don’t like the dubious tingle in the room, and I’m ready for this conversation to end.

  “Good people look for the good in others, so naturally, it’s what they find. You’re…”

  He stops himself from completing the thought, then smiles down at me warmly.

  “Sleep well, Love.”

  I make a mental note to Google this “Love” term he keeps using. Is he being patronizing, or far too forward? Either way, it’s not good.

  “I leave for school at seven-thirty sharp. Be ready, and I’ll drop you off at the college on my way. Unless you want to walk,” I offer to his back, unsure why I added snark at the end.

  He stops in the bathroom doorway and glances at me over his shoulder. “Clay offered me a ride, but thank you.”

  I s
wear, the more we talk to clear things up, the fuzzier they get.

  “Um, Clay doesn’t go to college. And call me crazy, but didn’t you sort of just say you don’t like him?”

  “I like to know whom and what I’m dealing with. Accepting his offer is to my benefit.”

  “But why would he get up at the crack of dawn to drive another guy?”

  He grins. “Seems he and I must think a lot alike.”

  “Whatever,” I groan, completely exasperated. He already uses words I have to translate, so all the “code talk” and backhanded questions he’s not directly asking being added to the mix are too much for me at this late hour. “See ya tomorrow, Super Sleuth.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I can still hear his faint laughter as my eyes close.

  Chapter 4

  My shower the next morning does little to settle the rapidly growing tension in my stomach from the thought of going back to school. It’s not that I hate high school—I enjoy learning, and for the most part my classes are interesting enough, with engaging teachers—I just don’t quite fit in as a typical high-school student. They’re just…not interesting. Or engaging. They say stupid shit, while doing or having just done stupid shit.

  So I make a concerted effort to stick to myself. It gets lonely sometimes, but it’s better to be alone than to be part of behavior and activities that will only leave me ashamed, disgusted, and/or in trouble.

  But today, the first day of my senior year, I’m trying to be optimistic—if for no other reason than it’s almost over.

  When I finally turn off the water and open my eyes for the first time since rinsing my hair, it’s not the presence of Kingston’s note on the door that surprises me, but what it says.

  Pink is definitely your colour.

  Concerned at what the hell he’s implying, I snatch my towel from its hook and quickly run it over my body and hair to dry off. Of course, my first instinct is to get dressed, then pound on his door to ask him what kind of crudeness he’s hinting at.

  But the moment I open my top dresser drawer, my question is answered. My vision blurs with a red haze of anger, my face feeling hotter the longer I stare.

  There, laid out perfectly on top of all my unmentionables, is the hot-pink, glittery thong Savannah had bought me as a gag gift for my sixteenth birthday—a gift no one else ever saw or knew anything about, and that I clearly should’ve thrown away instead of tucking it in a drawer that Kingston apparently snooped all the way in the very back of.

  That son of a bitch!

  Donned in only my robe after throwing my towel angrily across the room, I run to my window when I hear a car horn. Clay, the mysteriously over-eager chauffeur, is waiting outside.

  It takes no thought or effort on my part to shove open the window. I pop my head out at the same time Mr. Super Sleuth, now AKA Panty Burglar, struts out of the house.

  “Invade my privacy again, and I swear to God you’ll need to sleep with both eyes open!” I scream, not caring who hears me, my pulse racing with irritation.

  He peers up, a devious dance on his lips, and has the audacity to actually salute me.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am!?” I shout back as he swings open the door to Clay’s car. “Are you serious right now? How dare you! You arrogant—”

  “Echo?”

  My mother’s voice emerges from the front porch, followed by her perplexed face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if your father wakes up, he’ll be giving you both a full interrogation!”

  Crap. I grip the window ledge, struggling to reel in my unleashed fury.

  “Forgive us,” Kingston says to my mother, then looks up at me as he continues. “I borrowed the toothpaste from her bathroom drawer without asking this morning. I didn’t realize how offensive that would be taken. My mistake.”

  “Oh.” My mother smiles, obviously not having caught all of my yelling before or she wouldn’t be buying such a simple explanation and seeming so relieved right now. “Well, I’ll pick you up some of your own today. Is there anything else you need?”

  When he gives a quick head shake, she glares up at me. “Echo, apologize. Now.”

  If looks could kill, the one I have pinned on Kingston would incinerate him on the spot. He’s ballsy—I’ll give him that. If I tell the truth, my dad will have him shipped back home within the hour, which in turn would ruin things for Sebastian.

  And that’s the only reason I tamp down the venom in my next words, instead spitting them out as sugary sweet as possible as I leave the clear promise of revenge to my glare.

  “I’m sorry,” I lie, before slamming my bedroom window shut. I decide to try and pretend the incident never happened, because today is about tackling the atrocity of high-school cliques and I don’t have the energy to focus on both. Kingston’s real lecture will have to wait.

  ~~~~~

  Maybe it was the sparring match with Kingston that changed my hopeful determination to a glum, grouchy mood. Or perhaps I’m lacking the carefree chip in my brain that every other person surrounding me seems to have. But at least all I have to do is keep a friendly distance from everyone except Savannah and a few other girls I have cordial acquaintances with until graduation. Then I’ll never walk these halls again. It’s what I remind myself of all morning, but unfortunately, it’s barely working.

  My mother worries I’m missing out on the “best years of my life” by being a social introvert. I prefer to think of myself as socially selective; less than a handful of people, fellow students or otherwise, make the cut. My father, on the other hand, loves that I am focused and have never dated a single guy. Sebastian’s even more delighted about that latter fact.

  I suspect that’s a big part of the reason I’ve always been friends with Savannah: I never have to worry that the spotlight may accidentally fall on me when she’s around. Except when I perform, of course—that’s the place I’d like to think I shine, but not for the audience as much as for myself and my family. It’s what I was born to do.

  “Am I about to be gob smacked by some amazing trick that only your locker performs?”

  The unmistakable accent is accompanied by a captivating laugh, and I glance over my shoulder to find Kingston standing directly behind me.

  “What in the hell are you doing here? And what are you talking about?” I slam my locker shut, then whip around. “You have classes…at another school…don’t you?”

  My brows knit together. Sebastian always had a full day, so I just assumed the same would go for Kingston. Yet I’m about to head to lunch, and here stands a college guy in my high-school hallway. Not your everyday occurrence.

  “I’m on lunch and don’t have another class for an hour, so I accepted your lovely principal’s invitation to come tour an American high school.” When I say nothing, my eyes honing in on him questioningly, he chuckles again. “Right. I thought it odd myself, but then I couldn’t help wondering what you were up to, so here I am. You’ve been staring at your locker for over five minutes. I’m anxiously awaiting the show that must be coming.”

  My brows slide lower, my glare now as scathing as my retort’s about to be. “I was thinking. I’d suggest you try it sometime.” I step into him and poke at his firm chest. “Like, before you’re tempted to snoop through my room ever again!”

  His eyes brighten, as does his smile. “Couldn’t help myself. But please, feel free to peruse any and all of my private—”

  “Mr. Hawthorne!”

  Principal Callaway greets Kingston excitedly as she rounds the corner, halting his next words in the process.

  “There you are. I was just speaking with our football coach, who’d like to meet you. His grandfather lived in London for a short time years ago, and—”

  “After lunch, perhaps?” Kingston interrupts, but smoothly enough that she doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m curious as to the cafeteria setup on this side of the pond.”

  “Oh, of course. Just stop by my office when you’re d
one, then.”

  “Really?” I quip as soon as she’s gone. “You want to check out the cafeteria?”

  “Is it worth a look?” A patronizing stare is my only reply, and he grins widely. “No, I’ve little interest in the cafeteria, nor do I wish to hear about your coach’s grandfather. So tell me, what is worth a gander in this place? Besides you, of course.”

  “The exit, which you’re welcome to use at any time.”

  I spin on my heel and start down the hall.

  He’s relentless, suddenly at my side and walking in step beside me. “Come, now, don’t you have anyone you want to introduce me to? I’m sure you have a few friends—”

  “Very few. And you don’t need any introduction—they’ll find you, trust me. So as long as you’re here, feel free to pretend you don’t know me.” I lean in closer, ensuring he can hear my blatantly honest tone clearly. “Won’t bother me a bit. I promise.”

  “I hear your brother ruled this high school,” he replies, completely disregarding my request. “At least, that’s what his mates tell me. So if I were the infamous Sebastian, what would I do with my hour here? Check up on my dear, wee sister, I presume.”

  I continue our face-off with a deepening scowl. “Let me remind you, again: You’re not Sebastian, and I’m far from wee, so how do I say…” I tap my chin to feign deep thought. “Oh, yes—bugger off! That’s the British term, right? What’s with the ‘wee?’”

  He laughs, admiration in his eyes. “Very impressive, Love. A slip of the tongue from my summers spent in Scotland. Still applicable, though.” He winks.

  “Kingston!” I hear Savannah squeal as she skips toward us, no doubt having overheard his scarily accurate summation of my brother—who would, in fact, check up on me if he returned to this school.

  “Morning, Echo,” she greets me when she reaches us. “Kingston.”

  She’s oddly compelled to repeat his name, this time in a purr, and...she may have something in her eye? Lashes shouldn’t flutter that rapidly for any other reason.

  And before I even realize or can do anything to escape it, there’s a full congregation surrounding us. I take a silent inventory, and if I’m correct, we indeed have the entire cheerleading squad in our presence—exactly what I knew, and was dreading, would happen.