Foreign Exchange (3 page)

H
ope you’re having a great time. At least one of us gets to go to Europe, right?

Sawyer

I can feel him watching me, and I glance an inch toward him, hoping it’ll make him look away, but he keeps his eyes right on me. His hair falls in his face and he takes his hand off of mine to push it away. I wonder if he'll put it back over mine. I can’t help wanting him to. He rests it on the edge of the desk instead, but his other arm is still warm against my back.

“Maybe there are some reasons it’s better to have her out of the country for a bit.”
His voice is quiet.

I know he’s talking about Tristan. But more importantly, I’m pretty sure he’s talking about me. About me
, and him. And how Tristan had been adamant about keeping us away from each other for years.

But this couldn’t be real. This must be one of those situations where he’s trying to make me think he’s offering something, only to pull it away, like h
e did with Jessica earlier today.

I jolt out of my seat. “Oh! Uh
! I should go!”

He pulls back, and in half a second I’m at his bedroom door, then through
it, and down the stairs.

“Thanks for showing me the email. I’ll
, uh, have to think about that or talk to Tristan, or…whatever.” I need to get out of here so I can hide my babbling head under something thick and opaque, preferably with very little oxygen.

When I reach the front door, it’s locked, since we’d come in through the garage, and
I spend a few seconds trying to figure out their complicated deadbolt. Sawyer catches up, reaches past me, and clicks it open. He holds his hand there, but keeps his eyes a few inches from mine.

“You don’t have to go, Jamie. I’ll back off, I promise.”
His voice is still quiet.

I force myself to breathe. So he
was
coming onto me. It wasn’t just my imagination. Still, it only takes the small amount of brainpower I have going at the moment to realize… this would be all kinds of stupid. Tristan
just
left. I’m leaving for Spain in less than two weeks. And even if Tristan’s opinion didn’t matter to me, which it
does
, I know Sawyer doesn’t want to be with some dorky high school girl.

“I
...do have to.” My hands are flapping in explanation. “Go, I mean. Homework. And Eddy.”

He looks at me intently.
He’s used to getting his way with girls and I’m not sure he knows what to do with this. Finally, he nods and pulls his hand away from the lock. “Well. I wish you could stay.”

I want to say it back
, because it’s true. I wish I could stay, too. But nothing can ruin a moment like my mother having a conniption fit.

I’m barely out his door when
her screeching carries across the front lawn.

“Jamie, I need you now
! I have to leave!” She’s so loud Mrs. Allerby from across the street looks out her window to see what the emergency is. My face ignites and I force myself not to look back and see if Sawyer’s watching this.

But he is. I can feel it.

I square my shoulders and march across to my front door. Who cares if he’s watching? Maybe if I make obvious exactly what my boring, doormat of a life is like, he won’t feel the need to play head games with me.

I get inside and Mom’s not happy, but at least she’s in a hurry.

Deep breath, Jamie.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I force out as I run through the house to find her in the kitchen.

“I don’t need your apologies, just get in here and feed your brother so I can get to work. You want me to lose my job, Jamie?”

I never know what to say to
her rhetorical questions. When I don’t answer, she drills her eyes into me like she expects a response. When I do answer…well, let’s just say it doesn’t usually get a laugh.

Be nice, be nice, be nice
,
I tell myself. I grab the spoon out of Mom’s hand and say, “Go. I’ve got it.”

“Yeah, now you do,” she mumbles on her way out of the room. She’s late for work all on her own at least a couple times a week,
but I decide not to mention that. She makes a racket near the front door and then it slams. She didn’t even say goodbye.

Eddy lets out a grunt from his chair where he’s strapped in at the table.
“Hungry?”
I sign to him absently. He jumps a little and the chair makes a clack against the floor. “Okay, okay, I’ll hurry.” He probably won’t read my lips, but sometimes I talk to him anyway, hoping, I guess. I dip the spoon and he lets out a howl of a noise.

“What?!”
I sign and say at the same time. “What the hell do you want from me?”

His eyes well up. I hate this. I mean
…I don’t hate my brother. I love Eddy, but he’s so hard to communicate with, and sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t even want to try.

Eddy looks down, and I follow his eyes. A large red mark runs across his upper arm.

“Oh, it hurts?”
I sign and say.
“Are you strapped in too tight?”

Eddy nods and I reach over to loosen the nylon strap, but then decide to unbuckle it instead.

You’ve had a hard night?
I sign.
So have I
.
Can we just do this calmly?

He looks up at me
with a blank stare and I take off the other strap.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

He knocks his fist, signing
yes
and it immediately brightens my day. Eddy has his little moments where I know more goes in than anyone realizes. He knows his signs. He could probably even feed himself, bathe himself, and go to the bathroom by himself.

If he wanted to, that is.

Mom keeps saying he’s getting worse, which, to be honest, I think only makes him act worse. If we had a little more patience and energy, if we had a nurse to help out a few hours per week like we used to, I’m convinced Eddy would be a new kid.

Soon,
I tell myself again.
Just stick to the plan.

I’m lost in thought, so I don’t notice Eddy pick up his spoon. It’s covered with mushed yam and chicken. I realize
, too late, that he’s still angry. He bangs the spoon on the table and little chunks of yam fly up at my face.

“Eddy, stop!” I grab his wrist, but he’s strong for an eleven-year-old. He keeps trying to bang it, but eventually I hold it steady against the table. “Calm down
, Eddy,” I say slowly, because my hands are busy. But he’s not looking at my lips. “I think we need to have dinner later.”

When
his arms stop pushing against mine, I reach down to undo his leg straps. But the second I do, his arm swipes across the table, which sends the whole bowl of yam and chicken flying.

I stare with my mouth open. Orange splotches cover the entire kitchen. The white cupboards. The dishwasher and fridge. The floor, which
was already covered in dust bunnies and crumbs.

To top it
all off, the phone starts ringing. I ignore it.

“Fine. You don’t want to be nice?” I don’t bother signing. He doesn’t pay attention anyway. I heave him up in my arms and
haul him to the living room. What can I do with this kid, and why is he being belligerent with me? Me, who looks after him every single night, even though, he’s not even my kid…

Me, who treats him better than our own mother does?

I set him down on the couch. The phone had stopped ringing, but now it starts up again. Eddy grips my shoulders as though he’s afraid to let go and they’re starting to burn from the pressure. I hug him and rub his back methodically until his breathing slows and his hands loosen. When I get one arm free, I reach for the remote and flick on the TV.

As soon as his eyes settle there, I
grab the phone and check the caller ID. When R. Bishop comes up, my mouth goes dry. Since Tristan’s in Newark, it has to be Sawyer on their home phone.

What does that mean?
I place the phone carefully back on the charger, knowing I’m not brave enough to call back and find out.

Thankfully, Eddy’s slunk a little
deeper into the couch, and I take the opportunity to run upstairs and check my email to see if there’s anything from Tristan.

I sit down
in front of the computer, and open my email program. Two new emails stare up at me from my inbox. Tristan Bishop. And Sawyer Bishop.

“Um,” I say aloud, having a hard time
believing he wrote something to me. My mouse moves to Tristan's email, but then, at the last second, moves down and double-clicks Sawyer's name.

Hey James,

I hope things with your mom were okay. Sorry about scaring you off earlier. Not my intention. Give me another chance to hang out?

- S

I smile. He knows how to calm me down, at least a little. And surprisingly, calling me James helps.

I skip back to Tristan's email and open that one, my breath evening out
as I hear her repeating the word “incest” in my head.

Hey
Jamie!

Sawyer said you were
looking a little lonely today. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for the first day of school, but you’ve got to be strong, Jamie. Remember the bigger purpose here. Steer clear of Sawyer. Sawyer equals danger-to-our-plan. Remember that! You promised you didn’t like him. I’ll believe you as long as you stay away from him, even without me there to protect you.

Now
this
sounds more like my confident, and sometimes bossy, friend, Tristan…wanting to protect me from her playboy brother. Still, it irks me that she thinks she can tell me what to do when she's on her way out of the country. Besides, I’ve been working hard at staying strong, and I don’t like her inferring I haven’t been. I’m here keeping our plan to find my dad a secret from my mom day in and day out, after all, and she’s the one who matters the most.

I read on.

Don't tell anyone this, but I've been researching modeling agencies in Italy for a while, and I think I can really get some work over there, Jamie. Of course my main aim is to find your dad. I’ll work on that first, but keep your fingers crossed that I can find an agency willing to take me on too, K? It’s the modeling capital of the world! Can you imagine me walking a runway in Milan?

Her email includes a bunch of xo's at the bottom and a picture of her in front of the Jamba Juice in Newark airport. We’ve been regulars at Jamba Juice since we first met. The smile on her face is so genuine, so honest
, but she’s been researching modeling agencies for a while without even mentioning it? How long is a while? 

T
he more I think about it, though, this is an amazing opportunity for Tristan and I can’t help being excited right along with her. She’s always doing crazy things for modeling, like waltzing into advertising agencies and offering her image up for future campaigns. I’m kind of glad to see her taking a risk culturally too.

At first I’m at a loss for words. I
set my fingers on the keys and start with...

Why didn’t you tell me about
all these other plans, Tristan? I thought we told each other everything?

While I'm thinking over what else to write, I peer down into the living room, and thankfully, Eddy is still mesmerized by the TV
.

I
return to the email and sigh. It’s pretty sad that I don’t have a clue what to write to her and instead I want to write back to her brother. In fact, her command to me
not
to talk to him fuels me. She always gives me little squinty eyes and head shakes about talking to Sawyer, or she jokes about the incest thing, but she usually doesn't come right out and tell me not to, like she’s in charge of me or something. It would serve her right if I got friendly with Sawyer.

Besides, if she can keep things from me, I can keep things from her, too.

I right-click his name and hit Reply.

Hey Sawyer
, I forgot to ask you earlier…Jennifer Hartley wants to know if you have a spare copy of the brochure from Tristan’s foreign exchange program. If you do, could you bring it to school tomorrow?

Thanks,

Jamie

I look it over once, then go back and change my name to James. I know it’s a lame email, but
it's all I can think of to say besides,
you're so hot, please invite me back to your bedroom!
I hit Send, leave Tristan’s message barely started, and head down to clean up my yam-encrusted kitchen.

As I’m cleaning
, a new thought occurs to me: Even though my email was lame and didn’t respond to Sawyer’s apology, maybe it’ll be enough to make him write back and offer me a ride to school again tomorrow. It's not the same as his bedroom, but still.

When I’m done cleaning, I drop a bin of Tupperware in the living room for Eddy to sort
, then race up the stairs and jiggle my mouse to refresh the screen.