Foreign Exchange (6 page)

I clear my throat. “Okay,” I say, and look at the door handle. “I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

He
pauses, and I’m kind of expecting him to offer me a ride. But finally he nods and opens the door, looking slightly defeated.

Before he shuts
it behind him, I say, “I’m glad you were home tonight, Sawyer.”

His eyes soften
when he looks back at me. They don’t look at all like I’ve stroked his ego. More like I’ve just given him a hug.

H
e says, “Me too.”

And then he’s gone.

Chapter
Five

On my way to school, I look over the brochure for Bristolle Academic Exchange Program. I’ve never actually seen it close up, and again, the whole scenario strikes me as too good to be true. If anyone had gotten into an academic program, I'd think it would've been me. Not that I applied, or could ever leave Eddy for that long. And Tristan's not dumb or anything. She's just really focused on modeling.

But when she came up with the plan to help me find my dad, she became focused on this. All it had taken was a Google search, and we
’d found a convention my dad is slated to speak at. It’s in Milan, and so Tristan researched exchange programs and found one that would place her in Milan. Who knew it would all come together in the modeling capital of the world?

I think about her mo
deling in Europe, and I'm glad for her all over again. She’s gone to so much work to help me with my cause. It would be amazing if there were something in it for her too.

Today
I don’t even start the day with a sense of shyness. I paste a smile on my face and talk about Tristan’s trip to anyone who asks throughout the halls. I think about how Sawyer had considered himself her “publicist” and I love the fact that we suddenly have this in common.

When I track Jennifer down in the hallways, I tell her she can get the brochure back to me when she’s done with it.
The only down part of my day is when I see Sawyer leave after school with Caitlyn Powers, a beautiful cheerleader. I didn't talk with him at all today, and I'm left feeling partly jealous, and partly like last night might have been all in my imagination.

Did I really hang out with Sawyer
last night? Was he seriously hinting at an invitation to hang out alone with me in my darkened house?
Couldn't have been
, I tell myself. I must have been tired, or reading into things.

I
spend the whole evening watching my little brother and working on my Rosetta Stone Spanish program to brush up for Barcelona.
Yo hablo, tú hablas, nosotros hablamos
.

Ironically, t
he software was the last present I ever got from my dad. He knew I was into languages, and since I was already fluent in Italian and French, he thought Spanish would make an excellent addition. He sent me the program many Christmases ago, and Mom had ranted on and on about how she could have made a lot more use of the four hundred bucks that the software cost. Not that Ms. Independent ever would have taken the money from him. I never told her it was the best gift I’d ever been given, and yeah, I would have appreciated it more if it had come from
her,
but I still love it, nonetheless.

I’d tried to send my dad a thank you note, but it came back
“Return to Sender.” This wasn’t unusual, since he moved around a lot. The unusual part was that I never heard from him again. I keep thinking back to how angry Mom had been about the expensive––and what she considered “useless”––gift, and I’m quite certain she must have told him to leave us all alone.

Unfortunately,
I can’t concentrate on languages tonight. Instead, I’m channeling the new upbeat and fearless Jamie, and typing an email to Tristan.

Hey Tristan,

Are you in Milano yet? What’s it like? What is your host family like? Have you been to any modeling agencies? I want to hear EVERYTHING!!!

School’s the same as always. Can’t wait to hear how yours is different. Sawyer
is in my World Architecture class.

I figure I
’d better add this, in case he tells her and she thinks I’m hiding it.

But guess who else? Matt Driediger!
He smiled at me on the first day. I think you’re right. I think he’ll help me sneak away from the trip if I’m really nice to him. And the way things are going? Maybe I won’t even need you to meet me in Barcelona. I’m feeling pretty bold these days.

My fingers pause, and my thoughts flit to Sawyer
again. Tristan has always told me relationships don’t have to be permanent or serious at our age. Dating and flirting should be fun. She drills this into me because I make a lot of excuses for why I won’t talk to different guys. The bottom line is that I need to stop being so terrified and take some risks. And right now I feel like I could handle that—taking a risk with a boy. But my risk-taking thoughts aren’t leading to Matt. They’re leading to Sawyer. I do my best to shake them off.

W
rite me AS SOON as you can! I can’t wait to hear all about it!

Miss you, love you, can’t wait to see you
!

Jamie

I hit Send, but then click back to Sawyer's emails from yesterday, needing to see that they're real. Wanting to hope that they mean something to more than just me.

Chapter Six

By the next morning
, I’ve come up with a new mantra.
Take risks, take risks, take risks
. Whether it’s with Sawyer or Matt or somebody else, I don’t know if I care.

I want to be brave.

All morning, I let that idea run around in my head. Even though Tristan’s been drilling it into me for ages, taking risks without any prodding is a completely new concept for me.

Jennifer shows up at my locker, interrupting my thoughts.

“So the thing is,” she says, “this looks like a really great program, and I would love to apply for next year, but I’ve tried this email three times and it keeps bouncing back.” She points to the contact information on the back.

“Hmm. I don’t know. Did you look at the
Web site and try to make contact through there?”

She nods. “It’s the same email address. Can you ask Tristan’s parents if they have a phone number for the office or anything?”

I take the brochure from her. “Of course, yeah. I’ll look into it.”

By the time lunch rolls around and I spot Sawyer across the cafeteria, I think about this being a possible opener to take a risk: Two birds with one stone.

“Hey, um, Sawyer.” I can’t believe how robotic my voice sounds.

He looks up at me, offers a relaxed smile, and says, “James.”

The rest of the girls and few stray guys at his table give me looks with raised eyebrows, like they’re wondering why I’m bothering them.

“Hey, um, remember that, um, foreign exchange brochure?” I swallow but there’s nothing in my mouth to go down. Instead I clear my dry throat. “It was for Jennifer Hartley? She was asking to see it?” I motion over my shoulder. Sawyer stares up at me, blankly, and I know it’s not making a shred of sense why I’m reminding him of this. My first inclination is to turn and walk away. He seems to always know exactly what I’m thinking. What if he knows that I was thinking about him in bed while I was trying to get to sleep last night?

But my
take risks
mantra interrupts my thoughts. I pull my shoulders back and think to myself:
So what if he does?

I clear my throat again and scan around him looking for an open
seat. There really isn’t one. “Anyway, I was hoping to talk with you about it.”

His mouth spreads into a big smile. A big
knowing
smile. “Sure,” he says. “Do you want to sit here?” The way he looks down makes me think he’s talking about right beside him, where he’s piled a stack of textbooks. I wonder if he does that on purpose, and lays his jacket on the other side, so girls won’t squish up against him at lunch.

I nod
, and to my surprise—and everyone else’s at the table, apparently—he picks up the textbooks and places them on top of his jacket on his other side. Marci Voytek is on that side, and when the textbooks poke her hip, she looks down at them and then up at Sawyer. It takes her several long seconds to realize he’s waiting for her to move down the bench. Away from him.

I feel eyes on me from every direction as I suck in a breath and step one leg over the bench
, then the other.

I know a few of the people at the table by name, but the way they’re staring at me, it’s like I’m from another planet. I have the urge to say, “He’s my
neighbor
,” like that’s all it is. But I don’t. Because it isn’t. At least not for me.

Take risks, take risks, take risks.

I force my legs to lower me down onto the bench beside Sawyer, discreetly trying to let out my long-held breath as I do it. My leg touches his, but there’s no room to pull it away.

“Hey, Jamie,” a few of the others at Sawyer’s table say. Most of them have never spoken a word to me, but they say it casually, like we’re old friends.

“Hi,” I say. Then I turn to Sawyer, who’s so close, and I say, “Hi,” in a quieter voice, like I haven't already said it to him.

He suppresses a smile. “Hi, James,” he says,
again, this time almost laughing.

Marci stands and says she has to get some stuff done before class. I don’t believe her. I don’t think anyone believes her, but people tell her they’ll see her later, anyway.

I look back at Sawyer, and he’s watching me, not paying attention to the conversation. His leg is still against mine, even though there’s now plenty of room for him to move away.

I ask him, “Have you heard from Tristan again?” like the big chicken that I am.
Sure, Jamie, go ahead and bring up the one solid excuse you can think of to cool things off between you. Some risk-taker you are.

He shakes his head. “But I’m not surprised. I’m a little shocked she wrot
e to me the first time so quickly.”

I don’t want to talk about Tristan anymore. But for lack of any other brilliant words filling my brain, I say, “You think
she got there okay?”

He nods. “
I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything. Don’t worry.”

I am worried
, but not about Tristan. I’m worried about the fact that I don’t seem to have any control over my sweat glands as soon as Sawyer is in my vicinity.  I wipe my hands on my jeans.

“Where’s your lunch?” he asks.

Stupid me. I’d left it over at Jennifer’s table with my books when I first came in. “Um, I’m not very hungry.”

He holds out half a ham sandwich toward me. “You sure?”

I want to reach over and take it from him, if nothing else, so our hands have a chance to touch. Just to see if he will.
But seriously, Jamie. Get a grip!
At that second, as though my body is conspiring against me, my stomach lets out a loud rumble.

I close my eyes in embarrassment. When I open them, Sawyer’s chuckling and placing the half sandwich in front of me. “Here, I think you need it more than I do.”

I pick up the sandwich and take a bite, trying not to look as disappointed as I feel about missing a stupid touch of our fingers. But then Sawyer offers his open hand with a few grapes in the middle.

“Grape?” he asks.

I nod my head, too vigorously. I couldn’t possibly take a grape without touching his hand.

I wonder if he knows that. I wonder if he planned it that way. I wonder if I need therapy.

I reach over and get my fingers around a grape. I touch his palm, letting my fingers linger there for a second to feel his warmth on my fingertips.

“Take a couple,” he says.

Which gives me a chance to leave my fingers there a little longer, to fumble around on his palm until I get a couple of grapes in my grasp. I haven’t breathed in several minutes. Our entire table––and possibly, the entire lunchroom––is transfixed by our hands, but I let my fingers wander upward toward his, even though there are no grapes in that direction. Both of us stare down at his palm full of grapes, without saying a word.

“Can I have one?” Sophie says from across the table, breaking our intense finger-touching moment. “I
love
green grapes.” I pull my hand away and without missing a beat, Sawyer moves his hand over toward her. He turns his palm and pours them into her empty Tupperware container.

“Sure. Have the rest.”

I turn back to Sawyer and give him my best version of a coy smile. He runs a hand through his long bangs, pushing them away from his face.

He’s nervous too. Whether from me or from everyone watching
us, I know he is. It fuels me. As I’m trying to decide whether I should whisper something with innuendo, or reach under the table and put my hand on his leg—both
huge
risks—I hear my name from behind.

I turn to see Jennifer walking toward me, my books and brown bag outstretched. “I’m heading
out. Didn’t want to leave these behind.” She has my lunch, which I had indicated to Sawyer I hadn’t brought.

So now it seems obvious
that I’m a total dorky bonehead who was too shy to just tell him where my lunch really was. As I turn and reach for my books, though, Sawyer turns too, so we’re facing each other. The way he looks at me, I swear he must think dorky boneheads are attractive.

It’s not until I walk away that I realize I didn’t ta
lk about anything to do with the exchange program like I’d meant to.

Through World Architecture class, we sneak glances at each other. And when I think about it, this
is
fun. Tristan told me the casual dating thing could be a blast, and I hadn’t believed her—it always seemed more stressful than anything—but maybe that’s because my last casual date, Reed, was a bad example. He’d taken me to a movie, I’d had to make up a story about a biology project to tell my mom, and at the end of the night, he gave me these pressure-filled kisses that made me feel like I owed him more.

This feels way different.
Easy. And what’s wrong with having some fun? Letting myself go a little? It doesn’t have to be serious or mean
everything.

When the bell goes at the end of class, Sawyer sits there for a m
oment, packing up his books slowly, so I do too.

When the room is almost cleared, he says, “I told you I know how to back off.” He leans toward me a little, like it’s a secret, just between us. And I guess it is.
I wonder if that's why he hadn't talked to me yesterday. He hadn't talked to me until I'd purposely come to find him. “I’m around…you know…whenever.” He runs a hand through his long bangs, which instantly makes them look messy and sexy all at once.

His invitation isn’t clear, but then again, they never are. As I stare at him, Tristan’s voice comes into my head
, but not her words about staying away from her brother. Her charge to me: to take more risks.

Sawyer’s waiting for me to say something, and so I do.

“How about now?”

“Now?” He rakes a hand through his hair again.  “Like walking to class?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, since I wasn’t exactly set on what I was suggesting. Walking to class together is as good of a plan as any.

Somehow I get my wobbly legs to take me toward the hallway, but this is what I’m thinking:
I did it! I really did it! I took a risk.
And in a weird way, I think Tristan would be proud.

But as we near the swarm of students, it occurs to me that Sawyer’s not saying a word. Great, I called his bluff and it really
is
a bluff. He was obviously trying to make me uncomfortable for the fun of it, and now he doesn’t know how to reject me publicly without seeming like a complete jerk.

T
elling him to forget it would be too humiliating, so I move into the hallway with my lips pressed tightly together.

He moves up beside me, but doesn’t look at me for what feels like forever.

“Where you headed?” he finally asks.

I swallow air, because I haven’t felt saliva in my
mouth in several minutes now. “Geometry.”

Without saying anything else, he angles toward the math wing. People are looking at us as we pass, probably as confused about why we’re walking together as I am.

If this is supposed to be a casual friendship, it’s not working. But what else can I say to him? Am I going to ask him which college girls he’s been dating lately or if they’re good in bed? Am I going to tell him what I’ve been doing with
my
evenings, wearing his T-shirt to bed and watching the light in his bedroom window?

No. None of the above.

I keep my mouth zipped and give him a silent smile when he leaves me at my math class.

***

It’s not like I’d ever add anything to the disabled bathroom stall, but after last class, I can’t help myself. I want to see what’s on there.

Last year, I stayed away because Tristan would want to know why the hell I was interested, and I didn’t think
curiosity
would fly with her. The truth is, I think Sawyer’s beautiful. I’ve always thought he was beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I want to dump Tristan’s friendship and actually do anything with him.

But Tristan’s not here now. I have nobody to pretend for.

I have to apply makeup in the mirror for a good twenty minutes before the bathroom clears out. I duck into the stall, have a seat, and stare at the door full of markings.

There are at least thirty sets of initials with two or five
-point markings on the top half of the door for girls who have touched Sawyer. The bottom half is reserved for girls who Sawyer has purposely touched. I’ve seen it once before, over two years ago when there was only one name in that section, but I’ve heard there are three now.

But when I look down, there are actually four.

And J.M.—Jamie Monroe?—is the last of them.

By the time I get into my house
after school, I’m barely thinking about Tristan, but still, I double-check my empty email inbox and then quickly fire off an email to the foreign exchange program to confirm that it bounces back. I figure there's no point in asking Tristan about it, since she still hasn't written back to my other email, and her parents aren't home from work yet.