“I could have bought my own clothes,” Erin said.
“Nonsense. Pippa will need Ilam uniform eventually. I’m merely buying early. Off to the grocery, then home?”
They passed a lovely fountain that was inexplicably home to a half-dozen grocery carts.
“Your school’s just over the road, there.” Felicity pointed in a general direction, but Erin spied only trees. Felicity pulled into a parking garage. “And this is Riccarton Mall.”
Erin could endure no more surprises. “What’s next? Hair bands and school-sanctioned earrings?”
Felicity forced a smile. “No jewelry at school.”
Erin spun her grandmother’s ring around her finger.
“Erin?”
“This school. It sounds a little like prison.”
“I found life easier when I didn’t have to decide what to wear every day.”
Erin was ambivalent. “I really, really love clothes.” Clothes I’ve chosen myself.
Beneath her middle school track shorts and what was supposed to be her senior class T-shirt, Erin wore her ugliest underwear. All other clothes were candidates for her suitcase. She carried with her all the emotional baggage of her birthday and breakup with Ben, but her actual baggage—everything she would need for five months abroad—would not fit in her allowed luggage.
Foreign Study Network’s list of essentials included a camera and film, so that list couldn’t be trusted. A thousand websites’ suggestions for study abroad included hats and “cultural toiletries,” whatever they might be. No one suggested true necessities: gummy bears, Sephora, and fluffy towels in case her host family owned short, thin towels like at the gym.
From the center of her enormous bedroom, Erin eyed stacks of clothes, toiletries, and sundries. Pastel sticky notes indicating the weight of each stack fluttered as the AC kicked in.
“Dad saves the day!” Mitchell dropped a huge box on Erin’s carpet. “FedEx says it’ll get there in a week. Sixty pounds, max. Problem solved, and you know what I say?”
Erin wasn’t sure which Dad quip was relevant in this situation.
“If you can fix it for under a thousand dollars, it’s not a problem.”
Erin appreciated both his optimism and his wallet.
Mitchell hugged his daughter before regarding her with pity and longing—he had been almost unbearably sappy for weeks—and left her to pack.
Erin lay on her floor staring at the ceiling, willing herself back to a time when everything was okay. She couldn’t even remember when that was. To stimulate her resolve, Erin checked her phone. Her new favorite follow, Good-Time Girl, was a seventeen-year-old Christchurch girl who never showed her face but constantly posted about parties, fashion, and sporting events.
Good-Time Girl’s most recent snaps were of skiing over winter break. Images of a gorgeous lake at the foot of a mountain appealed to Erin. Good-Time Girl couldn’t fill the void of all the former friends Erin had unfollowed after her fall from grace, but she was a start.
Good-Time Girl seemed … normal. Maybe Erin could find normalcy half a world away.
FOURTEEN
Still without warm pajamas, Erin followed Felicity through the garage into the house, where she dropped her bags in Pippa’s room and scrolled through her photos.
After seeing several odd fashion choices, Erin had snapped a photo of a woman in black stretch pants that stopped mid-shin, a cropped Lycra top, and a lacy bright blue shirt that was practically a poncho. She texted it to Lalitha.
Litha: What the actual fuck?
Erin loved Lalitha in this moment more than ever.
Erin: I just got back from the mall.
Erin: She was one of MANY.
Erin: I saw eleven barefoot people.
Erin: A mannequin in an unironic three-piece suit.
Erin: in CAMOUFLAGE.
Erin: practically transparent T-shirts and many hideous prints.
Erin: A lot of pleather, and even more lace.
Erin: Remember Desperately Seeking Susan?
Litha: Never forget Susan.
Erin: It’s just exactly like that.
Litha: Come HOME!
Erin: I DID accidentally spend over $700 on a sweet pair of white leather pants.
Litha: Who are you, and what have you done with Erin?
Erin: No, they’re cool. I swear.
Erin: Also, teen kiwis wear one-piece costumes as pajamas. Like, with whole animal heads as hoods. All sorts of animals.
Litha: Did you choose a piggy?
Erin: No, I spotted them after the pants, and decided $700 was about as much as Mitchell’s Visa could take.
Erin: Also, kiwis get very excited about wool/possum blends.
Erin: I swear I am not making this up.
Erin: What are you up to tonight?
Litha: My cutest-ever blue shirtdress.
Litha: Drinks at Claudia’s house.
Erin: Claudia …
Litha: Quigley, yes. She’s cool.
Litha: And her mom feels super guilty about the divorce.
Erin: So?
Litha: So, she’s buying the beer.
Erin: Sweet
Litha: And I have a new love.
Erin: SPILL
Litha: Teddy Kozel
Erin: That’s old news.
Litha: The new news is he might be interested in ME.
Erin: If he’s not, he’s a fool.
Felicity knocked. “Afternoon tea, Erin?”
“Isn’t it early for dinner?”
“Yes. This tea is a wee snick.”
Erin considered that for a moment. “Snack?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely. Give me one minute.”
Erin: Li, I need to know all about that date.
Erin: Right now, I need to eat so I can get on Christchurch time.
Erin: (My host mother called it a “wee snack.” How cute is that?)
Litha: Super cute. Don’t buy any lace.
Erin: Okay. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Litha: So, the sky’s the limit, then?
Erin: ♥
Erin: Call you in a few.
In the living room, Pippa intently wrapped her fingers around a guitar neck, desperately reaching for the upper frets. A tattooed Asian guy in a torn green T-shirt guided her: “First fret on the G string. Yup. Go.”
Pippa strummed an E chord and spotted Erin. “Hi sista!”
The tattooed guy turned and smiled. His deep umber irises were so dark near the middle she couldn’t tell where his pupils began. His eyes were spectacular.
“Hank is teaching me to play. He says I have to learn my chords first.”
Hank’s hand brushed a metal clip of keys attached to his belt loop as he reached to greet Erin. “Hank. And you’re the American sister.”
“I am. Erin.” She gripped his hand firmly, and let go a second after Hank’s hand relaxed, just as Mitchell had taught her. “Why the chords first?”
Hank grinned, revealing wildly crooked teeth. “Easy to sing along when you’ve got chords,
