Her mother, Claire, hoped studying abroad might fill that void and make Erin an attractive Ivy League candidate. Attending Columbia—or any Ivy, really—would establish her trajectory toward a great medical school, a great job, and a great life.
But first, she must endure five months in New Zealand. Squaring her shoulders, she walked down the escalator toward baggage claim.
TWO
Felicity, Erin’s host mother, had promised to wear a yellow shirt for their meeting at the airport, but there were no yellow shirts. There was no host family. Erin walked through the crowd, studying every woman of the appropriate age.
She tried not to panic as the luggage parade began. One guy had spray painted his carry-on. Easy to find, yes, but completely ruined. Erin’s new suitcase was black and enormous. Thanks to her father, it boasted a bright orange bow of yarn, a nice complement to the construction orange duct tape that marked his own luggage. Erin spotted her suitcase and yanked it off the conveyor belt.
Still no Felicity.
Erin wrestled her luggage into a restroom stall, peed, washed her hands, splashed water on her face, and assessed her reflection. As a final parting gift, Chicago’s humidity had frizzed her carob curls; she tried her best to tame them before emerging from the bathroom.
Still no host family.
Everyone from her flight had departed with their luggage, deserting Erin and her enormous suitcase. Was she in the right place?
In a cute kiwi accent, which fell somewhere between British and Australian, a man paged Vienna Galagher with increasing frequency and urgency. Erin expected to hear her own name and an explanation for her desertion, but it was only Vienna Galagher, over and again.
In a foreign country where she knew literally no one, she had no Plan B.
Stalling for time, she wheeled to a snack counter that carried strange candies and something called chocolate fish. She bought a Picnic candy bar, which seemed safe. Refilling her water bottle at a fountain, she calmed herself.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
She was in way over her head, but phoning her host family would expose her unworldliness. Felicity must perceive her as confident and self-sufficient, which she surely was in all moments.
Except this one.
Instead she texted her best friend, Lalitha.
Erin: They’re not here.
Litha: What do you mean they’re NOT THERE?
Erin: I’ve been standing alone at baggage claim for 20 minutes. Everyone else from my flight has left.
Litha: Are you at the right airport?
Erin: I’m not an idiot.
Litha: Maybe call a cab?
She’d never done that before. She studied the airport signs, all of which were in English and a second language she couldn’t decipher. Searching for taxi stand indicators, she looked north and south before spying a flash of yellow moving toward her from the far end of baggage claim.
Erin relaxed. It was definitely Felicity.
Erin: They’re here. Text later.
Litha: ♥
She drew a deep breath. No turning back now.
THREE
Erin’s host mother had brought her partner and a small girl who carried a poster with Erin’s name in lopsided multicolor letters. The girl, who Erin figured for the promised little sister, was far littler, perhaps eight. Bright gratuitous patches dotted her jeans, and her shoes were worn within an inch of their life.
“Felicity?” Erin said.
The precocious pigtailed girl thrust her hand toward Erin. “I’m Pippa, your new little sister.”
It sounded like sista.
“She has been so excited to meet you. I’m Felicity.” She hugged Erin loosely. “Nice to meet you, Erin.”
Ear-in. The adorable kiwi accent got her name wrong: Ear-in. In middle school, when Erin’s mother hired her Suzuki instructor, she had warned him about Erin’s listening skills: If you don’t look her in the eye, everything you say will be ear-in, ear-out.
That’s how her name sounded in Felicity’s mouth: Ear-in.
Felicity’s partner said, “Hamish Wakefield. Good to meet you, Erin.”
Ear-in.
“Easy flights?”
“Yeah.”
Pippa bounced. “Did you gedda look out the window?”
“No. I worked on the way to L.A., and for some of the big flight. Otherwise, I tried to sleep.”
Pippa’s shoulders sagged. “Oh.”
On their way to the airport exit, Pippa peppered Erin with questions about America: Had she been to New York? Had she been to Los Angeles? Had she been to New Orleans?
Hearing that Erin had been to all three put Pippa in awe.
“And the States are like Australia, Pippa,” Felicity said. “So that’s like traveling to Cairns and Melbourne and Perth.”
“Do you get to Australia often?” Erin asked.
Felicity laughed. “Haven’t been since she was seven. But she hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
Erin smiled. “Maybe we’ll go while I’m here.”
“Not bloody likely,” Hamish said. “It’s two thousand kilometers away.”
“No kidding.” Australia had seemed a lot closer on Google Maps.
“All right then?” Hamish asked.
He pulled Erin’s suitcase into the sun and thanked a woman greeting them at the door. In response, she said, “Cheers!”
People in New Zealand—kiwis—were awfully chipper for 7 a.m. Lalitha would be appalled.
FOUR
Erin inhaled Christchurch’s crisp, clean air and detected no aroma—not the smog of L.A. or the grease of Chicago or the distinct earthy scent of her grandparents’ lake house. New Zealand air was so fresh she wanted to eat it … and so chilly she pulled her striped sweater from her carry-on.
In the small parking lot, Hamish lifted Erin’s suitcase into an ancient blue Nissan. “What’s this? Twenty kilos?”
A kilo is 2.2 pounds, so a pound is .45 kilos. Fifty pounds is: “About 22.6 kilograms.”
“Just one bag, then?” Hamish asked.
“That’s all I was allowed. My dad shipped another box. It should get here Friday.”
Felicity squeezed into the backseat with Pippa so Erin could sit up front and enjoy the best view. Erin had anticipated driving on the left but hadn’t imagined the unsettling feeling of being a passenger on the left side of the car; she checked the rearview mirror repeatedly, but it faced Hamish on the right.
She studied the Nissan’s buttons and dials; everything was in Japanese. “Do you speak Japanese?”
“Whazzat?” Hamish asked.
“Your car. Everything’s in Japanese. Are you fluent?”
Hamish guffawed. “Nope. Don’t
