When Mrs. Campbell stopped at her desk, she said, “You’re very methodical, aren’t you?”
“You said to experiment.”
“So I did. Now let’s try to create a new image, and then re-create the same image on each piece of paper using what you’ve learned.”
Erin didn’t know how to paint much of anything. She imagined a boxy swimming block—a psychedelic swimming block, because that was more colorful—and started again with her thinnest paper. It was challenging.
Erin hadn’t been allowed to take art since sixth grade because other electives were too important. And, of course, AP government looked better to Columbia than playing with paints. She had forgotten how easily she could lose herself in a project.
When Mrs. Campbell announced it was time to pack up, Erin was nowhere near done. And she found she couldn’t wait for the next day’s class.
_________
Alone at lunch, Erin cracked her Italian book to read ahead. The clouds had burned off during her art experiments, but everything remained damp. She juggled her Italian book and lunch until Jade called her name.
“In here!” Jade pulled Erin into the gymnasium.
They sat on the floor and Jade said, “How are you finding New Zealand?”
“Still jet-lagged,” Erin said.
Jade held out a plastic container of brown and gray food. “True kiwi lunch here. Want some?”
“Every time someone mentions kiwi, I picture fuzzy green fruit,” Erin said.
“Aye, we’ve got kiwi fruit, too. This is bangers and mash.”
“Funny, isn’t it? Last night, Felicity asked whether I liked—whether I fancied—kumara. An orange vegetable. Not a carrot. Soft in the middle when cooked, but not a squash. Then she served it and it was a sweet potato.”
“Kumara are my favorite in winter.”
“Yeah, my grampa used to make them with butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. I love them, but it’s a perfect example of how off-kilter I feel. Same cars, but yours are smaller. And slower. Everything is a little slower. We speak the same language, to an extent. But sometimes? I have no idea what people are saying. And sometimes, words have entirely different meanings. At home, biscuits are small, fluffy, buttery breakfast breads. What you call biscuits, we call cookies.”
“Sounds delicious, either way,” Jade said.
Outside, a circle of guys bunched up over the rugby ball, pushing hard but not moving in any particular direction.
“Aren’t words funny?” Erin said as she watched them. “I once met a girl at a resort in North Carolina—that’s actually in the southern part of America—and it took us a while to parse that when a Chicago native says she skis, she means skiing in snow. But we also go water-skiing. In the south, though, where it’s warm, skiing means water. And they call the other kind snow skiing.”
“Here, of course, the North Island is the warm part, and we get the cold down here,” Jade said. “One of us is upside down.”
“Yeah. It’s definitely me.”
“You’re sweet, though. We’ll keep you.” Jade smiled.
“Thanks. I’m sticking around for the cute accents.”
“Wait until summer. It’s a dream.”
One of the rugby players jogged into the gym, a ball under his arm. He spotted Erin and grinned. “Hey! I’m Richard.”
“Erin.”
“What’s on for tomorrow, Erin?”
“Uh … school again?” she said.
“What say we pop round the dairy? Get us a cuppa or an ice block if it’s warm?”
For translation, Erin looked to Jade, whose eyes were wide as she shook her head vehemently.
“No, sorry. Can’t,” Erin said.
“Erin is spoken for this week,” Jade said.
“Gizza fighting chance!” Richard said.
“Sorry, mate,” Jade said.
“Sorry. Mate,” Erin repeated.
Defeated, Richard left them.
When he was out of earshot, Erin said, “What was that about?”
“That bloke doesn’t take no for an answer. He is bad news.”
Taken aback, Erin said, “What was he asking me to do? A date on a dairy farm?”
Jade giggled. “A dairy’s a shop. He asked you to go for coffee or ice blocks, like sweet-flavored water frozen to a stick.”
Erin squinted as she imagined that. “Oh, popsicles. We call them popsicles.”
“Whatever you call them, don’t get them with Richard.”
“Thanks,” Erin said. “I never would have guessed.”
TWENTY-THREE
Swim team didn’t practice on Fridays, so her first Friday in Christchurch, Erin met Pippa after school and diverted to Riccarton Mall. Erin had finally beaten jet lag and felt rejuvenated, but she would need Pippa’s advice on a perfect gift for Felicity’s birthday. For Claire, Erin would charge a pair of pumps or new bag, but Felicity wasn’t really that kind of mom.
Pippa said, “She already chose her prezzie.”
“Right, but I didn’t.”
“She says spending the day together is what she likes best.”
Spoken like a person who was compensating for watching her wallet. Erin probably should buy Felicity an actual gift. Maybe on the AmEx this time. The bills came on different days, and if she was lucky, the leather pants and present could slip through undetected.
“Pippa, there must be something she really wants but can’t have.”
“Nope.”
“Everyone has something they want but can’t have. Something extravagant.”
“She’s not an extravagant kind of person.”
No kidding.
Erin’s hostess gift had included a box of consumables, so chocolates were out. Flowers were trite. “What is her favorite thing in the entire world?”
Pippa grinned. “Me.”
Erin nodded. Felicity was kind of like her Grandma Tea, who had genuinely loved being with Erin, no matter what they were doing. Every Christmas, Grandma Tea just wanted to spend time in the same room, so that’s what they did—reading or making music together or doing their own thing. She always said time was the most precious gift she could not give herself.
What could Felicity not give herself?
MAC. Erin could give her MAC.
“Do you know if there’s a MAC here?” Erin asked.
“Like Mackeys? Golden arches?”
“No. M-A-C. Like makeup.”
“Mum doesn’t wear makeup except when she goes out.”
Probably because it’s too expensive. “Trust me, this will be a nice treat for her. It will make her feel great.”
Pippa followed her to MAC, which they found next to Kmart.
No CND and no Banana Republic, but Christchurch had Kmart. America was exporting the wrong
