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  The door was closed.

  Panting, she yelled, “I’m here!”

  Two women in purple paisley dresses, black jackets, and snug hats assessed her.

  Erin’s dad, Mitchell, would wield his power, money, and witticism in this situation, but Erin could only plead. “Please help me.”

  “Ms. Cerise?” one agent said.

  Wiping tears from her eyes, Erin tried to catch her breath. “Yes. It’s me. I heard you call. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  The agent lifted the phone next to the door. “We’re so pleased you’re traveling with us today.”

  Traveling. Today.

  In that cute kiwi accent, the phrase was magical.

  More terrified than thrilled, Erin boarded the plane and departed her country alone.

  FIVE

  “I’ll get your things from the boot. You go ahead in.” Hamish unlocked the trunk with his key.

  Pippa opened the garage door to reveal towers of boxes, boats and metal shelving suspended from the ceiling, and wall hooks supporting a hodgepodge of junk. Near the door, a single cleat hung from the wall.

  Between the garage and the fence, cinder blocks supported a huge, dented RV in the grass.

  The Wakefields were hoarders. Or slobs. Or Erin didn’t know what.

  Hamish hoisted Erin’s bag from the trunk. “Got it.”

  Erin said, “It has wheels.”

  “Driveway’ll kill ’em.”

  Felicity unlocked the front door. “Welcome home, Erin.”

  Sapphire carpet welcomed her entry. Everything slowed as Erin realized she wasn’t in Kansas anymore. She was nowhere near Kansas.

  “Erin?”

  Ear-in.

  “Erin? Welcome home? Shoes there, dear.” Felicity pointed to a neat row of shoes next to the front door outside the house.

  Erin studied her shoes. “They’re ECCOs.”

  Felicity cocked her head sideways. “No worries, the overhead keeps them safe from rain.”

  Felicity might be insulted if she admitted being more concerned about theft, so Erin kicked off her ECCOs and followed Felicity, hoping the house’s exterior belied a spacious, beautifully decorated interior.

  Nope.

  Closed French doors stood to Erin’s right. The entryway—which actually put Erin in the middle of the house—gave way to a dining room where a heavy mahogany table sat six. A cluttered peninsula separated the eating space from a modest kitchen. Over the peninsula hung a small oil painting of a naked child nuzzling her mother’s neck.

  Erin’s house in Wheaton boasted a six-burner stove, immaculate double-sized island, breakfast table for eight, and formal dining room for entertaining. This New Zealand kitchen barely had space for two caterers.

  Small.

  Papers cluttered one counter; magnets and photos covered the fridge. A pail of what looked like rotting food sat next to the sink.

  The air hinted at smoke, but not the way Erin’s house had when her dad chose to work in front of a winter fire. Erin turned to discover a genuine woodstove in the corner of the Wakefields’ dining room.

  Incredulous, she said, “Do you cook on that?”

  “Of course not!” Felicity smiled. “We use it to heat the house.”

  No HVAC. Squeezing her eyes shut, Erin drew a deep, calming breath.

  “Soon we’ll have so much sunlight, we won’t have use for it.” Felicity fanned her hand across two walls of windows, through which Erin spied a large backyard complete with a single tall swing, a sturdy wooden picnic table, a wooden playhouse that Pippa would outgrow any second, a giant trampoline enclosed in netting, and a paltry brown garden.

  More brown fence encircled the backyard. Fenced backyards of four other houses shaped the property like a keyhole; the narrow driveway was her only access to the outside world.

  Erin texted Lalitha.

  Erin: I have made a huge mistake.

  Hamish said, “Want to see where you’ll be bunking?”

  No, she did not, but following him distanced her from the awkward not-dining room and cramped living quarters. Hamish opened a door adjacent to the kitchen. “We keep this closed during winter.”

  Erin hardly had a second to wonder why before stepping into a frigid hallway. It was as if she’d stepped outside.

  The short hallway dead-ended into a longer one, where Hamish pointed to the left. “Over there’s a bedroom and toilet. Felicity’s mum lived with us until she died, and we haven’t emptied it yet.”

  Erin flinched at his candor.

  “Laundry and garage are that way, too.”

  Garage rhymed with carriage in New Zealand.

  He headed the other way and pointed as he went. “Toilet room. Shower room.”

  Erin peeked in to find the bathroom split into three tiny spaces: one for the tub, one for the sink, and one even smaller for only a toilet.

  At the end of the hall, Hamish said, “Felicity and I are straight ahead on the right. You’re with Pippa in here.”

  Hamish flipped the switch to reveal a cluttered room with two twin beds. “Everything you need here: hired cello in the corner, bed, wardrobe.”

  Erin surveyed the room in one fell swoop: juvenile posters over a twin bed, a single window, a second twin bed, a cello case, and two sliding closet doors.

  No chest of drawers. No desk. No mirror. No space. Nothing.

  I worked my ass off to get here?

  Hamish stood at the threshold. “You all right, then?”

  She couldn’t speak. Her room back home had a walk-in closet, two upholstered chairs, and a cherry desk. And there was light for days, even in winter. How could she share this tiny, dark room? And a closet? Down the hall from a shared bathroom?

  “Is there a reason I can’t use Felicity’s mother’s suite? I don’t want to crowd Pippa.”

  “She won’t be crowded. She’s over the moon you’re here.”

  “It’s just …” Be diplomatic. “I’m used to more personal space, and if no one is using that room …”

  Hamish lowered his voice. “Felicity isn’t ready. She and her mum were very close, and the loss hit her quite hard. The room is out of bounds.”

  Erin studied the rough blue carpet.

  “You want to unpack?” Hamish asked.

  Erin wanted to un-travel.

  “I’ll, uh, leave you alone for a bit,” he said.

  Christchurch wasn’t as advertised. It wasn’t a Garden City. Study abroad wasn’t an answer to her Columbia problem or a respite or a cure.

  Getting into Columbia wasn’t worth five months in this cramped, freezing house surrounded by strip malls.

  Erin rifled through her suitcase for her warmest wool sweater and seized the box of host-family gifts she’d packed, her return ticket to the warm half of the house.

  SIX

  The carpet was rough over hard concrete. Erin had never given a second thought to her plush bedroom carpet, but she now longed for it. Or the hardwood of the first floor. Anything but this.

  In the warmer half of the house, the now-open French doors revealed a living room with two droopy sofas and more blue carpet. The whole family was inside.

  “I have some … things for you?”

  Hamish muted the television so Erin had their full attention. Felicity admired bath bombs and massage bars from LUSH, a Canadian company Claire had deemed “close enough” to America. Pippa declared the Chicago skyline cool and dug into the travel-worn bag of Garrett’s popcorn. Hamish pulled on the Chicago Bears jersey over his polo.

  “The rest of this is food that’s specific to my state, Illinois: Vosges chocolates and Frangos minty chocolates, maple syrup from southern Illinois, though Canada’s is better. Oh, and chocolate chips, because I read somewhere that people outside America don’t really have chocolate chips. My mom wanted to send you her favorite wine, but I couldn’t travel with it because I’m too young.” Erin didn’t mention that Claire also had opined a construction worker and a secretary probably preferred
beer.

  “Thank you so much, Erin.” Felicity’s arms were full of stuff. “Did you find everything you needed in your room?”

  “I did, thanks,” she lied, staring into the empty box in her hands.

  “Is that cello okay?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Erin’s last hope for a reprieve in New Zealand was an inability to find a cello for rent, but Felicity magically had found one for the duration. Erin hoped it was within the Wakefields’ budget.

  “I cleared out a drawer for you in the bathroom,” Felicity said. “At the top. Pippa’s on the bottom. Shared items in the middle.”

  Pippa said, “One more day of winter hols. Are you keen to swim tomorrow? Mum says you’re a brilliant swimmer.”

  Brilliance had nothing to do with it. “I’m on the swim team at home. Here, too, I hope?”

  Felicity said, “They’re keen to have you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And Erin needs to do some school shopping tomorrow, Pippa.”

  Hamish said, “Cello in an orchestra and competitive swimming and studies, Erin? Sounds a little intense, even by American standards.”

  Intense was the perfect word for it. “It all fits together.”

  “But how?” Felicity asked.

  “Orchestra is only Saturdays, year-round. In summer, I take two or three intensive courses and compete in a summer swimming league to keep in shape. During the school year, I swim before and after school.”

  “So Sundays are free.”

  “To study, yeah.”

  “And your parents? Are they just as busy?”

  “Yeah. My dad was the youngest lawyer to ever make partner at his firm. My mom is the first ever female managing partner at hers.”

  Felicity was not appropriately impressed. “How do you ever find time together?”

  “At night, except if Mom has a case that keeps her late. Saturday afternoons in winter. Summer Saturdays, they usually sail on their friends’ boats. But, yeah, we’re all busy. I think, maybe, life is a lot faster at home.”

  “That’s one word for it.” Hamish un-muted the television.

  Felicity walked Erin toward the bedrooms. “Thought you might like to settle in this afternoon. Tomorrow, as I told Pippa, we’ll buy your school things. Monday I’ll get you to school and you can choose your classes.”

  Erin nodded.

  “This all must be a little unsettling for you. How can we make this feel more like home?”

  Erin bit her lip. “I’m fine. Just jet-lagged. I should lie down.”

  Felicity gave her a loose hug. “Tea at half six.”

  Tea wasn’t really her thing, but she nodded to her host mother and retreated.

  SEVEN

  Alone in Pippa’s room, Erin texted Lalitha again.

  Erin: I tell you I’ve made a huge mistake and you say nothing?

  Erin: I’m all alone in a frigid country. What are YOU doing?

  Illinois was seventeen hours behind Christchurch, but Erin thought of it as seven hours ahead and a day behind. So it was 8 p.m. yesterday there. Friday. Lalitha should be out of swim practice.

  Erin connected her phone and computer to Wi-Fi using the password Hamish had given her: @llBl@cks.

  That’s offensive, right? All blacks what?

  She pulled on her gloves and zipped into her down jacket before lying on the narrow twin bed. Still freezing, she crawled under the covers—a thin down comforter and low thread count duvet—and rubbed her feet together to warm them.

  This was the warmest time of day. She was so screwed.

  No. She’d focus in the freezing cold and remain hypervigilant. Perhaps she could go home after the national swim meet. A national title would prove she deserved admission to Columbia and her legacy status would seal the deal. Columbia would propel Erin into a great medical school, a great job, and a great life. Her future still was within her grasp.

  Winning the national meet would be her unique factor.

  Her focus was crystal clear.

  Until the jet lag pulled her under.

  Erin grabbed her passport and—on second thought—her favorite striped sweater before rejoining her parents in the car. “Sorry about that!”

  “All set?” Mitchell asked as he eyed his daughter in the rearview mirror. “I hope you get to explore while you’re down under.”

  Claire stopped tapping on her phone. “No, Mitchell. Exploring is not unique. Sightseeing is not exceptional. Erin needs to appear exceptional.”

  Claire twisted in her seat and waited until Erin made eye contact. “Sweetie, if you start thinking you can’t win at Nationals, you find whatever it is that’s going to make you seem unique. I know you are exceptional, but we have to prove it to Columbia. The unique factor will make you an exceptional candidate. If it weren’t for those Quigleys, you would look exceptional already, but now we’ll take a different tack.” She faced forward again. “Drive, Mitchell.”

  Erin pressed her fingers into her tiniest pocket to feel the indent of the treasure she’d put there. The panicked crescendo of the previous months reached full frenzy on the ride to the airport. Claire had looked up New Zealand’s butterfly records, so Erin knew she would do well in swimming, but could she win? Would her team welcome her?

  How difficult was the transition to driving on the left? Would she like her host family? Would they like her? Would her Wheaton friends miss her? Could she make new ones?

  Would she find her unique factor and get into Columbia?

  What if she didn’t?

  At the airport, Erin unloaded several items from her suitcase and weighed it three times before it met weight requirements. Attempts to shove her toiletry kit into her carry-on were futile, so she tucked it under her arm and headed for security.

  “Once you’re inside security, buy some Garrett’s cheese-and-caramel popcorn for the construction-worker father,” Claire said.

  Mitchell shook his daughter’s hand before wrapping her in an awkwardly snug hug. “I’ll miss you, kid.”

  There were no tears.

  “I’ll be home for Christmas, Dad.”

  _________

  For the length of the security line, Erin’s parents walked next to her, Claire tapping on her phone and Mitchell offering last-minute travel advice: keep your eyes on your carry-on at all times, put your computer in a gray plastic bin, stay hydrated in flight, call upon arrival.

  At the turn, where they could no longer hug over the stanchions, Mitchell said, “I guess this is good-bye.”

  And there were the tears.

  “Keep it together, Mitchell,” Claire said. She made a kiss sound to Erin. “Find your unique factor. We’ll keep in touch.”

  “I promise this will work,” Erin said.

  Mitchell leaned into the line for one last hug. “Love you, kid.”

  “Love you both,” Erin said.

  Claire held Mitchell’s elbow with her left hand and continued texting as they walked away. They disappeared and Erin counted to one hundred before pulling Grandma Tea’s ring out of her pocket and slipping it onto her finger.

  EIGHT

  Felicity knocked quietly before opening Pippa’s door.

  “Erin? It’s nearly seven.”

  Sea-vin. Even numbers were turned on their heads in a New Zealander’s mouth.

  Erin’s eyelids were lead. Tungsten. No, platinum. Or whatever was heavier than platinum. That new metal. She couldn’t remember the name. With jet lag as her drug, she could have slept for the entire five months.

  Felicity flicked the lights on. “Erin? Time for tea. You’ll be wrecked tomorrow if you don’t start moving.”

  Erin was wrecked either way and tea wasn’t her thing, but eating on a schedule was the quickest way to shake jet lag. She threw off her blankets, experienced two seconds of chill, and covered right back up again.

  “Why is your house so cold?” Erin couldn’t look at Felicity’s face.

  “The table is plenty warm. And the whole fam
ily is waiting for you.”

  Had Claire known about the frigid house, Erin wouldn’t be here. Surely the family couldn’t help being poor, but Erin could hardly endure a cold, tiny house on the ugly side of town.

  Erin hoped this was the ugly side of town. What if all of Christchurch was one huge strip mall?

  She raced to the bathroom where towels hung in disarray over a slick floor, as if the tidy house had been a mere illusion projected for her tour earlier. The toilet paper was a sad surprise: thin and rough like in public restrooms.

  She splashed her face and gave a little pep talk to the girl in the mirror: You can do this. And if you can’t do this, you are one phone call away from securing a flight home.

  Still in her down jacket, Erin opened the door to the other side of the house. It smelled like a bakery. Her host family sat around the table, talking easily and all at once.

  When he spotted her, Hamish uncovered the serving dishes. “Sweet as!”

  Six little pot pies circled one dish, green salad filled a beautiful red bowl, and fresh sliced bread steamed on a cutting board. Tea in New Zealand meant dinner.

  “Beer with your tea?” Hamish asked.

  Erin glanced from Hamish to Felicity. “I’m seventeen.”

  Hamish’s rough, calloused hands flourished his beer in Erin’s direction. “You’re also in New Zealand now. Can’t buy alcohol, but you can drink it.”

  Felicity was drinking wine.

  Alcohol had never been good to Erin, and she hadn’t drunk anything since her last birthday party, which she was trying to forget. “No, thanks. Maybe another day.”

  Pippa, who was ten, had missed gymnastics to fetch Erin from the airport, but had spent the afternoon riding bikes with friends. Pippa was in year six—not sixth grade, mind you—at Ilam Primary and she was having Kapa Haka and wanted to know if Erin wanted to come.

  Felicity jumped in. “She’s been here eight hours, Pippa.”

  Pippa blushed.