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  Erin: What did he say to that?

  Erin: What kind of feelings do you think he has?

  Litha: Who cares about his feelings?

  Erin: I just wonder whether he’s missing me.

  Litha: Of course he’s missing you.

  Litha: And now he has to start a relationship from scratch.

  Erin’s breath caught in her throat. Ben was starting over.

  Erin: With whom? With whom?!?!?!

  Litha: Claudia Quigley told me he called her Monday night.

  Litha: She had a million questions about him.

  Erin: What did you tell her?

  Litha: The truth.

  Erin: Which truth?

  Litha: That you’re awesome and Ben sucks. She asked if she could call you.

  Erin: HELL NO

  Litha: That’s what I said.

  Erin: I mean, yeah, she can call if she wants, but why would she want to talk to me?

  Litha: He told her he was interested in her brain.

  Erin: Are you shitting me?

  Litha: Nope.

  Erin: Worked on one swimmer, guess it’ll work on them all!

  Litha: She thought it was weird.

  Erin: It was weird, except he’s so charming that it works.

  Erin: I cannot believe I fell for that.

  Litha: You were enamored.

  Erin: You misspelled horny.

  Litha: HAHAHAHA

  Erin: You tell her that Ben is all talk.

  Erin: He will LOVE her and FOREVER her and SOLID her, but he’s all about Ben.

  Erin: Tell her if one thing goes wrong, he will bolt.

  Litha: Will do.

  Litha: Hey, I’m headed to North Beach. Catch you later?

  Erin: Yeah. Miss you. ♥

  Lalitha disappeared, leaving Erin alone again with the clouds. Thousands of miles away, America was awake. But here, Christchurch was sleeping. Or most of Christchurch was sleeping. An hour ago, Good-Time Girl posted snaps of a party on a beach. In winter.

  Erin had been stalking Good-Time Girl for weeks; she now thought of her as the closest thing she had to a friend in New Zealand.

  Erin could create a parody account, Sad Lonely Girl, for snaps of the cloudy night sky.

  She couldn’t help thinking there was no room for her on this huge planet, spinning rapidly as it circled the sun.

  In this vast world, she had only one friend. But then, Lalitha was always exactly the friend she needed, so she couldn’t complain.

  Lalitha swooped into Erin’s bedroom wearing the white Steven Rosengard dress Erin had coveted from the June issue of Marie Claire. Lalitha’s dress was only half-white, though; the back was a million shades of green, the letter L stamped in a hundred different fonts.

  Erin couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “That dress!”

  “You like?” The dress flared as she twirled.

  Erin nodded, but no. You do not take a seven-hundred-dollar designer dress and stamp it to make it your own. It was like a high-end bumper sticker, and Erin didn’t do those either.

  Lalitha’s face fell. “Have you been drinking?”

  Erin didn’t move. “Uh. Maybe never again. Lalitha, I can’t do this.”

  “Then don’t go.”

  “I don’t want to go, but I have to go. And I meant the packing.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d be done by now. I brought you a parting gift.” She handed Erin a cardboard poster tube.

  “Oh, Li. I found one.” Erin pointed to her suitcase, where a tube protected a poster of Sol Gabetta and her cello, a group photo from last summer at Harvard, and a Chicago skyline.

  “Open it.”

  Eagerly, Erin unfurled a poster from Catch Me if You Can. She grinned at Lalitha, who had taken her to see the musical in New York. They both had their posters signed backstage, but Erin’s mother had recycled hers. Claire had final say on all art in the house and had chosen for Erin’s room framed impressionist oils, family portraits, and a pencil drawing of Yo-Yo Ma. Yo-Yo Ma’s audio was amazing, but his photograph did not inspire.

  But, for five glorious months in Christchurch, Catch Me if You Can would be Erin’s again.

  “You’re the best,” Erin said.

  “Tell me that after we pare down your luggage. Preparing for life abroad is a life skill.”

  “It is a skill I do not possess.”

  “Yeah, but I do.” Lalitha upended the FedEx box and dumped the contents of Erin’s suitcase. “Eleven summers in Bhiwandi. Three Indian wedding trips. I have a system. You don’t even need FedEx.”

  Erin pulled herself to sitting. “New Zealand has winter, Li. Right now. I’m doing winter in the suitcase and summer in the box.”

  “You are so not a traveler.”

  “I’ve traveled plenty.”

  “You vacation,” Lalitha said. “You don’t travel. Try spending months at a time in India. Be practical: take five pairs of pants that go with everything and ten interchangeable tops. You can layer for winter or dress up as needed. Choose lightweight stuff so you don’t go over weight.”

  “I have really pared down.” Erin pointed to a pile of clothes on the floor. “Winter is the problem.”

  Lalitha tapped on her phone. “First off, Christchurch winter isn’t Chicago winter. See this? Coldest temperature ever: 43 degrees Fahrenheit. You need three sweaters, max. And you want all your stuff to go together. You’ll always look put together, but you can mix up your outfits so no one thinks you’re wearing the same five pairs of pants all the time.”

  Lalitha clutched Erin’s spare toiletries. “Holy crap, Erin. You know actual people live in Christchurch, right? They use lotion and nail polish and shampoo. They have stores.”

  “But they don’t have CND Palm Deco. I checked.”

  “Take the nail polish then. Skip everything else.”

  “Li, just let me have this one thing.”

  Lalitha rummaged in the bag. “It is literally twenty-three things.”

  Erin was near tears.

  “It’s your trip,” Lalitha said, pulling a box from the bottom of the suitcase. “What’s this?”

  “Host family presents: books, Frangos, a framed Chicago Skyline.”

  “Claire’s picks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell her to choose lighter stuff next time: clothing, coasters, ornaments. Garrett’s popcorn looks like a substantial present, but weighs next to nothing.”

  “That’s on the list, too. I’m buying it at O’Hare.”

  Lalitha rolled up a gray cashmere sweater and nuzzled it next to the host box. “Saves loads of space. Roll everything.” She held up a multicolored striped sweater from the Gap. “But not this one.”

  “It’s my favorite.”

  “It stands out, so you can only wear it every two weeks or more. It’s wasted space.”

  Erin rolled her remaining sweaters as Lalitha tucked coiled socks into her shoes.

  _________

  Two hours later, they sealed the FedEx box. Lalitha studied the room once more. “Where’s George?”

  George was Erin’s cello. “My host family rented a cello so I can play in the school orchestra.” Cello was the only thing going right in her life. She hoped her record as fifth chair with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra would encourage admissions boards to overlook five months in a tiny school orchestra.

  “It kind of sounds like life down there will be a lot like life up here.”

  “Yeah.” Wanting to believe it, Erin changed into travel clothes.

  Lalitha stacked the last of the rejected items in the closet and teared up. “So, we’re done. And you’re really going to New Zealand. All alone. For half a year.”

  “It’s only five months.”

  They called it five months, but returning the instant school ended in New Zealand would keep her away five months, two weeks, and two days. A lifetime.

  Erin said, “Send me texts. Tell me everything.”

  “I promise.” Lalitha wrapped
her arms around Erin, swaying dramatically as if her friend were never coming back.

  Erin surreptitiously dropped her passport on her nightstand and wheeled her suitcase into the hall.

  TWELVE

  Sunday, her first full day in Christchurch, Erin leapt out of bed, pulled on her jacket and gloves, had the world’s fastest pee, and jumped into the shower.

  Afterward, she couldn’t make her hair dryer work. Even though she’d plugged it into both the converter and transformer, it was dead. Heat from her shower disappeared through the bathroom’s enormous frosted window as Erin leaned against the towel rack, which stung her bare back.

  Heated towel racks. Enveloped in her towel, Erin leaned against the warm metal to soak in its heat. Heavenly.

  While Pippa showered, Erin pulled on her warmest pants and layered several shirts on top. Cashmere looked bulky over multiple layers, and wool was almost too hot. Almost. She settled on a solid parakeet-green V-neck sweater, with one base layer peeking beneath it. She hoped yanking the base layer around the top of her pants would keep her midsection warm without making her look frumpy.

  Pippa had allotted exactly half the closet space for Erin. On one side, shelves were built in like cubby holes, and Erin filled the top three. She hung as many items as she could on her half of the closet bar but still had half a suitcase of clothes needing space. She jammed her open suitcase into the floor of the closet; clean underwear and socks could live there, out of sight.

  Erin tacked Lalitha’s Catch Me if You Can poster near the head of her bed, then photos of her former swim team, her astrophysics study group, Chicago’s skyline, and herself at the beach with Lalitha. She unfurled her poster of Sol Gabetta, which she loved more for Gabetta’s gorgeous dress than her cello aptitude, and tacked it near the closet.

  Fresh from the shower, Pippa said, “You’re decorating?”

  Sheepishly, Erin flashed two thumbs up. “I hope they’re okay?”

  “Sweet as!” Pip mimicked Erin’s thumbs up and pulled a paper from under her bed—the ERIN sign from the airport. “This too?”

  Pippa’s eyes were so hopeful, Erin couldn’t refuse her, though hand-drawn signs weren’t at all to her taste. She hung it above her study group.

  “Are those your best friends?” Pippa asked.

  “Friends, yes. I spent three weeks at Harvard last summer. These guys were in my study group. They’re from New York, India, Canada, and Japan.”

  “What were you studying?”

  “Astrophysics, like science about planets and space and black holes.”

  “What’s a black hole?”

  I’m living in it.

  “It’s a place in space so dense, and with such a strong gravitational pull, that nothing can get out of it, not even light particles.”

  “If light can’t escape, how do you know it’s there?”

  “Great question. Scientists use special tools.”

  “Cool.”

  Erin smiled and scanned her inbox on her phone. “It is cool. I need to run. Your mom is taking me school shopping.”

  “I want to hear all about it later,” Pippa said.

  Claire had emailed to inform Erin that a professional college admissions essay editor was reviewing her fourth draft. She also suggested Erin crusade to save the kiwi or yellow-eyed penguin to show she was immersed in New Zealand culture.

  Erin dashed off an email: “Thanks, Mom! Off to buy school supplies.”

  After a quick breakfast, Felicity and Erin set off in the Nissan, like a mother taking a young child back-to-school shopping. So much for independence abroad.

  Back out in the city, Erin focused on her surroundings.

  “Is this the way I’ll drive to school in the morning?”

  “You’ll probably take the 81,” Felicity said.

  So there were real highways in Christchurch. “Is the entrance around here?”

  “I’ll point to one when I see it.”

  They stopped at an enormous two-lane traffic circle. It was complete chaos: two speedy lanes of traffic circled clockwise and exited just as quickly. A truck carrying panes of glass zoomed past. Three buses in a row ringed the circle. Erin gripped her door handle; she couldn’t fathom getting through this spinning circle of death without, well, death. There were no accidents, but drivers waited at every exit—entrance?—of the circle. No signals governed traffic flow.

  When Felicity accelerated, Erin squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head like a turtle hoping to protect itself.

  A minute later, Felicity asked, “You all right?”

  Erin had missed the circle completely. “That was terrifying.”

  “What? The roundabout?”

  “Yes, the roundabout. How do you even get into the inside lane? And why is it there? How do you get out?”

  Felicity smiled. “Some exits have two lanes. If you know where you need to exit, the inner lane makes sense. The inner lane is sort of express if you need the fourth or fifth road. You’ll get used to it.”

  Dubious, Erin focused on the scenery. Houses with painted wooden fences lined the street, and several sets of traffic lights hung ahead. Tall trees filled the nature strip on both sides of the road. Finally, something felt a bit like home.

  Felicity turned on the radio and music burst into the car. Christchurch was playing the song of summer from four years ago, when Erin had learned every summer had a song of summer.

  “This is Riccarton Road in Riccarton,” Felicity said.

  “So Christchurch is behind us?”

  “Ahead of us, actually. Riccarton is an inner suburb. We’re heading to Mainland first. I’d like to set you up for school, but we can’t very well buy stationery without knowing your courses.”

  “I’d rather not take calligraphy if I can help it.”

  Felicity squinted at the road. “Is calligraphy a course in the States?”

  “Oh no. I wanted to say I don’t need stationery.”

  Felicity said, “Stationery here is pencils and pens and notebooks and things.”

  “Oh. Everything is different here.”

  Felicity laughed. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “Sort of.” Erin couldn’t reveal to Felicity she was mining this experience for college-application gold. “It’s both very similar and very different. I mean, we’re speaking the same language, but everything feels a little off. Driving on the wrong side of the street.”

  “Wrong to you.”

  “Yeah. Opposite, I guess. Different. And your music! This isn’t even on our radio anymore.”

  Felicity turned it up a bit. “I love this.”

  “It’s catchy, but it’s four years old.”

  “It’s not four years old here. And I’ll still listen to it in another four years. Why throw out a good thing?”

  “Because everyone’s listening to new stuff now.” Erin pointed to a road sign. “And all your signs have another language below the English. What’s that about?”

  “That’s Ma-ori. We have three official languages: English, New Zealand Sign Language, and Ma-ori. The Ma-ori are our native people who lived here hundreds of years before Europeans arrived.”

  “Like Native Americans?”

  Felicity furrowed her brow. “Yes. Native New Zealand people. Europeans arrived and renamed the country New Zealand. Ma-ori people still call it Aotearoa, which means ‘long white cloud.’ You’ll hear a lot of Ma-ori: kura means ‘school,’ mahi means ‘work,’ kai means ‘food.’ I’ve always thought the language is quite beautiful.”

  Felicity pulled into a gravel parking lot.

  “Let’s get you some new things, shall we?”

  Erin followed Felicity into a small, quiet shop. Her mouth hung open as she studied racks of plaid wools and bulky V-neck sweaters.

  Felicity said, “Hi there. We need uniform for Ilam High. Erin here is on study abroad from the States.”

  THIRTEEN

  She had no words. Well, one word: uniform.

  “Happ
y to help. I’m Charlize.” The sunny woman sized up Erin. “What are you, about an eight in the States?”

  “Six,” Erin said.

  Charlize hummed as she slowly pulled pieces from shelves all over the store before leading Erin to the dressing area.

  “Sizing here is a bit different than in the States,” Charlize said. “I’ve brought you rough equivalents of the things you’ll need. Have a go and let us know what works.”

  Erin nodded.

  “You all right, love?”

  Another nod.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m great, thanks.”

  Just outside the dressing room, Felicity chatted with Charlize, though they clearly didn’t know each other. For several minutes, Erin negotiated her way through the pile of clothes. An itchy wool kilt in navy, dark green, and royal blue hung below her knees. She buttoned a starched white blouse before pulling on a navy V-neck sweater vest with royal stripes around the arms and neck.

  Through tears, she studied her frumpy reflection.

  “Let’s see, then,” Charlize said.

  Erin wiped her eyes and threw the curtain aside.

  Charlize clasped her hands together like a fairy godmother. “A perfect fit. Now, can you tie a proper tie, love?”

  “I’ll do it.” Felicity wrapped a tie around Erin’s neck, looped the ends around each other, and tied it gently.

  Charlize slipped a royal blue blazer over Erin’s shoulders and instructed her to button the middle button.

  “You must be kidding me,” Erin said. “This is a joke, right?”

  Charlize smiled. “Of course you’ll have a few options in summer, but this is the winter uniform, love.”

  Erin wanted Charlize to stop love-ing her. “Is Ilam a Catholic school? I’m not Catholic.” She looked from Charlize to Felicity.

  Felicity touched Erin’s upper arm. “It’s a state school. And all state schools in New Zealand require distinct uniform. I guess you don’t see as many movies of us as we see of you. Everyone knows Americans don’t generally wear uniform.”

  “All mufti all the time,” Charlize said.

  Erin closed the curtain to her dressing room and eyed her reflection again. An embroidered navy-and-white crest on her blazer read ILAM HIGH.

  If anyone back home saw her like this, she would die.