Foreign Exchange (4 page)

There
’s now a second message from Sawyer Bishop in my inbox. I realize I’m holding my breath and force myself to let it out.

J,

I can definitely bring a copy to school for you. Unless you need it sooner???

-S

I
head back to the living room and absently sort Tupperware with my brother while I let the email roll around in my mind. It’s a definite plea for more. Isn’t it? Does he need a replacement for his sister in his life as much as I do? I could write back and tell him
Yeah, I’d really like to look at the brochure tonight, but I’m babysitting. Can you bring it over?

But I need to keep things casual and see what he wants
with me, if anything. Maybe even figure out what
I
want. Am I only considering being friendly with him because Tristan told me not to?

At least
I’m less embarrassed than I was a few hours ago. Who cares if he knows his advances make me uncomfortable? And who cares if I’m the only girl in the history of the world to turn him down?

The thoughts make me feel strangely bold, and I make
a quick decision. I stand up to act on it before I can change my mind.

T
here’s nothing that will keep things casual like catching him off guard.

Well, that
, and the company of my eleven-year-old, special-needs brother.

Chapter Four

Thankfully the purple cami and jeans I wore to school missed the yam shower in the kitchen.  I’m purposely not changing or prettying myself up with makeup, because I’m just going for a neighborly visit. That’s all.

Eddy can walk okay if he’s leaning on someone
. After I’ve given him some water and a few bites of mushed fruit, I put on his shoes, and guide him to the door, hurrying before I lose my nerve. He’s getting heavier lately and I’m already huffing by the time we’re on the porch. I try to get him to grip a post while I lock the door, but he won’t have it, and instead he clings to my stomach.

I remember for a fleeting second what Tristan had said abo
ut staying away from Sawyer. But I don’t feel like taking orders from her right now, and maybe part of me wants to prove her wrong. I
can
just be friendly with Sawyer. It doesn’t have to mean I like him or that I'll spill all of our secrets.

I hold Eddy tight against me and walk him across the grass between our houses. He lets out a couple of
yelps of excitement. The last time he was in Tristan’s house was over three months ago, when she’d made her big announcement about applying to the foreign exchange program. I’d had to babysit—as usual—but Tristan had wanted me there to help convince her parents. It wasn’t easy, but eventually we got them to see it as an awesome opportunity.

It’s not until I’m on the Bishop
s’ porch and ringing the doorbell that I notice Eddy’s let out a splotch of drool down the front of my top. The splotch has gone dark purple and it's totally obvious. I look back at my house, but it’s too late. The latch clicks and the Bishops’ door swings open.

“Oh!
Sawyer! Hi!”

He’s not wearing a shirt and his hair is wet from the shower. He’s scrubbing it dry,
it’s sticking up at all angles, and he doesn’t seem to clue in to who I am for a second. Or that I’m transfixed by his naked chest. Even though he doesn’t play sports, he obviously does something to keep in shape
––really
in shape. I never would have guessed that he’s been hiding such a chiseled torso under his loose fitting T-shirts.

Sawyer still hasn’t said anything, but he’s blinking
rapidly at me like he’s trying to figure out why I’m here. He yanks his T-shirt over his head. His face is slightly flushed, but I’m sure mine is worse.

“Hey
, Jame—oh!” he says, noticing my top.

Yeah, it’s
that
obvious.

“I guess we had
a bit of an excitability problem.” I try for casual, motioning my head to Eddy.

But Sawyer reach
es across to my hair, noticing something else. He flicks a piece of orange yam onto the grass, and then cracks a small grin. “Come on in. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I feel the color in my face deepen, if that’s even possible.  

Sawyer leads me to the bathroom, right off their entrance, and without asking, he takes Eddy’s arm and pulls him to his chest.

“Thanks
.”

Sawyer shrugs
and says, “Hey buddy,” to Eddy. “Do we need to clean you up, too?”

I grab a cloth from beneath the sink, wet it, and pass it to Sawyer, trying to ignore my humiliation. When I glance at him though, it gets worse. There’s already a splotch of drool on his navy Quicksilver shirt.

“Oh no!” I point. “I’m really sorry, Sawyer.”

He laughs, actually laughs, and
I swear his voice is deeper than it was a few months ago.

“Doesn’t this make me part of a club or something?” He motions to the three of us, all wearing drool on our shirts. After dabbing his chest, and Eddy’s mouth, he hands the cloth back to me. I rinse it and dab at my top, but because it’s silk, the more I
do, the worse it spreads.

“I’m sure there’s something
in the laundry room you can throw on,” Sawyer says.

Inside the small laundry room
, there’s a pile of folded, freshly cleaned clothes sitting atop the dryer. I look around for something of Tristan’s, but these all look like Sawyer’s clothes. Did he mean for me to wear something of his?

There’s a plain gray tee sitting right on top. I figure that’s as good as any, but when I pick it up, it’s so incredibly soft I can’t stop stroking it.

“Find something?” Sawyer asks from outside the door.

“Um, yeah. I’m just going to slip it on.” I take off the purple cami and drape it over the edge of the washing machine, then slip the gray
shirt over my head. It slinks its way down my body. I don’t have a clue how it looks on me, but it feels amazing.

I open the door and Sawyer grins—now a full-on grin—at me in his shirt.

My face heats up again. I was thinking I’d come over, ask for the brochure, and be out the door again in about thirty seconds, with some sort of an increased comfort level between us. And maybe another offer for a ride to school.

“Is this…okay? I didn’t see any of Tristan’s
—”

“No, I mean, yeah,” he says. “It’s one of my favorites.”

I’m not sure what he means—it’s one of his favorites, so I should take it off and choose another? But then he reaches to pull the laundry room door closed behind me.

I
go to take Eddy from him, but Sawyer says, “No worries. It’s probably easier for me. I mean, you know, I’m bigger.”

And he is. Bigger
than when he left for Vermont. His jaw is also sculpted—more man than boy.

“You’re here for the brochure, right?” He’s being totally cool, totally low-pressure.
I stand in the entryway, unsure if I really want to be invited in, but then I overhear Mr. and Mrs. Bishop arguing about Tristan in the kitchen.

“She
’s probably still in the air.” Mrs. Bishop's voice is dismissive.

“I just think we should have heard from her by now,” Mr. Bishop says.

In ten seconds of listening to her parents, I know Tristan wasn’t exaggerating about how they’d be without Sawyer smoothing things over. She knows how to put together a well-orchestrated plan, and again, I doubt whether I should be over here when she specifically told me to steer clear of Sawyer.

He
glances back at me to see if I’m following him as he lopes toward the living room with my brother in tow. Now that I’m here, I don’t want to be rude. I quickly slip off my shoes and follow.

The Bishop
s’ living room is right off their kitchen. Mrs. Bishop stops arguing long enough to say hi to Eddy and me, and puts on a warm smile just for us. Mr. Bishop barely lifts a hand to wave. His forehead is creased with concern.

“I got an email from her in Newark
,” Sawyer says as he lifts Eddy and places him onto the couch. “Everything seemed fine. I’m sure she’ll write to you soon. I’ll be back in a sec,” he says to me. He steps away before motioning me to the couch, like he wants to make sure I know he’s not going to get too close. The irony of the situation strikes me: How all the girls at school clamor to touch Sawyer and now he’s trying not to pressure me by getting too close.

But also, what he just said to his parents
? I felt like I was in on the secret with him, and I’m amazed for a second that he would trust me so quickly like that.

I haven’t really had a conversation with Sawyer in years. The bit
s today have been huge for us. He’s out a lot, and at school we hang with completely different crowds—meaning, he hangs with any girl who wants to fawn over him and I hang with the students I’m tutoring.

Mr. and Mrs. Bishop are still arguing, but the topic has changed to what they’ll eat for dinner. I tune them out and scan the room for any breakables. It’s a habit when I have Eddy with me.

Collectible decorative plates line the wall, but they’re too high for Eddy to reach. They’re knock-offs anyway, Tristan’s told me. Her parents are all about image, and if you don’t look at anything around their house too closely, you’d probably think they were wealthy. But I’m privy to all the family secrets: How Mrs. Bishop was a failed actress, and tried fiercely to get her kids into commercials from when they were babies. How Mr. Bishop’s job leans more to the lowly employee role, rather than the executive he portrays. How behind closed doors, Sawyer and Tristan’s competitiveness reaches Olympic levels.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Sawyer
asks, breaking me from my thoughts. He hands me the brochure from the foreign exchange program. I look up at him, my mouth half open, but then realize he’s asking Eddy.

“Um, he drank at home. He can be kind of…” I glance down at the almost-dry splotch on Sawyer’s shirt “…messy.”

“Mmm, I get that. So what can I do to make you comfortable, buddy?” Sawyer crouches beside Eddy, still far away from me.

It makes me smile every time Sawyer calls him
buddy
. Most people let Mom and me handle Eddy when they realize how severely disabled he is. Even Tristan rarely says anything other than hello to Eddy, and she’s over all the time.  But Eddy hasn’t sat still since he got here, and obviously Sawyer noticed.

Eddy points to the TV and grunts.

“No, Eddy.” I shake my head. “You can watch something when we get home, but you don’t need to—”

“It’s totally okay.” Sawyer reaches for the remote on the coffee table.
“What does he like to watch?”

I wasn’t planning on staying, but I
guess it wouldn't hurt to hang around for a few minutes. “Um. Any kind of cartoons would be good. Or the guide channel.”

Sawyer scrunches his face
. “The guide channel?”

“Yeah, you know, channel two, where they list what’s coming on?”

“No, I know what it is,” Sawyer says. “I’m just…why would he want to watch that?”

There are lots of oddities about Eddy that
Mom and I just accept. People don’t usually ask. “I guess he likes to watch the scroll of text go by.” I shrug. “Maybe it’s relaxing for him.”

“Is it relaxing for you, buddy?”

Eddy doesn’t answer, of course, but when the guide channel comes on, his eyes widen in excitement.

“Now,
we’re only staying for a few minutes, Eddy. Don’t get too attached to the big screen TV.”

Eddy’s tuned me out, his eyes glued to the
enormous flat screen. I cringe at the thought of having to turn it off, probably with Eddy letting out a few shrieks of protest. Tristan’s used to his moods, but Mr. and Mrs. Bishop? Not so much.

Once Eddy’s happy, Sawyer pushes himself to a standing position. I’m kind of expect
ing him to offer me a drink too, or plop down between Eddy and me, but he turns away without a word. He’s certainly doing a thorough job of taking the pressure off. Maybe
too
thorough.

He heads through the kitchen into the family room, where I’ve watched movies with Tristan before.
Mr. and Mrs. Bishop have settled at the card table in there to continue their conversation. Now they’re on the subject of bills, and I suspect they’ve moved out of earshot because of the more sensitive topic.

Sawyer
comes back, lugging a brown beanbag chair. He plops it in front of the TV.

“I figure if we’re going to be talking…” Sawyer picks up Eddy again, making it look effortless even though I know how heavy that kid is. He places him down in the beanbag chair, and Eddy is immediately
enamored by the unusual piece of furniture. He wriggles around in it, and squeezes the material in his hands, like he’s trying to capture the individual beans.

“Do you think he’ll be okay on this?” Sawyer asks. “Or is it too new for him?”

I’m surprised at Sawyer’s thoughtfulness. He actually cares what will work, not just to give us some peace and quiet, but what will be okay for Eddy.

“
He should be fine after a minute or two.” I move onto my knees beside Eddy and squeeze the chair near his hands. Then I sign and say,
“Pretty cool, huh?”

Eddy mimics my sign back.
Cool.

“I didn’t know you signed with him.” Sawyer’s digging through some cords in the entertainment center, and comes out with a set of headphones.

“It doesn’t always work. I think he knows more than he lets on, but he can be kind of picky about who he communicates with.”

Sawyer raises his eyebrows and looks down for a second. When he looks up, it’s at Eddy. “Do you want to try these on?” He holds the headphones out. Eddy looks up from his studying of the beanbag and sees the offering. Before Sawyer has a chance to place them over Eddy’s head, Eddy snatche
s them away. He turns them over and over in his hands, squishing the leathery parts.

Sawyer reaches for the other end of the cord, but Eddy’s flipping the earphones around so
fast, he can’t get a hold of it. I reach to help him and we get a grasp on the cord at the exact same moment. Our fingers touch, and a buzz of current goes through me, even though the wire’s not plugged in yet.

I have a flash of a memory of when
Sawyer and I first met. The Bishops were moving in. I was loitering around our front bushes, kind of watching, kind of trying to look like I wasn’t watching. Terribly excited that there was a girl my age among the moving crew. And a very cute boy.