Page 14 of Exchanged

And yet everyone else seems okay with a kid from Atlanta living in our house for a year.

I don’t know why Garrett or his parents wanted this. I don’t know why Dad and Emma like him so much. And I don’t know why a weird part of me wants to fight with him about my pride flag again, wants to watch him dive into ultramarine waves of Lake Superior again, wants him to choose me over Evan Hegge.

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, he can stay. I don’t care—it’s fine.”

A wide smile breaks across Emma’s face. Dad nods, sealing the decision.

Cue the brass! Cue the woodwinds! Cue the montage-inciting key change!

Cue footsteps in the kitchen and Garrett standing in the doorway, and cancel the montage because he is a real person about to live across the hall from me for the next year.

“Sorry I missed dinner,” he says, noticing our empty plates. He’s been in the sun most of the day and carries some of it into the room with him, but his face holds a strained expression, and I realize I don’t remember hearing the back door open. I wonder how long he’s been standing in the kitchen, how much of our conversation he overheard.

“Just leftovers,” Dad says. “Make yourself a plate.”

Garrett obliges, and as he passes Emma, he slides something onto the table next to her. He’s trying to be discreet, but as soon as she picks it up, she squeals with delight.

“The third book in the Centaurus Chronicles! Where did you get it?”

He shrugs, leaning over the table to pile his plate with salad. “One of the guys I met today just finished it and loaned me his copy.”

“Thank you!” She opens up the book, props it against the edge of the table, and begins reading.

I watch Garrett as he empties the bowl of rigatoni onto his plate. There’s no way any of Tyler’s friends just finished book three of the Centaurus Chronicles, and that copy looks like it’s never been opened before. He sits down and starts eating, staring at his food more intently than he needs to, which lets me look at him longer. This—his going out and buying a book for my younger sister—is a new facet of the person sitting across from me.

Cocky golden boy.

Sci-fi fan.

Football jock.

And now a considerate gift giver.

Who is this guy?

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dad tells him softly.

Garrett shrugs again. “It’s whatever.” He swallows his food and takes a swig of water. “I appreciate everything y’all have done for me. Letting me crash here for a few days and everything.”

“About that,” Dad says, and the room gets awkward and still, as if he were a teenager about to announce an unexpected pregnancy during Thanksgiving dinner. “I talked to GYA and your parents today. Sounds like it was our fault for not knowing you were assigned here.”

Garrett’s fork pauses over his plate.

“I’m sorry for all the anxiety this has caused you,” Dad says. “We’re thrilled to have you with us for the year. Right, Enz?”

“Right,” I say, responsibility and guilt settling on my shoulders in equal measure, as if I’m part of the Thanksgiving pregnancy scare, too.

Garrett is silent for a half second, maybe less. And in that half second, disappointment and frustration flash across his face. But then he releases his one-third grin, and it’s almost convincing, before he asks, “Did my parents … did they say much else when you talked to them?”

Dad’s face is a mask. “No. Not much else. Just that they were glad you got here safe.”

Garrett’s eyes narrow. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”