Page 34 of Exchanged

Lana’s pen scratches at her notepad. “And he doesn’t have to work for you, correct? He’s not being asked to do unpaid tasks for your family business?”

“Nope.”

Lana smiles. “Glad to hear that. I’ll just need to take a little peek in Garrett’s room, if that’s all right.”

“What about Garrett’s privacy?” I say.

“That only matters sometimes,” Dad deadpans, leading the way to the staircase to Garrett’s and my rooms.

Lana’s expression turns sour, and I worry that we’re pissing off the wrong person, but I also don’t care because something about this walkthrough feels off.

We reach the third-floor landing. From our position between the two rooms, it’s obvious that each is occupied by a very different type of teen guy: my room with its keyboard, organized sheet music, oboe; Garrett’s with piles of laundry, football jerseys, and the scent of a high school weight room.

“Not the tidiest, is he?” Lana says, peering through Garrett’s door. She turns to Dad. “How much supervision do the boys have up here?”

“They’re seventeen,” Dad says. “Enzo turns eighteen in a few weeks. I think they can handle having their own bedrooms.”

“Their own floor,” Lana corrects. “With a door that locks them away from the rest of the house.”

“For privacy,” Dad reminds her. “Because of the business downstairs.”

Lana opens her mouth to respond but pauses when we hear the familiar thud-thud-thud of Garrett climbing the stairs. He reaches us and freezes, confusion flashing across his face. His hair is still damp from his after-practice shower, a strand of it drooping over his forehead. The smell of his bodywash fills the small space.

“Garrett!” Lana says, bright teeth winking at him. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m Lana from GYA. I’m checking up on how things are going for you this year.”

“It’s all good.”

“Do you feel connected in Irontown? Are things going well at school?” Lana’s pen hangs suspended over her clipboard, and I realize that this could be Garrett’s way out. He could tell her that he hates it here and that his placement sucks and he wants to fly back to Atlanta tomorrow.

This is his chance. He can get himself sent home. Maybe his parents wouldn’t listen to his plea, but if he told his GYA liaison that he felt uncomfortable in our home, that our family wasn’t treating him well, his flight would be booked by the end of the week.

His gaze lands on me, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. I already know what he’ll do, and I can’t even blame him. Our town is nothing compared to Atlanta. Our school isn’t good enough, our football team isn’t good enough, and his friends here mean nothing next to the people he’s grown up with. I think of the video call I overheard, how he described Irontown to his friends with casual derision, like he was trapped in a yearlong purgatory.

There is nothing for him in this town.

“Things are great,” Garrett says. “I’ve made some friends. I like school. The Rossis have been incredible. I’m lucky to be here.”

He’s no longer looking at me, but I wish he were, wish I had a clue what he’s feeling right now. He just made the implicit decision to stay here, to continue living above an antique shop in a town he hates. I thought I was beginning to understand him, but this choice reminds me that I don’t know the person living across the hall from me.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Garrett,” Lana says.

She scribbles on her clipboard, then moves to my room, and I feel as if I’m now under scrutiny.

She points at my pride flag with her pen. “Garrett, do you feel comfortable expressing your views and opinions here?”

Garrett’s eyes flick to the flag. “I don’t understand.”

“GYA strives to help our students learn about other cultures, but we don’t want our students to feel pressured into any political beliefs that misalign with their own values. I just want to ensure that no one here is forcing you to think or feel anything that goes against your own belief system.”

“Enzo’s pride flag doesn’t go against my beliefs. I don’t have a problem with gay people.”

“That’s nice,” Lana says, looking between the three of us. “Do politics ever come up in conversation here?”

I don’t know what to say, and I can tell Dad is done answering Lana’s questions. He leans against the wall, arms folded, glaring at her.

Garrett flashes his disarming grin. “Mr. Rossi likes to complain about the Irontown Chamber of Commerce a lot. But otherwise, no. We don’t talk about politics much.”

Lana watches him through her red-rimmed glasses, lips in a thin line. Finally, she nods, jots one last note, then hands him a business card. She steps back and smiles at us. “It was lovely meeting all of you. It seems like Garrett has found a fabulous placement for the year. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me.”