Sweetheart

1

Lizzie
August 2020

I hate planes.

A crowded, chaotic place filled with frustrated people wanting to immediately be airborne. We all have somewhere to be, Karen, so sit down and shut that mouth of yours before I throw bees in it and snap it closed. 

The flight Los Angeles - Vancouver had gone pretty smoothly. Almost three hours spent sleeping and looking outside the tiny window to my left.

My second flight, however, had seriously been a challenge. I had never wanted to snap a woman's neck as much as during that one-hour journey. All she did was complain. Either it was too hot or too cold. The food was too expensive or too cheap to be healthy. It still surprises me how I didn't smash her head against the wall, or squeeze her body into her seat.

Now I sit here in the airport of Cranbrook, Canada, waiting for my host family to show up and take me to the small town in the mountains, Fernie. It'll be a challenge to survive the winter there while my body is used to living in LA.

I bounce my leg, fidgeting with a strand of hair, twisting it around my finger. I'm genuinely scared about this whole situation. What if the family doesn't like me? What if I don't like them? What if they find out the truth? Holy crap, I hope they don't.

I take my phone out of my black backpack and check for new messages. There's only one from my mother, asking me if I've landed safely and if everything's okay. No, mom. Everything is not okay. I don't tell her that, though. Live fast, die young, but I don't look forward to being murdered by my mother, you know?

Me, 11.00 a.m.: I'm okay. Waiting for my host family.

Mom, 11.02 a.m.: *thumbs-up emoji*

Jeez. She really put effort into her message. Since I have some spare time, I buy a croissant and eat it. While I do so, I start telling myself everything there is to know about the people that are going to take me in for a whole year.

Grace Castle, 39 years old and teaches English in High School. From what I've seen in the pictures, she's a stunning woman. And that would explain her handsome son, Nate, who is my age and probably a douche. No. No prejudices allowed. That blond hair and those blue eyes didn't give me positive vibes, though. Then there's Aaron. No pictures of him, nothing much to say. Grace had written in her email to me that she didn't have pictures of the boy because he hates — no, loathes — them. Well, he seems fun...

I'm about to buy my second croissant when someone with a big sign with my name on it appears. Elizabeth Wright. I can almost hear my mother's voice scolding me using my full name.

Throwing away that thought into the trash with the napkin I used for my breakfast, I grab my suitcase and backpack, walking up to the woman smiling at me and the teenage boy next to her, his face unexpectedly friendly.

"Hi!" Grace greets me, tossing away the sign into her son's arms. "I'm Grace," she smiles, bringing me in for a hug. "Elizabeth, right?"

Surprised, it takes me a moment to hug her back. "Hello," I reply awkwardly. "Please, call me Lizzie. Or Liz. Anything but Elizabeth. My mom uses it when she's trying not to kill me," I joke, earning a chuckle from them both.

I look at the blond guy. He's pretty tall and fit. His arms are well trained and his muscles stand out with the black t-shirt he's wearing. "I'm Nate," he says with a deep voice, offering me his hand. I shake it but don't hold eye contact.

"Well, shall we? There's still an hour or two before we get home," Grace interrupts our moment. Wait, what moment? There was no moment.

I nod, pulling my hand back from his warm one. "Sure." Before I can take another step, Nate grabs my suitcase and backpack. I look up at him. "Oh, it's fine. You don't have to do that."