Soft Christian music danced through the sound waves of the car as they drove down the interstate. George knew all the words despite not understanding the meaning behind them. He hummed along, tapping the pads of his fingers against his luggage to the beat. His chestnut eyes glanced to the two adults in the front. The woman drove, singing along to the tunes from the radio. Her long, wavy, light brunette hair blew from the high air coming from the AC. Next to her was a tall man with light dirty blond hair. It appeared that he had driven straight from work to the airport to pick George up as he still wore a black suit with the red tie now undone.
"So, George," His host father said, glancing at him through the rearview mirror with bright green eyes. "Why'd you decide to come to America?"
George shrugged. It wasn't his first choice to be a Foreign Exchange Student. If anything, it was at the bottom of his non-existent list of ambitions. He didn't have to either. He only had one more year of college before he could go to university and live alone in a flat with his best friend as he had originally planned. And it was said friend's idea to apply for the program. Like the way he had phrased it: "Americans would die to have a British lad in their homes. To them, it's like bringing home some pretentious piece of artwork like those abstract squares!"
His host father laughed heartily. "A man of few words, huh?"
"I guess."
"You'll be okay, George," His host mother added. "Your new siblings will love you. They're around your age. fourteen and fifteen. Do you have any siblings at home?"
George shook his head before realizing both his new host parents had their eyes on the road. "No."
"Well, they can be a bit abrasive, but you'll grow to love them."
"I'm sure I will."
The view of the city soon passed like a blur through the window as they entered the residential area. Already, George could point out countless differences between his country and the new one he had landed himself in. The entire atmosphere was different even if he couldn't specifically point out how.
"Welcome to your new home, George," His host mother had said when they arrived to their destination.
Their house was among the many lining the outskirts of the big city. Driving through Orlando, George was relieved, finding that the city life wasn't for him and was far too overwhelming. Despite being a suburban home, it wasn't large. At least it wasn't what George was expecting. When he thought of suburban homes, he thought of huge mansion-like ones and astroturf that he was always told covered the states.
Trees lined the rather uniform street. All the houses appeared to be built with the same blueprint with little to no changes. The only way to tell them apart were by the nuances placed by the owners such as cars in the driveway or a flower pot by the front door. His host house had wind chimes that created melodies as a breeze blew by, emphasizing the whistle of the wind. Their garage, like the rest of the houses on the street, were one of three colors: a faded green, pink, or beige. This one was green; though, George would have preferred it to be pink or beige.
"We're so excited to have you!" His host mother continued as she fished her purse for her keys. "How are you feeling? Are you a little nervous? Excited?"
"A mix of both." The pit of George's stomach sank as he dragged his belongings across the driveway and to the door. When he signed up for the program, he failed to realize that he was to be with a whole family for an entire year. Not just parents, whom he always considered family enough, but siblings. Brothers and sisters. Though he was sure his new siblings would be as kind as his host parents had been so far, it still didn't stop the inevitable pull telling him it was best to fly back home to his insufferable parents and tolerate it for one more year.
His host mom found her keys and unlocked the door. Upon opening, she shouted for the entire household to hear, "We're home!"
She led George into the homely house. The windows were draped with differing shades of brown curtains. The room they were in had couches and a television, and the walls were painted a maroon color. There were houseplants around the room and the only things on the walls were family photos.
"Mom, we're in the kitchen. You don't have to scream." A young girl George assumed to be the fourteen year old he heard about emerged from one of the rooms. She had long, dirty blonde hair and the same green eyes as her father. She had an oversized green sweater on, which made sense as the house was freezing. In her hand, she had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"Greet your new brother," Her mom directed.
The girl looked up at him. "Hi."
George glanced over his shoulder at his host parents before turning back and replying with a simple "hi."
"Drista, that's not how you greet someone new," A brand new voice said. George looked at where the girl, who he assumed was named Drista, emerged. He looked like the male version of his sister with matching dirty blond hair and green eyes that shined just like his father's. His hair was a shaggy mess, and he wore a plain white-colored shirt, appearing unbothered with the cold atmosphere in the room.
His eyes landed on George and he smirked as he held his hand out to him. "Name's Clay, what's yours?"
George's eyes flickered between the bright green eyes and hand in front of him before slowly grabbing it and shaking it. "George."
"George. Nice name. Kind of basic, but it's alright. My soulmate's name is the same way." George glanced at the other boy's wrist to see a fire symbol imprinted on it. Clay laughed. "Nope. You're not my soulmate and I'm not yours. Judging by how you checked, I assume you haven't met yours yet?"
George shook his head.
"Did you come to America hoping you'd find them?"
"No."
Clay looked over George's shoulder at his parents. "Can I show him to his room, mom?"
Both of George's host parents beamed at the request, and his mother said, "Of course! Make him feel at home!"
Clay pulled George down the hallway. "Don't worry. I will."
They passed by many closed doors George assumed he wasn't allowed in. At the end of the hallway, across one of the bedrooms, Clay opened the door and pulled George inside.
The bedroom appeared cozy with a wooden twin bed pushed up against the corner of the room and the wooden desk by the window for natural light to come in so he wouldn't need to use his desk lamp until night fell. There was a clock over the desk that pointed out that it was currently noon as well as a calendar that was already flipped to the July page. It had pictures of Britain at the top, and as he flipped through the pages, he discovered it was a Britain-themed calendar.
The door shut behind them, and George began to say, "You seem really ni—"
"I want you here just as much as you want to be here," Clay interrupted, and George snapped around to look at him.
"What?"
"I don't know if you're just really awkward, but I could tell you're uncomfortable."
"I am a little," George admitted. "But it's a whole new country for me. Can you blame me?"
"No, because I'm uncomfortable too. I thought it violates the Bill of Rights to have to house some British fuck in my house."
"Did I do something?"
"Yes. You decided to come here and join my family. I don't want you here."
"I didn't really get to choose where I went. It was all just unfortunate chance, I guess."
Clay nodded as he scanned the bedroom. "Unfortunate chance. Sounds about right."
"I still don't get it. Do you hate me just because I'm some British guy in your house?"
"Yes. Exactly. Good to know you're not as dense as you look. Now, let me place some rules for the both of us."
"You're placing rules on me now? And you expect me to listen?" George asked, leaning against the desk.
"Yes. Because if you don't, America to you won't really be the land of the free anymore." George scowled but let him continue. "First rule, stay the fuck away from me. Don't go in my room, don't sit by me at the dinner table, and act like you don't even know me at school. Second rule, don't touch me in any way—"
"Why would I want to?" George cut in.
"I don't know. You don't have a soulmate. You're probably some horny perv or something. Anyway, don't touch me. That hand shake was all you get. And the third and most important rule, don't tell my parents about any of the rules. You understand?"
"You're fifteen, right?"
The younger boy raised an eyebrow. "Sixteen next month. Why?"
George laughed softly. "So I'm supposed to take orders from someone two years younger than me?"
"I'm turning sixteen next month!"
"Alright, and once you turn sixteen, maybe I'll reconsider. For now, you can go back to playing with your Pokémon cards."
Clay looked taken aback and scowled. His face burnt red as he swung open the door behind him. "Welcome to America, Bitch Boy. It's shit just like you are."
George rolled his eyes. "Oh wow, he swore and called me a bitch! What's next? Is he going to go crying to his soulmate who's probably as tired of him as I already am?"
"Yeah? Well, at least I have one, George." He slammed the door shut, leaving George all alone. He wouldn't admit it, but the words stung. He swallowed his shame and sighed, throwing his luggage on his bed and unpacking.
The door squealed open moments later, and he glanced over to see Clay's younger sister in the doorway.
"Sorry about my brother. He's always like that. Mom says he's just being a typical teenager, but you seem a lot chiller than he is."
"I guess. I come from England so it's a lot colder there than it is here."
Drista laughed softly. "Need help unpacking?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though."
She watching as George hung up his shirts and folded his pants anyway. Occasionally, he'd look back to her and she'd sheepishly glance away.
"Do you need anything?" He asked.
"Can I see your mark?"
"Oh." He hesitated. "Sure." He held out his arm to the young girl, and she pulled up his sleeve.
"Damn." She sighed and pulled up her own sleeve just enough for George to see her mark. It appeared like four spikes.
"You'll meet your soulmate one day," George reassured. "I still haven't found mine."
"I know, I know." She let go of his arm and sat on his bed. "I'm so jealous of Clay. He doesn't have to worry about finding his. He met his in kindergarten."
"Rarely anyone is that lucky. Neither of my closest friends back home have found their's either." He left out the part of the story as to why. Wilbur, his best friend, simply didn't care to find his soulmate. He went as far as to buy concealer to hide his mark and would lie to anybody who asked to see it and told them he didn't have one (it also earned him phony sympathy). His second friend, Tommy, always tried to copy Wilbur and hid his own soulmate marking as well, though he still made it a point to check every new person he met's wrist.
"I guess. My friends are starting to find theirs. And sometimes I'll find boys I like but they're not my soulmate. It's just annoying, you know?"
"Believe me, I know. But you'll find yours. I'm sure of it. What year are you entering?"
"Ninth grade."
"Oh. I don't know what year that is."
She smiled. "First year of high school."
"Ah. Well, studies show most people find their soulmates around their last two years of schooling, not including uni. You have time."
"And what if I don't?"
"Then you'll be like me. And so far, I haven't spontaneously combusted, so I think you'll just be one of the many out-of-the-ordinary cases. Which isn't a bad thing."
Drista laughed softly. "That's true. Thanks-um-George, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good to meet ya. Just ignore Clay. He's not very happy being dethroned as the oldest sibling." She got up and stretched. "Speaking of Clay, I'm going to hijack his computer. I'll see you later."
"Bye." She shut the door behind herself and George sat down at his desk. All the drawers were empty aside from pencils, pens, and notebooks. He grabbed the blue spiral notebook and black pen and shut the top drawer he got them from.
"July 16" He wrote. "A month before school starts, I'm flown across the world to the United States in hopes it would be better here than it was back home. It's been a bittersweet experience so far. I met my host "brother" today and I can say that I have never been so relieved to have unmatched marks with someone."
He glanced down at his writing hand down to his mark. A simplistic smiley face. One would believe it to be easy to find someone else with such a simple mark, but George never did nor did he ever find any other variations of a face. Sometimes George would try to rub it off to see if it was fake, but it always remained— glaring at him with mocking eyes. It was then that George concluded that although he wasn't quite fond of his new brother, perhaps he had a point. Perhaps George truly didn't have a soulmate.