The International Kissing Club (18 page)

Guilt twinged inside of Cass, freshly sharp, when she thought about it. Somehow, some way, she’d make it up to her mom. She promised. Because given the choice again, she wouldn’t change anything. She wanted this trip that badly.

The phone finally connected and her mom answered before the first ring finished. “Cass, are you okay? How was the plane ride?”

“I’m fine, Mom. The flight was fine, just really long.”

“Good, good. I’ve been waiting up for your call. It seems like you’ve been gone for weeks already. What time is it there?”

“I don’t know. Daytime,” she answered, looking out the plane’s tiny window at the sunlight streaming in. Flying seven thousand miles and crossing the equator had made her mind too numb to do the math.

“Mrs. Gatwick is going to pick you up from the airport, right?” her mom asked. Mrs. Gatwick would be Cassidy’s host during the trip. Normally, the foreign exchange agency placed students with families that had other kids about the same age, to help with the transition of being in a strange country. Cassidy, however, had been more than relieved when she’d found out she’d been placed with an older, widowed woman. Not having grown up with a dad or siblings, she didn’t think she would’ve been comfortable in a full-on family setting, anyway. Her only real experience with a conventional mom-dad-kids situation was during sleepovers at Piper’s or Izzy’s, and if those weekends had taught her anything, it was that the more family members one had in the house, the greater the dysfunction. This two-person arrangement suited her just fine.

“Yeah, the e-mail said she would pick me up outside of the baggage claim. She’ll have a sign with my name on it so I’ll know it’s her.”

“Okay, then I’ll let you go—don’t want to use too many minutes. E-mail me when you get settled and let me know how it is. Be extra careful and have a good time. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom. Bye.”

At last Cassidy staggered off the plane, her legs barely able to function properly. She had the urgent need to pee. After going through customs she found a restroom and saw herself in a mirror for the first time since leaving North America.

Holy crap!

Stale, recirculated airplane air, confined space, sleep deprivation, and crossing an ocean obviously did not do wonders for one’s appearance. Not that she usually cared about that kind of thing, but come on. She looked like a creature straight out of the movie
Zombieland
: red-eyed, pale skin, and with a decidedly funky aura. And her hair … even under the best circumstances her hair was about as easy to tame as a horde of flesh-hungry zombies.

With a groan she splashed water on her face, wrestled her hair into a braid, and popped three Altoids into her mouth. It wasn’t much, but until she had her luggage it was the best she could do. She only hoped Mrs. Gatwick would be understanding enough to take her straight home and to a hot shower.

Cassidy joined the thousands of people navigating the ginormous airport’s maze of corridors. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but most of the people looked and dressed just like Americans. Well, maybe not Americans from Paris, Texas, but big melting-pot cities like Dallas or Houston, for sure.

She got to the baggage claim to find the hundreds of bags from her flight already circulating around the turnstile. She cringed when she spied her own from a hundred feet away. Unfortunately, there was no mistaking the 1970s guacamole-colored Samsonite suitcase she’d had to borrow from her Memaw. To make it worse, her Papa had strapped two bright red and yellow bungee cords around it to be sure no one would “poke around” in her stuff. It looked like a rejected piñata from a Cinco de Mayo festival.

She slunk to a spot in back where the fewest people stood before
claiming it, then walked toward the exit area where loved ones and others stood waiting for arriving passengers.

With nothing more to go on than the description from Mrs. Gatwick’s e-mail, Cassidy scanned the crowd, looking for an elderly female holding a sign with her name on it. When she didn’t find anyone, she flipped open her phone to make sure there wasn’t anything saying Mrs. Gatwick would be late. Then she decided to open Facebook to check the IKC page and let the girls know she’d arrived somewhat intact.

While she was posting, someone bumped into her and she glanced up from her phone. She caught a glimpse of her name scrawled across a white piece of paper. However, the person holding it was neither old nor a lady.

Oh. God.

Those were the only words that formed in her mind when she saw him. Tall and tanned, in a white tee, frayed cargo shorts, and flip-flops, the golden streaks in his tousled sun-bleached hair setting off deep-set hazel eyes to perfection, the guy looked like summer at the beach.

Their eyes met and he starting walking toward her.

“Are you Cassidy?” he asked in a rumbly, Aussie accent.

“Y-yes,” she managed to croak.

He smiled, a wide, eye-crinkling grin punctuated by a gorgeous little dimple on his left cheek. “I’m Lucas.” He held out his hand, but she hesitated. She
was
a girl by herself in a foreign country. Hadn’t she watched enough
48 Hours
episodes with her mom to know the serial killer always turned out to be the guy with the good manners who nobody ever suspected?

As if sensing her nervousness he said, “Mrs. Gatwick asked me to get you from the airport as a favor. Her car is small and she thought you might have a lot of bags. Don’t worry—I swear I’m not some weirdo who hangs out at the airport trying to pick up cute tourists.” He was teasing her, but it immediately put Cassidy at ease. She laughed at her overactive imagination and shook his hand.

“I’m Cassidy,” she said—then remembered the sign he was holding with her name on it. “But you already know that. I’m sorry. It must be jet lag. Sitting for twenty hours on a plane made all the blood drain from my head to my feet, and—”

Cassidy suddenly stopped herself when she realized she was babbling.
Jeez, could I sound more idiotic?

Luckily, Lucas politely overlooked her sudden onset of verbal diarrhea. “Glad to know you, Cassidy. My car’s in the park across the way.” He tossed his head, indicating outside beyond the glass doors. “Let me get your bag for you.”

“No, that’s okay.” Cass stayed planted in front of the monstrosity to hide it from his view. “I’ve got it.”

“I insist,” he said, and before she could stop him, he reached around and took it. “Hey, my gram has one just like this.”
Why, oh why, couldn’t the airline have just lost the damn thing?

Outside, he led her to an open-top, faded-blue vintage Bronco with an orange-and-brown-striped surfboard strapped across the roll bar.
Of course
, she thought. A surfer: as if he could have been anything else looking like he did. When he got into the driver’s seat beside her she smelled the clean, breezy scent of the ocean coming from his skin.

“This your first time in Australia, then?” he asked as they drove away from the airport.

“It’s my first time anywhere,” Cassidy answered.

“So, why did you travel halfway around the world to come to school here? Or don’t they have schools back in Texas?” He winked one golden eye at her.

He was so freaking cute her breath caught just at the top of her throat, making her stammer. “D-did Mrs. Gatwick tell you I was from Texas?”

“Yeah. She’s a friend of my gram. I’ve known her since I was a little bloke. Her daughter and grandkids don’t live in Sydney, so I help her out from time to time.”

“That’s very nice of you. Do you live near her?” If he lived close to
Mrs. Gatwick, then maybe he would go to her school. Cassidy imagined the possibility. If Lucas were in her classes, she could actually see herself becoming quite the stellar student …

“No. I live with some mates across the harbor in DeeWhy. I graduated last spring. I’m taking a gap year before I decide on university.”

“Oh.” Cassidy hoped Lucas hadn’t heard the deflation in her tone. See, that’s what happens when you get your hopes up—inevitable disappointment.

They made more small talk as they blew down the highway into the heart of sprawling Sydney. The skyscrapers in the Central Business District gleamed in the sunlight as Lucas drove through the car-and-pedestrian-crowded streets. Already overwhelmed with flight fatigue and the boy sitting next to her, Cassidy could hardly take in the entire whirl of sights and sounds. But, when they drove north across the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge and she saw the great stretch of blue water surrounded by rolling green coastline and dotted with the sails of hundreds of boats, she realized just how far from Paris, Texas, she had come.

The tall business buildings gave way to quieter tree-lined streets, and Lucas pulled to a stop in front of a white two-story house.

“We’re here,” he said. He got out of the car and pulled her suitcase from the back. Cassidy opened her door and stepped onto the curb.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said.

“No worries.” He smiled and his dimple made a charming reappearance. Cassidy ignored the resultant wobble in her step and reached for her bag, but Lucas moved it out of her grasp. “I’ll walk you to the door—Mrs. Gatwick would be on the phone to my gram in a heartbeat if I left you on the curb and didn’t stop to say hello.”

He saw her into the house and after making introductions between her and Mrs. Gatwick, he opened the door to leave. “Well, I’ll see you round,” he said. “The swells are supposed to really be going off today and I don’t want to miss ’em.” Then he looked at Cassidy. “If you need anything or want someone to show you the city, just ring me. Mrs. Gatwick has my number.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she stammered. Cass knew he was just being polite, but still the idea of seeing him again sent her heart into overdrive.

“Have a good time, Cassidy. I think you’ll like it here.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Gatwick. It was delicious as always,” Cassidy said, finishing off the last bite of smoked ham, poached eggs, and toast. Mrs. Gatwick was an excellent cook and, like all grandmothers, believed food a cure-all for whatever ailed a body. It was a good thing Cassidy had the metabolism of a cheetah or she wouldn’t be able to fit into her school uniform by the end of the month.

She did wish, however, that Mrs. Gatwick believed in sleeping in on the weekends—seven thirty was on the early side for breakfast on Saturday. Especially when that left at least fourteen hours to fill until she could reasonably go to bed and not be a total loser.

“Do you have plans today, Cassidy?” Mrs. Gatwick asked, pouring herself another cup of Earl Grey. “You should ring one of your schoolmates for a day at the beach. I’m sure all the young people will be out on a lovely spring day.”

She could, but there was no one to call. Not that the girls at North Sydney Secondary weren’t nice enough—after two weeks at school, she was at least eating lunch with some of the ones she played volleyball with—but being the “American girl,” she got the sense they found her a bit of a curiosity and none had made any real overtures of friendship. And she wasn’t exactly one to reach out—even if she was so homesick most days that she could barely tear herself away from her laptop screen in case she missed the chance to chat with one of her friends online.

Saturdays back home were always spent with Piper, Izzy, and Mei, even if it was nothing more than hanging out, with Piper bemoaning the cruel fate that had landed them in a town with nothing to do. At least they were doing nothing together. Now, Cassidy was on the
other side of the globe and the thought of another eight weekends without them made the distance feel that much more vast.

And she missed her mom. They exchanged e-mails almost every day and Skyped at least once a week, but of course it wasn’t the same as sitting at the table together in their cozy kitchen, griping about her mom’s job at the hospital and Cass’s schoolwork over reheated pizza.

This whole thing sucked, especially considering she couldn’t remember a day since she’d turned ten when she hadn’t wanted to be as far away from Paris, Texas, as she could get. So, this homesickness was a real kick in the ass.

Irony—it wasn’t just a theme for an American Lit paper.

Cassidy gulped down her orange juice and gathered her plate and Mrs. Gatwick’s to take to the kitchen sink. “I thought I might make the cliff run from Bronte Beach to Bondi,” she said, trying for a bright, excited tone so the older woman wouldn’t guess just how lonely Cassidy was. She knew it would only make her worry, and then she’d just feed Cassidy more. “The guidebook says it’s a must do, and I feel like some exercise.”

That wasn’t a lie, at least. A good sweat and sore muscles always made her feel better. Between riding the buses across town, making the 3.5 kilometer run, and getting back, it would take her at least four hours. She could bring her swimsuit and dip into the waves a bit to burn some more time, though she suspected the water would still be freezing this early in spring. But if she played her cards right, she could occupy herself till at least midafternoon, followed by an early supper and a bit of “telly” in the evening with Mrs. Gatwick before bed, and that would be another day down. As Mei would say, success is all about careful planning.