Mom stopped talking and dropped the wooden spoon she'd been using to stir the spaghetti into the boiling water. Flushed, she promptly burned herself trying to retrieve it, all the while muttering, "So sorry, but there must have been some mistake. You see, the program said they were sending over a
girl. We set up a bed in Rayne's room."
Azi gave her one of his mega-watt smiles, and she shut up.
"Mrs. Marks?
Mom gulped. "Ms."
"Sorry. I'm aware that this must be an awkward situation for you, but, I assure you, I am the foreign exchange student you were expecting. If there's any problem at all, I'm positive I could find a new sponsor . . "
"No, don't be silly." Mom finally succeeded in fishing out the spoon. "It's just that . . . Well, I'm a little surprised is all. Honestly. Where are your bags?"
Azi nervously looked down. "I don't have any. I was given some money for clothes."
"You didn't bring anything?" Mom took off her glasses and wiped away the mist that had clouded their surface. "No personal belongings?"
Azi blushed. Or, at least, I think he did. It was kinda hard to tell.
"I do have some things from home. There's not much." Azi touched a backpack (black, naturally) that I had failed to notice before.
Mom replaced her glasses and pushed back a strand of mousy hair that was threatening to fall in the spaghetti. "Oh. That's perfectly fine. I'll have Rayne show you up to . . . Oh, dear."
"Mom?" I questioned, fearing she'd cut off a finger or something equally ditzy.
"Well, we only have one bed open in the house. And, well, no offense Azi, but it's in my daughter's room.
I grimaced. "Mom, it's not a big deal."
Azi shot a sideways glance at me. "Your daughter is right. I don't mind if she doesn't."
Mom fluttered a little. I was worried about her proximity to a semi-open flame. "But, it's just that . . ."
"Mom. At least let him put some of his stuff away. We can work this out after dinner."
My mom looked like she was about to argue for a second before heaving a sigh and saying, "Fine. Go help him get settled in."
This statement, however, was followed by the infamous we-are-SO-going-to-have-a-talk-later-little-lady look.
I stood there for a second before realizing that Azi had no idea where my room was.
"Follow me."
Azi nodded, and I led him out of the kitchen. Behind us, there was a telltale plop that I took to mean that my mom had finally dropped her glasses into her (attempt at) spaghetti.
