WITHIN a week of my decision to stay in America, I was enrolled at Eden Hall Academy in the year 11, or as American students call it, the junior year. I still couldn't wrap my head around the meaning behind the class names besides seniors, but I had bigger fish to fry.

Orientation was the Monday before school started on a Wednesday—a half day for freshmen, a full day for upperclassmen and international students. I was in for twelve hours of preparation and excitement.

When I first arrived to the campus, I was taken aback at how beautiful it was. My father had told me the school was private, which as I understood was similar to what we called non-government schools back home. I attended a government school in Australia, or what's called public here—Merrimac State High School. I had no problem with public school, but the ideals of private schools always intrigued me. The campus here almost felt like a college, brown brick buildings and ivy and long pathways, endless green grass.

I started the day in a meeting with my new guidance counselor, going over my transcript. I had to explain a lot of it because she had a limited understanding of Australian schooling—apparently most international students here hailed from western Europe. It was similar enough to British education, apparently, so she eventually got the hang of it. Still, I would be required to take placement and proficiency tests. That was where they moved me next.

I took a maths placement exam, an English proficiency exam, a French proficiency exam, and a science placement exam. Considering I had absolutely no background in American history, they had already determined that I should be placed in the lower level Intro to U.S. History. I was feeling exhausted after taking all of those, but by then it was just time for lunch.

The afternoon was to be full of instruction on adjusting to the Eden Hall and Minnesota life, and bonding with others. We embarked on a tour of the grounds, where I was placed in a group with boys and girls who only spoke Italian. I could keep up enough to get the gist, but I was disappointed I couldn't talk to them. After that, we were called to the auditorium for a presentation specifically for international students.

They had a special seating chart by the door when you came in, so you had to find your name and seat number. I soon found that each of us were sat next to another student in a red and gold Eden Hall shirt that said "peer mentor." I thought that was a really nice idea. I turned to the girl at my right and offered my hand.

"I'm Verona. What's your name?"
"Verona, awesome, you found your seat. I'm Rebecca, but everyone calls me Beck. And let me guess, you're from 'down under,' aren't you?"
"You bet."
She giggled a bit at my accent but I just smiled because I knew she meant well. She had nice, silky smooth black hair and light in her eyes.

"You'll find this out during the presentation, but you're going to be a part of the International Student Cohort, which is a club that does some extra activities to get you involved and used to our school. You all get a sort of buddy, a non-international student, and I'm yours. We'll have some of the same classes, and we'll work together on club activities."
"That sounds great!"
The presentation did go on to explain just about all of that. The cool thing I got out of it was that there was only one other person of our 50 student group that was from Australia, and I was determined to find out who it was. Though the continent was big, it really was a small world. The likelihood I was connected to them in some fashion was pretty great.

The presentation had us break off with our partners for one on one bonding, and I couldn't be happier when I realized Beck was leading us out to the lake, which the campus called "Eden Swans." They had a large, almost barn-looking building that was open with boats and kayaks and all sorts of outdoor equipment inside. Beck rented us the smallest rowboat they had and we set off to go paddle around.

It was really serene at Eden Swans. The water wasn't clear enough to where I'd want to swim there, but it looked refreshing and calm. It wasn't small either, it connected to other bigger lakes nearby. It was the perfect day to be out on the water.

I got to tell Beck basically my entire life story, and she was fascinated with it. I didn't fully realize how little Americans knew about Australia until our conversation. I knew they were ignorant in that respect, but not to the point where they couldn't name one of our states. Beck explained her life to me too—she was obviously a rich kid though she didn't brag about it. She had boarded at Eden Hall since she started high school, having come from a country day prep school where she lived in Chicago. She was one of six kids of a banker and real estate mogul couple, and she had the personality of the average middle child—loud and proud, friendly, headstrong and confident. She was on the tennis team too. When I mentioned my interest in trying out for the swim team, she was very encouraging.

That evening, we all gathered around a large bonfire and had hamburgers and hot dogs, followed by a treat I'd never gotten the opportunity to enjoy—s'mores. You would have thought I had been a poor, deprived orphan in the Soviet Union by the way Beck reacted to my never having tried it.

"How have you never had a s'more?"
"They just aren't a thing where I live."
Two pieces of graham cracker, which I had previously never tried, a marshmallow, and a piece of chocolate created the most perfect crunchy-chewy confection I had ever had the joy of eating. I loved it so much I got a second one—guess that's why they're called "s'mores."

My father and Steph came to pick me up, covered in mosquito bites but otherwise happier than I'd been in preparation for school for a long time. I got in the backseat, excited to talk all about my day. I told them everything, right down to the s'mores.

"S'mores aren't even that good," Steph scoffed, "just crackers and chocolate."
"Well I think they're great." I smiled. "We don't have the same treats you do here."
"Yeah, that's why you all look like supermodels."
An unusual unpleasantry from Steph. Usually she was over-the-moon with excitement for me trying out different American things. Maybe she'd just had a bad day.

As I went off toward my bedroom for the evening, my father kissed my head and wished me a good sleep. I entered into the room that had hardly changed since I came into this world sixteen years ago—three walls of pale pink stripes and one wall of pink with brown rabbits that looked like they could be the chocolate ones you get on easter. A blue wire bed frame, the same since I had gotten my first big-girl bed at five, just raised up a little higher each year. A matching baby blue dresser and nightstand painted with pink polka dots, very clearly by my mother and father. It wasn't much of a room for a teenage girl, but I liked how it made me feel and the memories it conjured up. I was thankful enough to even have a room.

I kept seashells on my nightstand from home, and a jar of sand from the beach just steps from my door in Mermaid Beach. When I missed home I'd run the sand over in my fingers, listening to the ringing sound it made when it ran back into the glass jar, and I'd hear the call of the ocean—the call of the mermaids—from a conch. Sometimes they told me things. Today they said nothing.

I turned off my light and went to sleep, thinking of the world of new possibilities I was entering and dreaming of the world before and my beloved "land down under."

❛ ━━･❪ 𓆉 ❫ ･━━ ❜

𖦹*ੈ riles' shell shack
1400 words

i love her commentary on american things

ik people will be mad and quit reading this because there's no charlie in this chapter but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD it's a charlie fic!! he's coming soon i promise!!

i love beck so so much she's so much fun and i can't wait to get to write her more :)

if you can't tell, this book is gonna be a lot of vibes. aka me having fun. i love researching australia.

thank you so much for reading! comments and votes motivate me a lot so i really appreciate them :)