We’re late! We’re late! We’re late! That was the only thought going through my head right now. My Mom is mad because I currently cannot run, Ashley is no help, and Dad is too busy looking for some place to get coffee. My leg is throbbing, but we can’t be late. When we finally reach our gate, breathless and worn, with our signs in hand, our whole family was happy to hear there was a delay. Little did we know we would be there another ninety minutes. 
We waited, and waited, and waited, but still no sign of our coming exchange student. The longer we waited, the more nervous I got. What if she didn’t like me? What if she was mean? What if... I silenced the thought, so I sat there. I had my glitter glue covered, polka dot sprinkled sign in my fat, clammy hands. My right leg was still in pain, so I opted for standing solely on my left leg.  
“Ughhhhhhhh.” I heard the low moan behind me and turned around to see my Dad making the face of a four-year-old, pinched, and stubborn and ticked- off looking. “I’m so freaking hungry.” 
“Oh my gosh Corey. You can wait fifteen more minutes,” my Mom shot back at him. 
It was not fifteen more minutes. The longer we waited, the more my thigh hurt. My gray, size 3, slip on Sketchers could not support all the weight I was placing on my left leg. The thick, white crew socks I chose to wear weren’t very comfy either. I was about to join my Dad in complaining when a course feminine voice came over the intercom. I didn’t really understand specific details at the time, but the moment I heard the words “Boston” and “landed” my heart skipped five beats. They had their lay-over in Boston! They were finally here! I would finally meet Claire! For a solid five seconds I forgot about my leg, but then the discomfort of the infection came back as quickly as it had left. I bent down, clutching the light beige medical wrap my dad had circled my leg with before we left the house. A loud, annoying noise ran through the airport. 
“Stand up!” My mom was pulling at the collar of my pale-yellow Cambridge Christian polo. 
 I jerked my head back to see a sea of people exiting the gate Claire would be coming through. We had already been through four groups of human beings clearly wanting to get home or to a comfortable hotel. I highly doubted that this would be Claire. This time though, I was wrong. Very wrong. A small girl of the height of about four foot five or six walked out of the gate. She looked like any kid my age with her shoulder length hair, cherry red Gap zip-up sweatshirt, black and white striped t-shirt, and pair of Levi’s skinny jeans. I hadn't seen a picture of Claire, so I didn’t know this was her. My parents on the other hand, ran right to her, waving and yelling. 
“Hi Claire!” My parent's voices were both very loud, and I could tell they had caught her off-guard.  
Ashley and I sat back and waited for Mom and Dad to bring her over to us. They tried to talk to her for about 30 seconds but realized she wouldn’t talk back. Eventually, the three of them walked over. She was more shuffling than walking. Her posture was bent over, and I could tell this was the last place she wanted to be. She was clinging ever so tightly to a navy-blue neck pillow covered in bright golden stars. That was all she had besides her backpack. 
“Hello,” she said in a whisper like voice. 
“Hi.” I didn’t know what else to say. 
We sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring at our feet. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Finally, my dad decided to break that awkward, stirring silence. 
“So, Claire. What sounds good for dinner? Any restaurants at home they may have here that you enjoy? Anything you want we’ll get it.” 
“American food,” were the only words she muttered. 
“Huh?” My Dad really wasn’t expecting those to be her first words. 
“I want American food.” 
“Oh, okay!” I could tell my Dad didn’t want fast food for his early dinner. 
To me when I thought of American food, McDonald’s, Burger King, and Steak and Shake quickly came to mind. My Dad was thinking of something else, but you’ll see that in a minute. Before I could think any more about dinner, that annoying, raspy, loud voice came back on over the intercom. Again, I wasn’t listening, but it was the call for us to get Claire’s luggage.  
“Oh, wait everyone! We need a group picture to remember this day. In what feels like a day they will be returning home, so we need to capture everything,” the head of the exchange program hollered at us as we turned to leave. 
 We got the picture right in front of the humongous light- covered Christmas tree that looked about twenty feet tall. That had to be the most awkward part of the night. I was four foot eight, and I was in the back row with the high schoolers because there was no more room in the front. Don’t worry. I didn’t forget to remind you about my fat, sweaty, sore leg. I smiled my yellow, buck- teeth grin and then headed to meet back up with my parents. 
“Our car is on the fourth floor of the parking garage, so we’ll need to take the elevator.” Dad wasn’t expecting an answer. 
 He didn’t get one, so we all walked, in silence, through the airport, past the all the restaurants, and to the elevators. The ride on the elevator was boring. Usually Ashley and I would serenade our parents with a Kidz Bop song or jump in the elevator trying to make it shake. Not this time. We stood there and stared at the floor, like adults do. No more people even joined us. It was only us, in a quiet elevator for what felt like forever. 
When we finally reached our floor, we got out of the elevator, walked to our car, and said nothing. I feel like I should also mention that we were in a rental car. Why? Because about five days ago my Mom and her car were flipped a whole one hundred eighty degrees because of some oblivious man running a stop sign. Drive safe guys. Anyways, we loaded up the beige minivan with the only two luggage Claire had brought and headed toward “American food.” We all crammed in the backseat. Ashley to the left, me to the right, and Claire crammed in the middle like the smallest sardine in the can. There was a Chick-fil-a about two miles from the airport which was where we stopped. This happened in December, so all their lights were set up and there were Santa hats everywhere. My dad pulled the car in through the two-lane drive thru. 
“What would you like to eat Claire?” my mom turned to the backseat and asked. “They have chicken, sandwiches, salads. We may even be able to get you breakfast if you want?” 
“I don’t care. Can I have lemonade too?” For only being nine years old, Claire’s English was surprisingly good. 
“Yes. Anything you want.” My mom was desperate to make Claire smile. 
My dad was driving, so it was his job to order. He ordered me and Claire six counts with lemonade and Ashley and four count with a sweet tea. Ashley and Claire both got a side of fries, but I got a fruit cup cause, you know, allergies. My parents got Chicken Sandwiches. Mom with pickles, Dad without.  
“Let’s wait to eat till we get home.” Mom was already arranging the bags at her feet. 
 She passed us all back our drinks. Let’s just say I was stunned. I looked out the window for a quick few seconds and turned back to see that Claire had already finished her lemonade. Who knew someone so small could drink so fast? The rest of the way home we said nothing. We sat there, starring at the floor of the rental car, drinking our sugary drinks. This was going to be a long three months.