Being the transfer student is never a good thing. Just look at any TV show where said transfer student isn't ridiculously perfect. It doesn't end well.
And the girl I was going to live with was named Brittany S. Pierce. What kind of messed-up American name was that?
Well, her mother picked me up at the airport and drove me to their home. She seemed like a nice – if overly talkative – woman. She led me through the front door and upstairs, never stopping talking long enough to breathe, finally turning away from me long enough to yell, "Brittany! Brittany, I have someone for you to meet!"
When there wasn't a reply she led me down the hall and opened the last door on the left. Some sort of dance music was on full blast and a girl was twirling around, blonde braid whipping though the air.
Dancing.
Dancing well.
Oh, Jesus.
"Brittany!" her mum called again.
The girl stopped and turned, looking almost confused. She hit pause on the CD player and walked over, blankly staring at me.
"Brittany, this is Rory," her mum said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "He's gonna be living with us for a few weeks."
Brittany tilted her head to the side, not seeming to understand. This wasn't off to a great start.
I stuck my hand out. "Nice to meet you."
Her eyebrows scrunched together. "What?"
"He said 'nice to meet you', hon," her mum explained.
"Oh," Brittany said, looking at me again. "Why do you talk so weird?"
I dropped my hand, staring at her. Seriously?
"He's from Ireland, sweetheart," her mum said a bit too slowly for her to be talking to a senior in high school.
"Where?" Brittany asked blankly. Yep.
Being the transfer student is definitely not a good thing.