"She's staying in my ROOM!"
I've tried and tried to explain to Willow the many ways the cultural exchange program is going to ruin my life, but she just doesn't get it. I think all that knowledge she insists on having is monopolizing her braincells, thus preventing her from understanding the absolute horror of having a stranger sleeping in your room for a month.
"But... maybe you'll really like her! Maybe she'll be really, um, cool and stuff. Ooo! You can teach her about America. And also the Constitution!"
I actually have to pull the phone away from my ear and look at it strangely after that reply. The Constitution? "Uh, Wills? I want to get her out of my house, not induce coma."
Willow lets out a humorous 'Ffft' sound. I'm not sure if that means she agrees with me or not. "Fine. But you can at least show her around Sunnydale. Oh, hey! We can take her to the Bronze!"
"Willow, you have completely failed to grasp the point of my desperate phone call," I explain patiently. "I don't want to be friends with her! I have two perfectly good friends already with you and Xander. I just want to convince Mom that having her stay at the Motel 6 instead of in my house really embodies what the American experience is all about. We'll be teaching her independence and self-reliance! And nothing says 'Welcome to America!' like a vibrating bed."
"Buffy, don't you think you're being a little unfair about the whole thing? This girl is leaving behind her family and all of her friends t-to... come to some strange, foreign country where she doesn't know anyone! And she has to ride one of those stinky buses all by herself! And...and--"
Jeez. She really knows how to lay it on thick, doesn't she?
"Okay, okay! Enough with the guilt trip. I won't send her away to live in a tent somewhere. But I'm not going to teach her how to do anything American. If she wants to learn how to plant corn and start a capitalist democracy, she's going to have to watch Martha Stewart like the rest of us."
"Buffy--"
"I know. I'm going now. Bye, Wills."
"Bye."
Well, that was completely non-productive. Maybe I should have called Xander?
Er, no. He probably would have suggested that Angel should stay at his house. In his bed. Or something equally perverted.
"Buffy? Can I come in?"
Great. Time for another 'Aren't you excited about having to give up all your privacy and have some strange girl snore away at the foot of your bed while you're trying to sleep!' speech from the parental figure.
"Sure, Mom."
She closes the door behind her and comes and sits next to me on the bed. She looks so happy I almost feel bad about being such a brat about the whole thing.
"Aren't you excited about having Angel come stay with us!"
UGH. Scratch that whole 'feeling bad' part.
"I just don't understand why she has to stay in my room."
She's really perfected the 'don't start' look. I've become quite familiar with it recently. "Buffy, we've been over this. She's going to be our guest, and we don't have guests sleep on the couch. Now, I'm sure you'll be perfectly comfortable on the cot, and--"
"What?!" Cot? COT? Nuh-uh, there is no way that Little Miss Leprechaun is going to steal MY BED and force me to sleep on some dingy metal... death trap! "I am SO not sleeping on a cot!"
"Well, we're certainly not going to make Angel sleep on it!"
Um, yes we ARE!
"No. No way! I'm not giving up my bed. This wasn't even my idea!"
"Buffy, this girl has traveled thousands of miles to get a better education and visit a new country. And she's going to be a guest in our house, whether you like it or not! Stop being so selfish."
Oh, so now it's SELFISH not to want some weird immigrant to drool all over your pillows? "Selfish?!"
"Yes, selfish! Now, we're leaving to pick her up from the bus station in ten minutes and you're going to show some maturity, young lady. I expect you on your best behaviour... or else no cheerleading tryouts this year!"
"Mo~om!"
"I mean it, Buffy."
She's giving me that look again. God, this is SO not happening.
"Ugh! Fine! I'll be Good Buffy."
"Thank you. I know this is hard for you, Buffy, but I really think this will be a good experience for you. And who knows? You might really like Angel."
Yeah, like THAT's going to happen.
Life is so unfair.
The bus station smells like urine.
I'm sorry, but it does. It's disgusting, and smelly, and I really don't want to be here. And WHY is that guy with no teeth grinning at me? Ick.
"Honey, stay close to me, alright?"
Mom looks really weirded out. Not that I blame her. I feel like I need a shower just standing here. "Do you see her?"
"I don't know what she looks like, sweetie. But there aren't exactly a lot of teenage girls here, so she shouldn't be too hard to find."
I nod and half-heartedly look around the open lobby. What would an Irish girl named Angel look like? I have this mental picture of someone who looks like Willow, only snooty and with bad teeth, but I'm sure that's being generous...
"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Summers?"
I must have jumped three feet in the air. What kind of asshole walks up behind someone and scares them like that? I whirl around and plant a glare on this jerk, but then I SEE him and my mouth drops open like a fish, because OH. MY. GOD.
Let's say that the most beautiful woman in the world fell in love with the sexiest man on the planet. Then they had a son. They named this son 'Hottie McHotness'. If they let this son grow up for seventeen or eighteen years, he'd probably end up looking a lot like this guy.
He's SO hot, the words 'Hubba Hubba' actually flit through my mind, as if I were transported into the 1950's and half of my braincells were killed off.
Am I babbling? Yes.
Down, Buffy.
But.... Mmm. Yum.
"Yes, I'm Joyce Summers. Are you-- are you with the Exchange Program? Has Angel's plane been delayed?"
Mr. McHotness looks a little nervous. Maybe he'd relax if I smiled at him? Or maybe he'd think I was a weirdo and--
"Uh, actually I'm Angel. It's nice to meet you."
Okay, my brain is moving very slowly at this point, but two thoughts are bumbling around in my head. Number one: Has there ever been a sexier voice? I think not. Deep and rumbly with just a touch of an accent. Swoon.
Number two: OH MY GOD, THIS MAN IS STAYING AT MY HOUSE!
"You're Angel? But I thought-- I mean, we thought you..." Mom looks completely shocked. "You were supposed to be a girl."
Hottie McHotne-- er, Angel, quirks a half-smile and please excuse me while I fall over and DIE. "My mum didn't really think things through when she named me Angel. If it's any consolation, this has actually been a frequent occurance in my life. But I'm proud to say I was the high scorer on the Junior Girls Footballing team in the third grade."
Hee. That even got a smile out of my mom, although she still looks a little bit shellshocked. "I see. Well, Angel... I'm Mrs. Summers and this is my daughter, Buffy."
"Hello, Buffy."
Hello, Angel. Your bottom lip is so inviting. Would you mind if I sucked on it? And oh GOD, I can't believe I just thought that. "Hi."
Mom still looks a little dubious, but she seems to have composed herself. "Well... I guess you'll be staying with us, then. Welcome to America!"
And as I stare at Angel's butt while we're walking out to the Jeep, I finally understand the whole 'beautiful melding of two cultures' thing.
And the exchange program? Really not so bad, after all.
