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My fingers tentatively hover over each one. I have no idea what any of them do, or if what they might switch on is going to make any great racket.
For God’s sake, just press one, Emma!
Quickly, I flick the switch closest to my fingers. But no lights come on. In fact, nothing happens at all. Okay. I flick the next switch. The same thing. No lights. I flick one more switch, wondering if I’m going to have to feel my way about in the dark, when, finally, something happens. A low glow shines down from beneath the upper cupboards. It looks to be LED lighting, but I don’t care. It’s enough light to find my way around.
I’m blown away by the size of this room. I live with my mum in a small council house. The kitchen is thin and long and practically full once two people are in it. This kitchen, on the other hand, is nearly the size of our entire downstairs kitchen and living room combined. In fact, now that I look at it, I’d nearly say it’s even bigger than that. It has nearly every appliance known to man spread across the counters, some of which I have never seen before in my life. There’s an island in the middle of the room. It doubles as a breakfast bar, stools on one side and shelves on the other.
I am just about to open a cupboard to search for a cup when I hear a noise across the room. It’s a scratching sound, and it’s coming from the back door. I turn around and take a step toward the island in the middle of the kitchen. The sound becomes clearer, and I recognize now that it’s the lock. The realization, swiftly followed by the fear, takes far longer than it should, but I feel my entire body turning cold.
Someone is trying to get into the house.
This is likely the time I ought to be running. That’s what a normal person would do. They would run and scream as they pound up the stairs, alerting the people who actually live here that an intruder is trying to break into their house. Not me. And maybe I can blame the jet lag, or maybe I’m just too scared stiff for my brain to work. Whichever it is, I can do nothing but stand there and watch as the door creaks open.
A tall man, dressed completely in black with a rucksack thrown over his shoulder, sneaks into the house. And with some sort of delayed reaction, though I’m still too scared to move, I just open my mouth and scream.
Clearly, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the kitchen, because he jumps nearly a foot in the air. I’ve never seen a burglar looking terrified before. In fact, I’ve never seen a burglar before. In my head, they are all bold and defiant and dangerous. Not this burglar. This burglar looks scared to death. But surely, that’s my role. He swings an arm behind him and flicks on the light, illuminating the entire kitchen. Why a burglar would do that, I have no idea. I don’t care. I’m too scared to think. I’m in a strange house, in a strange country, and I’m terrified I’m about to die on my first night in the United States of America.
I didn’t even get to see the Empire State Building.
That random thought flies through my mind just as he approaches. He’s telling me to be quiet, but I just can’t stop the horror that’s flying out of my mouth. Things happen fast, and the next thing I know, Sylvie’s dad is standing in the kitchen holding a huge baseball bat high behind his head.
Thank God! Get him, Mr. Brecken.
Mr. Brecken is also a tall man. He’s slim in build, with dirty blond hair that’s currently sticking out of his head in every direction. His face is contorted in a threatening growl as he takes in the scene, but then, something very strange happens.
He’s hesitating, and I cannot, for the life of me, understand why. There’s an intruder in your house, man. Get rid of him. Mr. Brecken looks at me, and then he looks at the burglar, and his eyes open wide. He’s no longer scowling in a threatening fashion. Now, he’s looking really confused with an added mix of disbelief.
He looks back at the burglar. “Finn?” he blurts.
Finn?
I’ve stopped screaming. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the second I thought Mr. Brecken was about to save me from certain death. Maybe it was when I began to notice that he was no longer going to give the intruder a good thumping. I can’t remember, and right now, it’s not important. Everyone has piled into the kitchen, and I am suddenly feeling mortified.
The man standing in front of me, looking completely bewildered, is not some burglar or a psychopath trying to kill me. It is Finn Brecken, Sylvie’s older brother. She had mentioned him a few times in our conversations over the years. Still stunned at what has just occurred, and—I’ll be honest—more than a little traumatized, I stare at Finn. He stares right back. It’s only at this moment that I realize he’s a sickly shade of white. I mean, Casper the Friendly Ghost kind of white.
As I feel the shock slowly waning, embarrassment is right there to take its place. My cheeks are beginning to burn, and the same heat rises through every other cell in my body. Not only have I woken everybody from their needed sleep, the opposite of what I was trying to do, but I stood screaming in terror at a man who has more right to be in this house than I do.
I can feel my stomach dropping through the Earth and my soul leaving my body. At least, I wish for that in this very second, because I am now entirely mortified.
“Oh, God,” I gasp, “I am so very sorry.”
The tension dissipates then, and while I want to run from the room in utter humiliation, I don’t really get the chance. Mr. and Mrs. Brecken are smiling and closing the gap between themselves and Finn. Mr. Brecken throws his arms around his son and welcomes him home. At the same time, Sylvie rushes over to me.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve woken everyone up, and—”
“It’s totally fine,” Sylvie says in a comforting tone. She’s smiling at me with her usual delightful energy. Sometimes I wonder if this woman is not a robot or a clone. I have yet to see a situation where she’s annoyed, angry, or upset. And I can only imagine that anyone else who found themselves in this situation would surely feel at least one of those emotions. “You couldn’t have known.”
“That’s not the point. Look what I’ve done!” I throw a hand out to the others. “And your poor brother.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Finn,” Sylvie says, throwing a dismissive gesture.
But I do worry about Finn. At this moment, his dad holds him in a tight embrace, and Finn Brecken is eyeballing me intently over his dad’s shoulder. I have been here only a day, and I’ve managed to cause a family drama. Not to mention, by the look in his eye, become an enemy.
“What were you doing down here, anyway?” Sylvie asks.
“I woke up, and it was the middle of the night,” I explain. “I was just coming to make a cup of tea.”
“Right. Then let’s get that sorted,” she says, pulling me past the Brecken parents, who are now talking to their son in low tones.
