One
He doesn’t look European.
In person, he looks more athletic than I thought he would.
“That must be him!” Emma says, hitting me with the WELCOME TO MICHIGAN! sign clasped in her hands.
Though Davit will be a senior like me, my sister, an incoming freshman, is ready for a new best friend. Her mane of curly brown hair tumbles over her shoulders, and her eyes shine with enthusiasm.
She’s probably right, as there are only six other people on the arriving flight: an elderly couple, two parents with their toddler, and a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit. We watch as the seven of them file through the arrivals gate, which, in our tiny airport, is the same as the departures gate.
Based on appearance alone, I may have more in common with Pantsuit Lady than with Davit.
Dad beckons Davit with his own handmade welcome sign, looking every bit like a Northwoods lumberjack in his flannel shirt and wool hat. The signs seem unnecessary since we’re the only people waiting in the arrivals/departures lobby, but whatever.
Davit eyes the half-asleep TSA officer at the security checkpoint, and I wonder what he must be thinking.
After twenty-seven hours and three separate flights, here he stands in an airport the size of a small bank looking for three strangers who will serve as his family for the next year in a town he definitely hadn’t heard of a month ago.
I doubt Davit Kancheli from Tbilisi, Georgia, chose Irontown, Michigan, as his top choice to study abroad.
Georgia is a country in Eastern Europe or possibly Western Asia.
I’m not totally sure. From the photos I found online, it looks mountainous and exotic and filled with old-world charm, like something out of a Disney movie.
Irontown, on the other hand, is none of those things.
The Global Youth Ambassadors Handbook says that students in the program are encouraged to explore cities they’ve never heard of, but I imagine most select New York or Los Angeles.
And since not everyone can be placed in one of those cities, they end up disappointed in Michigan.
We’re excited, though. Dad and Emma show it in more obvious ways—like the welcome signs—but I’ll be the one taking Davit around town, introducing him to people, giving him the rundown on Irontown High School.
It’ll be fun to have someone who shares so many of my interests living right across the hall.
Maybe we’ll perform violin and oboe duets, talk about books, play board games.
Davit notices us and saunters in our direction with the casual confidence of someone willing to spend a year half a world away from their home. He pops his earbuds out and stuffs them into his pocket before stopping a few feet in front of our small group. He lifts a hand in greeting.
“Hey.” His eyes drift across the three of us, lingering for a second longer on me than on Dad and Emma.
This already feels awkward.
“Welcome to Michigan!” Emma says, raising her WELCOME TO MICHIGAN! sign. “I’m Emma!”
“Thanks.” He gives us a one-third smile. “I’m Garrett.”
There’s a pause, like an unexpected rest in the middle of a concerto’s climax.
“Garrett?” Dad asks, his face wrinkling in confusion.
“Is that the American name you chose for yourself?” Emma asks.
“No. Just my normal name.” His accent is slow-moving honey, vowels twangy, consonants lazy. If his voice were an instrument, it would be a French horn, warm and mellow.
“Huh,” Dad says. “GYA had your name listed as Davit.”
I try to smooth over the uncomfortable moment. “Long flight?”
“Not really.”
We fall into stuffy silence, since he has nothing to share about his twenty-seven-hour-long journey from the other side of the planet.
“You get a lot of sun in Georgia?” Emma tries, referencing Garrett’s warm skin.
He laughs. “You could say that.”
Come on, dude. Tell us about the climate. Tell us about those rugged mountains and whether or not you’ve climbed them. Give us something.
“Falcons fan?” Dad asks, frowning at Garrett’s sweatshirt.
“Yessir! How about you?”
“Packers,” Dad says. “I’m just surprised Georgians are into American football.”
“Is that what y’all call it up here?”
As a worker rolls out the luggage cart, Garrett steps forward and pulls off a large suitcase. He turns to move toward the exit, but Dad doesn’t budge. I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am.
Garrett’s name seems kind of American.
Garrett’s accent seems kind of Southern.
Dad scratches the back of his head. “I have to ask: You are from the country of Georgia, right?”
Garrett laughs, then realizes Dad is serious. “I’m from Atlanta.”
We stand there for a moment, looking at one another. Pantsuit Lady wheels her suitcase around us, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. The elderly couple and the family follow, and then we are alone in the airport with the sleeping TSA officer.
“They sent us the wrong Georgian,” Dad says.
“Maybe somebody at GYA screwed up?” I offer.
Dad looks at Garrett. “Then where are you supposed to be?”
“You’re in Michigan,” Emma says, helpfully pointing at her sign.
“Yeah, I know.” Garrett fishes a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He hands it to Dad. “Irontown, right?”
I read over Dad’s shoulder as he unfolds the paper. Garrett’s name is written at the top, and the text below confirms that he has been placed with Joe, Enzo, and Emma Rossi of Irontown, Michigan.
“Global Youth Ambassadors is a foreign exchange program,” I say. “Why would they send you here?”
Garrett bites his bottom lip. He takes off his baseball cap, puts it back on. “Well, I feel really stupid right now. You expected someone from Georgia? The country?”
We nod.
He looks like he’s waiting for the camera crew from a reality TV show to pop out and explain that he’s part of an elaborate setup and that they will film his senior year of high school while he lives with the wrong host family. When this doesn’t happen, he looks at us and blinks.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I should call my parents. I can get money for a ticket home tomorrow morning or something. I’m fine sleeping here.
” He motions to the empty airport, and for a split second, his impassive confidence falters and he becomes a kid in a strange place who isn’t sure where he’s going to sleep.
Then he’s in control again and pulling out his phone. “Yeah, I’ll just call my parents, and—”
On cue, the TSA officer startles awake and addresses the room in a slur. “Airport’s closing!”
Dad shakes his head as if emerging from a daze. “No. Obviously you’re coming home with us. Sorry. I’m just … confused.”
Garrett’s face is steel. “No. You don’t need to take a random guy home with you.” He raises his phone. “I’ll just get an Uber and stay in a hotel or something.”
“We don’t really have Uber here,” I say. “Or Lyft.”
Emma kicks me in the shin.
“We’re all set to host an exchange student,” Dad says. “The least we can do is put you up until we get this figured out.”
Garrett looks around the airport again, realizes he has no other option, and nods.
Dad turns and leads the way through the sliding doors to the parking lot, and we step into the slanting sunlight of late August. It’s cool for this time of year, even for Michigan, and I catch Garrett’s broad shoulders hunching as he wheels his suitcase over the curb.
“Enzo,” Dad says, digging in his jeans pocket for his keys, “give him a hand with his bag.”
I reach out to take the handle of his luggage, but Garrett shifts it away from me. “I got it.”
His tone is short, and he avoids eye contact. He’s either stubbornly independent or there’s something about me he doesn’t like.
Not that it matters anyway. He’ll be gone tomorrow.