Amber leads you into the living room, where two other girls your age are sitting and tapping on their phones. One is a freckled redhead and the other is an African-American with pretty dreads. You steel yourself as they turn their attention to you and get up. Now comes the hardest part: talking to multiple people at once. You give them a nervous smile and bow slightly.
"It pleasure to meet you. I'm Nariko." It's a bit of a relief that you don't have to focus so hard on your slight accent and grammar "mistakes," so you'll be able to interact more naturally. This is your first time meeting a group of people your age outside of school.
There's something wrong about that thought... what is it? You frown as your headache returns. No, no, no! This is a terrible time to lose your concentration.
"Are you okay?" the black girl asks you.
"Uhh...yes. Sorry. Nervous." You brush some hair behind your ear and feel compelled to duck your head in a conciliatory manner.
"It's okay," the redhead says pleasantly. "Amber here can be super intimidating." She gives your host a playful glance.
You almost nod your head, remembering the dozens of times she's embarrassed you or forced you to do her chores for her. At least, you can imagine her doing that to someone, like a little brother. You wouldn't know, since you've only seen glimpses of Amber at school. Where did the thought of a little brother come from?
"That is Ophie's idea of a joke," the black girl says to you. You snap out of your headache and focus on her. "My name's Aitana. That's Ophelia."
"Aitana and Opher...ria...," you blurt out as you try to memorize them. You surprise yourself when you get stuck on the "L" sound. You think you should dial back your attempt at an accent. You probably look like you're trying too hard. But it's true that speaking English has always been a challenge.
Aitana eyes you sympathetically. "It's okay. She prefers being called Ophie anyway."
"Ophie. Okay, thank you." At least that will make things a little easier. You're embarrassed by the imperfections in your American accent. You feel like you should be able to do it better. It's not clear why, but the need to speak better English was really important to you a minute ago.
"So what brings you to America?"
On the spot, you push through your lingering headache and come up with an answer. "My parents think it help me to join the foreign exchange program. I picked here because I rove... love your movies." It's a weak explanation, but you got distracted trying to speak more normally.
Aitana tilts her head to the side, bemused. "Our movies?"
"Err...," you blush and giggle, letting the natural awkwardness drive your behavior. "Yeah, I know it dumb reason, but movies and internet are all I know of worrd outside Japan." You can't believe you're spilling one of your most humiliating decisions to a stranger. You haven't even admitted this to your friends back home. No... THIS is your home. It... it COULD be, if you end up liking it enough.
You know something's wrong with you. Memories that should be easy to recall are suddenly foggy. You look at your neigh-- your sister, Amber, and try to picture h-- YOUR parents. You can only glimpse blurry features. You think your dad has brown hair, but...does he have a beard or just a mustache? No, your dad shaves, and his hair's black and so is your mom's. Why did you think his hair was brown? Everyone in your family has black hair. Except for Amber. Why is that? Wait, why do you think your neighbor is part of your family?
You snap back to the present moment when Aitana speaks up, more timidly than before. "It's not a dumb reason. Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I was making fun of you. I think it's cool you watch movies from a country with a different language. It must be great practice."
"Uh, yeah..." Her explanation sounds good, so you roll with it. "No one in my famirly is perfect at it. I'm first one to study it from being baby." You realize you just said the wrong word, but this time you didn't actually mean to. Your mouth hangs open as you try to figure out what you meant to say, but the right word doesn't come. "Err... gomen. That wrong word. Babies can't tark." You grin sheepishly.
"Maybe you meant 'toddler'?" she says helpfully.
You nod eagerly, amazed you couldn't remember such a simple word. You should go back through your English dictionary when you get home tomorrow. "Hai. Toddrr... rr... Tod-du-ler." You have to contort your tongue strangely to make the sounds.
A nervous tingle shoots up your spine. This story doesn't match how you sound. There's no way you could have an accent this thick if you've been speaking English for as long as you've been speaking Japanese. Plus, didn't you get your first English tutor sometime in elementary school?
You clear your throat and try to speak as clearly as possible. "No, I meant teens. Ereven. Or Twerrve." Ugh, that came out even more wrong. And you got the age wrong. Twelve would put you in middle school. You didn't start English lessons that early-- that LATE, did you?
No, of course not. You never NEEDED English lessons. It's your natural language. Your headache momentarily subsides, making it easier to sift through your thoughts, but what you find is scant compared to the scope what you're sure was-- IS your real life. Worse, images of Japanese towns, teachers and cartoons are mixed in with familiar memories of celebrating your birthdays in this house and your American school friends.
You push this concern aside and try to refocus on your situation. First you're concocting a hollow story about growing up in Japan, and now you can't figure out your "L"s. If you keep acting this much like a stereotype, these girls are going to figure you out. And you don't even know what exactly is happening to you, or why you're not more afraid than you think you should be. Maybe you should let the girls talk among themselves for a while and act like a wallflower until you figure things out. Wait, what's a wallflower? There aren't any plants in this room.
Now Ophie--the redhead's name...at least you remember something--joins in to ask you personal questions. This isn't helpful at all, as your thoughts are really jumbled up and your headache is coming back. You try to answer her as best you can, but a nagging feeling is telling you you've got to do something to change the situation.