Grapes Upside Down

19. Churrascos

~Madisen~

"¡Vamos a la churrasquería!" Daniela calls out in her husky voice, pumping a fist in the air.

"Yuck." When my eyes dart to Clara, I can tell from her fake half-smile that the soft exclamation was not meant to be heard by anyone else. She's pale.

"Have you eaten?" I whisper.

"I had breakfast."

"It's 4:00pm. You're not hungry?"

"Not for churrascos. My stomach is all messed up."

My system has been mildly upset for the past month as well. Aside from the water, the refrigeration standards are quite different here. Graciela keeps the eggs in the pantry and leaves leftover food on the stove for hours, sometimes overnight.

Flora and Daria have to stop by the library to pick up a some books for an assignment we're all working on in Helena's writing class. I take the opportunity to search for additional resources for my topic as well. I had the girls from the home where I volunteer on Saturdays write and illustrate poems for me to include in my project, which I'm designing in a collage style of poetry, short stories and colored pencil sketches. Some of the assignments here in Chile take me back to middle school, but I love that.

"¿Para tu proyecto?" Noah asks with eyebrows raised when I return with a tall stack of tattered books.

"¡Sí!"

He shakes his head, a smile threatening to burst from his lips, which have been less subdued and more exuberant today—grinning wider, chattering more freely, rattling off jokes.

Noah thinks I put way too much effort into studying and schoolwork. Despite the language barrier, vague assignment expectations and a sort of constant, generalized confusion during lessons, the level of effort required to earn an A in courses here is minimal. Our brains are being challenged linguistically and culturally, rather than through academic rigor.

But, I'm that nerd who enjoys studying and inevitably burrows deep into the rabbit hole while working on research papers or creative projects.

"¿Ya están listas?" Daria asks if we're ready, hanging up from a call to her host dad.

Noah clears his throat with pointed intention.

"¿Qué?"

"¿Listas?" He acts offended by the feminine form of the adjective, being the only male present in the group currently. His mood is wacky today; I love it.

"Oops, perdón, Noah," Daria replies with an unamused eye roll, her smile hidden under the surface.

"Mira--cancelaron nuestra clase," Noah informs me, holding his phone in front of my face to show me an email from our professor announcing tonight's class is cancelled.

"Pero tenemos examen."

"Nopo."

Noah reads the second half of the email aloud, which seems to state that we are skipping today's scheduled exam and simply moving on to the following unit next week.

"¿Qué onda?" I'm still not convinced we're interpreting the phrasing correctly. How could they merely cancel the test? That would never happen at Whitman.

My phone begins buzzing.

"¡Hola, Mamá Graci!" Calling her "mom" for the first time flows out of me on instinct, euphoria pumping through me from all the goofing around with Noah over the past three hours of film history.

I let her know we don't have any more classes tonight, asking if we should return for lonche with our host brother instead of going out.

"No, no, vayan--¡diviértanse!" She urges us to go have fun with our friends; we can meet Jonathan later tonight over tea and dessert.