BEETS?

Let’s just say that Belinda took being puked on a lot worse than her dad.

For a moment there I thought she was going to smack me with Bradley’s skateboard, but her desire to clean my puke off her T-shirt was too great. Belinda fled into the house, swearing undying hatred and vengeance against me in particular and Americans in general.

I didn’t blame her. I would have felt exactly the same way if a random Australian had showed up in Hills Village and hurled chunks all over me.

Bradley, on the other hand, thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Awesome.” Bradley chuckled. He jumped onto his skateboard and disappeared down the driveway.

A few minutes later, after I’d woken Mom up and gotten her out of the car, Mrs. Coogan stepped out the door. She must have heard all about the puky Americans, because I noticed she stayed a few paces out of hurl range.

Barb wasted no time showing us to our rooms and demonstrating exactly how the showers worked.

“Take your time,” she said.

Thirty minutes later, showered and changed and feeling a little more like our old selves, we came downstairs to eat. I imagined that we’d be eating giant cockroaches cooked on the barbie or something, but we had regular steaks and burgers and fries and salad. The only weird thing was the beets Mrs. Coogan insisted on putting on the burgers. Beets.

Belinda didn’t speak to me. I don’t even know if it would have been any different if I hadn’t puked on her. I tried to apologize, but she just ignored me.

A bunch of Bradley and Belinda’s friends came over for dinner. They were just like the twins—all big white teeth and blond hair and tans. Too good-looking, too tall, and too well dressed. Frankly, Bradley and Belinda Coogan and all their friends were just too perfect to be human. (The pod people strike again!)

I think Mrs. Coogan thought having Bradley and Belinda’s friends there would make it easier for me to befriend them. But that idea was definitely not going to work. I hated Bradley and Belinda’s friends on sight, and they hated me. It looked like I wasn’t going to be warmly welcomed into the Shark’s Bay surfer community anytime soon, but I was so tired I didn’t care. I just hoped that not everyone in Australia would be like Bradley and Belinda’s crew.

By eight o’clock I could feel my eyes drooping, and Mom must have felt the same. We made our excuses and crawled to our rooms.

“Sleep tight, Rafe,” Mom said as she closed her door.

I muttered something back, but it may as well have been in Swahili. All I could think about was sleep, glorious sleep.

Less than thirty seconds later, I slid between the sheets of my bed, closed my eyes, and dropped into the deepest sleep of my life.