“Then what do I do?”
“A husband would help.”
“I’m not married.”
“If you’re married to a citizen of Concordia or one of our reciprocal countries, you’ll be able to squeeze back in and apply for a green card.” The guard’s lips lift in a barely-there smile.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Stay in the United States or get married and come back. Other than that, your only option is to return to France,” the guard says succinctly.
“But—” But I don’t know what to say or think or do. How did I let this happen? Oh, that’s right, I hid the truth of this situation in my room along with the rest of my internal clutter and things I’d like to pretend don’t exist. Oh, what could that be? Occasional loneliness and regret?
The guard flattens a page in my passport and stamps it with a big, red X. And under that, another with the date, but in black. The pounding of the stamps falls in time with the wordslonelinessandregretechoing in my head.
He grabs the papers from the printer and passes them to me along with my passport. “You’ll find the information you need printed out. Now, please excuse me, I have more people on lists to deal with.”
I can’t look at Connor. This is humiliating. He’s my student. I’m his coach. I’m supposed to be setting an example of how to live responsibly.
Keeping quiet until we get on the plane—he upgraded me to first class to sit with him—I do everything in my power not to fall apart. Not to sob. “What am I going to do?”
A large hand lands on top of mine, gripping the armrest. Another tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his copper eyes.
I realize I’d been sitting as if bracing for a crash landing. Nope, that just happened, and publicly, I might add.
“Hey, you’ll figure it out. You’re a teacher at the former Concordian royal palace, maybe they can help. Or your parents. Or?—”
I shake my head slowly. “No, Connor. There’s no one. But I don’t want to think about it right now. Can we just pretend that didn’t happen until, well, for a few days so I can think it through and get some more information on my options?”
“Of course.” He pats my hand, but instead of pulling it away, keeps it there, giving a little squeeze during takeoff.
While Connor watches a movie and then dozes, I scour the internet for information about my situation. Unfortunately, the guard was correct. I have two options. Return to France for twelve months and a day, then reestablish residency in Concordia, essentially starting the eight-year residency clock all over. My fear is that Blancbourg won’t be there when I return.
Alternatively, I could get married to a citizen of Concordia, Greenland, or the US in the next three months and obtain a green card, which would start the process of citizenship and allow me to remain in Concordia.
Connor was right. Arthur is taken and he’s too old, not that he was an option. But I don’t know anyone from Greenland. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from Greenland. I’ve always wondered why it’s called that, considering it’s often covered in snow, which is not green.
Focus, Cateline.
That leaves me with the United States. I puff my cheeks on an exhale. Before, I was thinking that I might figure out a way to save the school in the land of opportunity. Maybe I’ll find a husband too.
I let out a laugh. Looks like I’ll be going back to France in three weeks. I’d like to say I welcome a homecoming. Instead, something fissures and cracks inside like I’m straddling a ravine, torn between falling back or moving forward. Sadly, it seems like the immigration office will be making the choice for me.
23
CONNOR
My stomach jitters and it isn’t because I don’t like flying. I’m just not overly fond of the destination. No, scratch that. Western Carolina is beautiful—though a bit hot and humid this time of year.
The truth is, I don’t look forward to seeing my brother.
It just so happens that Cain’s wedding coincides with the second week in the Blancbourg program. Secretly, I welcomed the excuse not to endure the ceremony. I’d almost begged Coach Hammer to keep me at the school for another week or two.
Sorry, bro. Team rules take priority and all that.
No such luck.
Silent concentration falls over me when we land. I have to prepare myself. Keep vigilant. Cain isn’t a prankster so much as an evil mastermind. Forget being a bully, he’s a bulldozer and rolls over, pushes past, or punches through anything in his path. Most notably, when we were growing up, me.
