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The steps end directly in the dining area. A wide opening on the left leads to a comfortable living room, and the kitchen is on the right, with a window looking down to the road. Lina shows me the half-bath beside the kitchen and points out a tiny office tucked between the bathroom and stairs. From what I’ve heard, this kind of open floor plan is unusual here. Most homes are many decades, or even centuries, old and have doors between all the rooms to concentrate the heat in areas that are occupied.
Renate has laid out bread, sliced meat, cheese, and roasted veggies on the dining table. She takes a seat at the head in front of glass doors that lead out to a tiny patio. The house is built into a hillside, so there’s a small side yard on this floor and a tiny back yard behind the living room with a steep retaining wall supporting the neighbor’s yard behind us. Their bottom floor windows must be even with the bedrooms.
Renate tells us to help ourselves, so I put a little of everything on my plate. Lina avoids the vegetables. “I can be healthy when I’m old,” she whispers.
Renate puts her hands together and bows her head but doesn’t say anything. Lina copies her, so I use the brief silence to offer thanks. When our hostess looks up, Lina picks up her sandwich and takes a huge bite.
I sip my water and pick at my food while Renate lays out her expectations. “Based on the information from the Universität, you’re here to learn the language. After today, we will speak only German in the house, except in emergencies. It will be difficult at first, but as your vocabulary grows, you’ll become more comfortable. I’ll correct your grammar as necessary. Please don’t consider it a criticism, but a chance to learn. My host family did the same for me when I stayed in Ireland.”
Ireland. That explains the lilt to her English.
“I don’t impose a curfew, but if you’ll be out past eleven, you’ll text and let me know where you’ll be and when you’ll be home. I’m not trying to be intrusive, but I’m responsible for you—more than a simple landlord, at least. I’ll do the same for you when I go out. Guests are welcome, but give the rest of the household advance notice if possible. If you want to have a party, plan in advance.” She glances at me as I try to hide a yawn. “You must be tired. I should probably have waited to dump all of this on you.”
“I’m sorry.” I fail to stop another yawn.
“No, don’t worry about it. Try to stay awake until at least seven—that’s one of the reasons we’re having dinner tonight. Here in Freiberg, the largest meal is in the middle of the day, and most people take it at school or work. We won’t have a regular evening meal—just help yourself when you’re hungry. I get a stipend to pay for your food, so I’ll provide bread, meat, cheese.” She grins and points at Lina’s plate. “If you want something else, you’ll have to buy it yourself. Same for breakfast—I’ll have yogurt, muesli, eggs, bread, butter. And Nutella, of course. If you want anything different, you can stop at the store.”
She talks about shared chores, the laundry room on the ground floor, where to find cleaning supplies, and a few other important items. “There are a couple of bikes in the basement—although it will soon be a bit cold for those. I can show you after dinner. And tomorrow Lina will take you to the F-bahn station and show you how to get to the school. Classes start Monday, I think?” She raises a brow at Lina.
The other girl nods. “I’ve got my schedule. Do you have yours?”
I pat my pocket. “In an email somewhere. I’ll look for it tomorrow.”
Renate hands me a slip of paper with a QR code and a plastic credit card with a chip embedded. “That’s the WiFi access, so you don’t need to use data in the house. The Tico card is for transportation—the exchange program pre-loaded twenty euros. Lina will show you how to use it tomorrow. Anything else can wait. Finish your dinner and get some sleep. I leave for work at eight, so if you’re up before then, I’ll see you. Otherwise, Lina is your guide.” She gives the other girl a stern look.
Lina nods excitedly, like a bobblehead doll. “I can help you with everything!”
“Thanks, Lina. Right now, I think I need to eat, then sleep.”
The next morning—Friday—I find a text from my dad. It came in last night, but I must have slept through the notification.
You’ll be sorry. I have plans.
He also sent a selfie in which he’s holding the computer mouse beside his face. My picture is pasted over the little laser light, rendering the device inoperable.
One more prank uncovered. Luckily, I have a few long-range plans to keep him on his toes until I return. And I’m not worried by his vague threats. I type in LOL and hit send.
As I start down the steps, my phone vibrates. Another text from Dad. I check the time—it’s the middle of the night there. I need to remember his phone is set to allow messages from me at any time—he doesn’t want to miss any emergencies. But I don’t want to interrupt his sleep for silly stuff. When I pull out the device, he’s sent a GIF of Rick Astley doing his iconic dance move.
Frowning, I look back at our conversation and realize my phone autocorrected my LOL into the line from Astley’s most famous song before sending. I give myself a mental head slap. I’ve just been Rick Rolled by my dad.
Snickering as I clatter down the stairs, I send back a laughing face and a thumbs-up. He’s probably patting himself on the back right now, but the next time he tries to open his Goodreads account, he’s in for a surprise. I left three separate spoofed shortcuts on his phone that will play the video clip at top volume when he tries to open an app.
The student has become the master.
After a late breakfast—and a search through my autocorrect to make sure Dad hasn’t left any other surprises—Lina takes me to the station nearest our new home. She shows me how to use the Tico card to tap through the turnstile and pay the fare and explains the F-bahn system. “F for Freiberg, bahn means train. But there are buses and trams, too.”
We ride a train to the Universität. She gives me a tour of the classrooms and the student union which houses a pub in the cellar. “There’s a band playing tomorrow night—we should go.”
“How do you know so much about everything already? Didn’t you just arrive?” I poke my little wooden fork into one of the fries in the paper cone she bought using her Tico card. The pre-paid cards seem to work everywhere instead of cash.
Lina jerks the fries away in an expansive gesture. A glop of mayonnaise splats to the cobblestones. “I’ve been here three days. But my mother and I came down this summer to visit so I’d feel comfortable. We explored the campus, then did a bunch of tourist stuff.”
She swings the fries toward me, and I duck away, hoping to avoid any flying condiments. Then I grab her wrist and stab my fork more securely into the cone. The crispy, salty potatoes taste like heaven.
“They’re almost as good as Belgian fries, aren’t they?” Lina snags a few with her own fork.
“Belgian fries are better?”
