Chapter Text
Friday September 22nd 2000, approximately 4:30 PM.
Cal arrived home at the usual time, just like every other day. The yellow bus made its regular rounds around New Stratford, and each time, Cal would get off and walk to the front door of the blue house. He’d push through the door and glance down the hallway, where the kitchen door was always wide open, the clock reading exactly 4:05, as it always did.
But today felt different. His backpack, slung over one shoulder, gave him a laid-back, careless look—made even more obvious by the fact that it was flat, holding no books—yet it felt ten times heavier than usual. It didn’t look that way, but the weight came from a single sheet of paper.
A sheet of paper.
A sheet of paper handed to him by his German teacher, Mr. Fischer. He had warned them at the end of the last school year about what was to come. It wasn’t exactly a warning, but it had always felt like one to Cal. The middle-aged man had seemed excited when he told them that Iroquois High School and a school in Cologne, Germany, had formed a partnership to benefit their students. Cal Gabriel didn’t see how this would benefit him, or anyone unlucky enough to be paired with him, in terms of socialising.
“Come on in, students!” he had greeted them this friday with a big smile on his usually cold face. When Cal saw that smile, he knew something was off.
The teacher explained that they hadn’t just partnered with a German school and started a pen pal system—no, they had set up a full student exchange program. This year, German students would be coming to New Stratford, and next year (when Cal would be gone, thank god), American students would be going to Germany. Everyone else seemed thrilled. Everyone but Cal.
Then, the teacher handed out forms that needed to be signed by their parents before October 1st, along with a sheet containing their pen pal's contact information.
That was the reason his bag felt so heavy now.
Cal wished he could avoid the whole thing altogether. It felt awkward having to connect with someone he didn’t even know, with no way to start a conversation except by talking about himself. He couldn’t picture himself sitting down to write a letter, awkward teenage scrawl and all, filled with shallow niceties and endless sentences starting with “I” or “Me.” What was a letter supposed to sound like, anyway, if not a desperate attempt to find some common ground or shared interest? On second thought, maybe he could just hide the forms. Yeah, that might work. He’d shove them in his desk under last year’s books. That way, his mom wouldn’t find them while “doing laundry” or “tidying up.”
Sitting at the kitchen table with a cold glass of orange juice, he thought about all the ways this school project could’ve been handled differently. He let his head drop dramatically against the table as he remembered how Mr. Fischer had paired everyone in the class with a German partner. Sure, it could’ve been worse—they could’ve drawn names from a hat, like they used to do for random middle school activities—but that didn’t make him any happier about it. What did Mr. Fischer even know about him, anyway? Just the basics from those assignments where he’d written things like Ich mag Filme and Meine Lieblingsfarbe ist blau. How was that enough to match him with someone?
“Calvin? What was that noise?” his mom called from the living room after hearing the thud of his head against the table.
“Nothing, Mom,” he said quickly, trying to wave it off.
Too late. She came into the kitchen, curious as ever. Her bright blue eyes swept over him, though he’d already picked his head up and was now staring intently at the mole on his left hand, the one that had been there forever. She lingered for a moment, then started the electric kettle to make tea. “How was school today?” she asked as she grabbed a mug.
“Fine,” he said, giving his usual one-word answer.
“How were your classes?” she asked, continuing the familiar routine they’d done every day since he’d started high school.
“Good,” he replied without much effort.
She poured the boiling water over a tea bag in her mug, the smell of herbal tea filling the room. “Good. If you need help with anything, don’t forget you can always ask me or your dad, okay?”
“Yeah, Mom,” he said with a sigh, staring at the orange juice in his cup. When would she stop asking him that? Ever since his ADHD diagnosis in third grade, his parents had been relentless about asking him if he needed help with homework, like he couldn’t handle it on his own. “I’ve got homework to do,” he added quickly. “I’ll be in my room.”
He escaped to his sanctuary—his bedroom. It was his favorite place in the world, the one space where he felt completely at ease. Unfortunately, his parents had rules, like having to spend the evening with them watching TV or talking. If it were up to him, he’d never leave his room, and they seemed all too aware of that fact.
As soon as he entered his bedroom, he sat down at his desk in front of his computer and turned it on. Obviously, he didn’t have any homework to do—at least not anything that mattered. Video games were a much better use of his time. He opened his black backpack and pulled out the dreaded forms, along with the contact sheet. To be honest, he hadn’t even bothered to look at who his “pen pal” was supposed to be.
But maybe he should.
As his computer booted up and Quake III Arena started loading, he glanced at the contact sheet.
Andre Kriegman
July 17, 1982
Beneath that, there was the boy’s email address and a physical address somewhere in Cologne. But that wasn’t all on the page. Maybe his German teacher was more considerate and had actually made the students write about themselves—something Mr. Fischer had clearly failed to do. A short bio was included, just a few lines of messy handwriting, even harder to read than Cal’s own.
“I enjoy movies, music, sports, and science. My favourite pastimes are video games and (...)” There, something had been scribbled over. “My favourite colour is red and I don’t have any pets. I have an older brother. I’m outgoing and like going for walks in the forest whenever I can. I want to work in engineering.”
Surprisingly, he seemed… nice. He seemed friendly, and maybe they had more in common than he thought. There were differences, though—Cal didn’t care about sports or science. His science grade was awful, and he was always the last one picked during P.E. He was more of a literature guy. He didn’t love it, but he was good at it, and he also played the sitar and guitar in the school band. It wasn’t much to go on, but Mr. Fischer seemed to know him better than Cal had expected. Still, no amount of information would make Cal change his mind about this exchange. He wasn’t about to deal with the awkwardness of socialising, or the potential heartbreak of making a friend through letters and emails only for that person to meet him and decide he was a loser and not worth their time.
With the game finally loaded, he started a Deathmatch, leaving the forms on his desk. Quake was fast-paced, set in an arena, and had what Cal considered to be amazing graphics. The game sucked him in, and every time he played, it was like he couldn’t stop unless someone pulled him away from the screen. He liked it partly because he was pretty good at it. Cal didn’t like things he wasn’t good at, which was another reason he didn’t care much for sports, science, or socialising.
After what felt like 30 minutes, and a few rounds, the door to his room opened, and his mother stepped in.
“Hey, sweetie. Finished already?” she asked, seeing him absorbed in his game.
“Mm-hmm, yeah!” he muttered, completely focused on the screen.
Before he even realised, his mother had the forms in her hands. “Oh, what’s this?” she asked.
“Oh,” Cal swallowed hard. Why hadn’t he put those papers away as soon as he sat down in that stupid chair? He was so caught off guard he barely noticed his computer chiming, signaling that his Deathmatch had ended after his character died.
“It’s for German class. A pen-pal thing,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We’re supposed to host someone for part of the school year.”
Before his mom could respond or even agree to the idea, he snatched the forms back. “But it’s fine. I’ll tell them you’re not interested and return the forms.”
“But I am interested.” She took the forms back from him. “And your dad will agree with me. It’ll be good for you to have a friend around the house!” She smiled, then turned and left the room.
For the second time that day, Cal dropped his head onto his desk. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Cal was grateful that his mom had discovered all of this on a Friday, giving him the whole weekend to figure out what to do. Before his dad—a generally cheerful and easygoing guy—even got home, Cal had already realized one thing: there was no getting out of this. He was going to have to communicate with this Andre guy. Thankfully, he had the weekend to come up with a letter, since Mr. Fischer expected them to send one before Monday.
When his dad came home and they sat down for dinner, his mom shared the news. His dad seemed just as excited as she was—which was far more enthusiasm than Cal could muster.
On Saturday morning, after waking up, Cal sat in the backyard with his sitar, trying to distract himself, but he couldn’t come up with anything. His stomach was in knots at the thought of writing a formal letter to someone he’d never met. He knew he had to do it; otherwise, he’d spend the entire weekend agonizing over it. Should he write in German or English?
He’d been taking German with Mr. Fischer since his first year of highschool, but he couldn’t say he’d learned much. Writing in German was out of the question. English it was. But then, should he be casual or formal? Germans were supposed to be pretty strict, right? Or was that just a stereotype?
Sitting with his notebook and pen, pulling up blades of grass absentmindedly, he looked around as if inspiration would magically appear. Finally, he dove in and started writing.
“Dear Andre,” he wrote, then scratched it out. No, too soft, too personal.
“Hello, we have been paired together for the school program,” he tried next, but that sounded too stiff and weird.
By the time he finished, a dozen crumpled pages surrounded him. The final letter ended up looking something like this:
Hello Andre,
My name is Calvin Gabriel. I’m a senior at Iroquois High School. We’ve been paired up, so I guess we’ll meet in January. When that happens, please call me Cal. Only my parents call me Calvin.
I’m not great at writing letters, and my German is pretty bad, so I hope you’re not expecting much from your pen pal. Honestly, you’re not getting much from me. I read your bio, and it seems like we have a few things in common. I like watching movies and listening to music too. I also play a lot of video games, like Quake III Arena and Diablo II.
I’m not sure what else to say. Sorry, I’m a bit awkward.
Looking forward to your letter, Cal Gabriel.
The letter was placed in an envelope, and on Monday, while Cal was in class, his mom went to the post office. It was mailed, and now the waiting game could start.