“An aid trip?” Lionel echoes in surprise. “Where?”

“Somewhere in South America, likely,” my father replies vaguely. “We have a team still sorting out the final details.”

“That’s wonderful, Vivienne,” Margaret tells me, smiling. “You truly are your mother’s daughter. Charles will be disappointed, however. We told him you’d be classmates this fall.”

“How is Charles?” my mother asks, clearly eager to steer the conversation away from my plans.

Margaret and Lionel accept the subject change readily, and begin boasting about all their son has accomplished while in Germany. I take the opportunity to tune the conversation out once again.

One of the maids enters to announce dinner is ready just as I’m taking the last sip of my drink. As we’re all exiting the sitting room to make the short trek to the formal dining room, Lionel Vanderbilt falls into step beside me.

“I doubt the place you’ll be staying in this fall will look anything like this.” He chuckles, gesturing to our luxurious surroundings. “If you get a chance between teaching children or any other tasks they have you helping out with, you should really make a trip to our beach house in South Carolina. You’ve never been across the Atlantic, have you?”

I shake my head.

“Beautiful scenery over there, especially along the coast. South Carolina is our favorite. We spend March through May and parts of the summer there every year. If you get a chance, you should feel free to visit.”

“I appreciate it, Lionel,” I reply politely. “But I doubt I’ll be anywhere near an airport. And I’m not planning to be jetting off on any beach vacations while I’m there.”

“Of course, of course. But should you change your mind…” Lionel slips a card out of a pocket inside his suit jacket and jots something down on it before handing it to me. “Here is the number for the personal pilot we have over there. He can pick you up from anywhere and fly you to South Carolina to see it in person.”

I take the card. “Thank you.”

I’m quiet during dinner. Although Lionel doesn’t know it, his gushing over the scenery the United States offers has only increased my excitement for my upcoming time there. Aside from the campus photos I looked at, I have no idea what to expect of the country I’ll be temporarily living in.

After dinner, my father and Lionel retire to his study for a nightcap. My mother and Margaret invite me to the drawing room with them, but I decline, faking a headache.

I return to my room eagerly, pulling off the fancy dress and dropping it carelessly on the gleaming wooden floor. I put on a matching set of silk pajamas and climb onto my bed to begin reading through the binder Richard gave me earlier.

I’m quickly inundated by page after page of information about music, movies, television shows, and celebrities an American teenager would be expected to know. I reach a section titled Football that lists out the rules for an American sport where players throw a ball and tackle each other on a grass field divided into segments by white lines. The description pulls at a memory.