Chapter 1

Taking back her passport from the immigration officer, Freja Olsen made her way towards the carousels to collect her luggage. This was it, she was now officially in America. From her window seat she had eagerly watched the sprawling city glide away under her, until the plane touched the tarmac. In a few moments she would get her first real glimpses at that city that had seemed rather non-descript from above. Having waited a long time before it was finally her turn at the immigration check, she found her luggage already circling the carousel. This was it. Time to step out of the airport and into the real America.

Both nervous and excited about her upcoming adventure, Freja wheeled her luggage towards the exit, curious to meet her family for the coming year. Deborah Hayes had sent her a picture of them over Whatsapp, informing her that she and her son would be at the airport to welcome her. Then the sliding doors parted, and she was standing in the arrivals hall, facing a crowd of faces all waiting for someone. She heard them before she spotted them.

“Freja! Over here, honey!”

The voice carried above the hum of chatter, and Freja’s eyes scanned the sea of people until she found the source. Then she saw them. A woman with short dark hair holding a handwritten sign “FREJA” was waving enthusiastically at her. A lanky boy of her own age, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and his attention mostly on the screen of his phone in an effort to look disinterested. Freja waved back at Deborah, Deb as she had told she preferred to be called, and started walking towards them.

“Welcome to Baltimore!” Deb exclaimed as they converged, enveloping Freja in an unexpected but warm hug. Freja couldn’t help but gain an instant liking towards the spontaneous and kind woman. Jason had by now put his phone away and gave her an awkward wave as she was released from Debs arms. Freja noticed the way he checked her out from under his cap, but she just smiled at him, not yet sure how to feel about him.

As they walked towards the parking lot, the hot air wrapped around her like a blanket, very different from the rather crisp Norwegian summer she had left behind. Deb was asking Freja about her flight, her parents, her favorite food and what seemed like a thousand different subjects. Freja answered politely, trying to keep up with the barrage of questions. Following his mother’s instructions, behind them Jason was pushing the luggage cart in silence. Soon, they had all piled into the family car, an old but well-maintained Chevrolet, and were rolling out of the airport parking lot.

Leaving the airport behind, the car rattled over uneven streets. Freja tried to concentrate enough to follow Deb’s stream of chatter as she watched Baltimore unfold: strip malls with flickering signs and clusters of brick rowhouses. Jason, relegated to the backseat, muttered a short, dry comment about the traffic, then went back to scrolling on his phone. Finally, as they turned onto their block in Sandtown-Winchester, Deb glanced at Freja. “I should warn you ... the neighborhood isn’t exactly what you might expect,” she said softly, her voice apologetic but matter-of-fact. “It’s not fancy, but it’s home. You’ll get used to it.”

Freja’s eyes settled on the Hayes house. A small front yard stretched between the sidewalk and the stoop, barely wide enough for a patch of grass and a cracked concrete path leading up to the steps. An American flag hung proudly from a pole by the porch, fluttering gently in the late-afternoon breeze, slightly faded but unmistakably visible. The brick rowhouse itself was modest, its paint peeling in places, a few windows showing the wear of years. Deb parked the car in the narrow space beside the rowhouse and they climbed out. Entering the house, Deb asked Jason to show Freja around so she could start on dinner.

The living room was modest but lived-in: a sagging couch, a coffee table cluttered with magazines and a few scattered toys, family photos crowding the mantel. Deb led Freja through the small hallway, pointing out the bathroom, the laundry area tucked behind a folding door, and the kitchen with its scuffed linoleum floor. Upstairs, Jason showed her the bedroom she would stay in, with its twin bed and a small desk under the window. It was clean and simply furnished, just like the rest of the house. During his tour, Jason showed himself a man of few words, mostly pointing at the places barely speaking more than one short sentence at a time. Freja could have felt unwelcome, but it was somewhat refreshing after his mother’s endless chatter.