The Exchange Student

“Invitations and Rules”

Angela’s POV

The doorbell rang exactly at four o’clock. My heart skipped. I smoothed down my blouse one last time and hurried over. When I opened the door, Alyssa Harris and Liam West stood on the porch like they’d stepped straight out of a school brochure.

Alyssa was dressed in a pastel skirt and blazer set, her hair perfectly straightened and falling over her shoulders like something out of a shampoo commercial. Her eyes scanned the house behind me with thinly veiled surprise.

“This is your place?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual, though the way she lingered on the marble floors of the entryway made me shift uncomfortably.

She gave a low whistle. “Not bad at all.”

Liam, on the other hand, didn’t even look up. He wore a plain gray hoodie and black jeans, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and he muttered, “Can we just get this done?”

Typical.

“Sure,” I said, stepping aside to let them in.

We settled at the dining table with our laptops and notes spread out in front of us. To my relief, the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as I’d feared. Alyssa was still a little stuck up—she kept correcting me every time I phrased something “not academically enough,” as she put it—but at least she was engaged. Liam contributed in short bursts, dropping sharp insights into Gatsby’s illusions of grandeur before retreating into silence again.

I mostly typed and organized our points, making sure everything flowed. The project slowly began to take shape, and despite Alyssa’s condescending tone, I couldn’t deny she was brilliant.

About halfway through, Mum poked her head in. “Snacks?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Yes, please!” I said quickly before Alyssa could decline out of pride.

Mum set down two bowls: one filled with plantain chips—thin, golden slices fried until crisp—and another with chin chin, crunchy little cubes of fried dough dusted with sugar. My favorites.

“What’s this?” Alyssa asked, picking up a chip cautiously.

“Plantain chips,” I explained. “Kind of like banana, but not really. Just try it.”

She popped it in her mouth, and her eyes widened despite herself. “Okay… this is actually really good.”

Liam grabbed a handful without hesitation. “Mm. Better than anything in the cafeteria,” he admitted, his usual disinterest cracking just a little.

I grinned, warmth blooming in my chest. For a few moments, it didn’t feel like I was the outsider anymore.

⸻

By six o’clock, we’d wrapped everything up. The slides were polished, our speaking parts rehearsed, and the plan set for tomorrow’s presentation. I was gathering the papers when Alyssa slipped something into my hand.

It was a glossy invitation card, embossed with gold lettering.

“Senior Year Party,” it read. Date: Saturday. Location: her house.

“Wait—you’re inviting me?” I asked, stunned.

Alyssa shrugged lightly, as though it was no big deal. “It’s tradition. Seniors throw the first party of the year. Everyone who matters will be there. You seem… decent enough.”

I blinked at her, clutching the card like it was made of diamonds. “Thank you. Really.”

“We’ll see if you still thank me after,” she said with a smirk. Then she handed me her phone. “Number?”

I quickly typed mine in and saved hers.

By the time Liam muttered a goodbye and Alyssa strutted out, I was buzzing with excitement. A senior party? Already? This was the kind of thing I’d only seen in American movies.

⸻

The next morning, I nearly burst telling Lisa everything as we sat under a tree before class.

“She actually invited me, Lisa. Me!” I waved the glossy card in front of her face.

Lisa raised her brows. “Wow. Alyssa Harris invited you to her house? That’s… huge.”

“She even gave me her number,” I said, unable to stop smiling.

“That’s great, Angie,” Lisa said sincerely, then hesitated. “But… did she invite me too?”

The question made my stomach drop. “Um… no. Not yet.”

Lisa forced a little laugh. “It’s fine. I’m not really a party person anyway.”

But I could see the flicker of disappointment behind her glasses.

“I’ll ask her for another invite,” I promised quickly. “We’re presenting today, so it’s perfect timing.”

“Don’t stress it,” Lisa said, but I already knew I would.

⸻

Our presentation went flawlessly. I delivered the introduction with confidence, Alyssa handled the citations with her polished perfection, and Liam’s analysis blew everyone away. When Mr. Benson announced we’d gotten an A, I thought Alyssa might actually smile.

After class, I knew this was my chance.

I approached her as she packed her designer bag. “Hey, Alyssa, um… could I maybe get another invite? For my friend Lisa?”

Alyssa froze. Her gaze lifted slowly to meet mine, and for ten full seconds she just stared—cold, assessing, like she was deciding whether I was worth the effort.

My palms went clammy. Around us, students shuffled out of the classroom. Lisa lingered in the corner, pretending to adjust her backpack but clearly watching.

Finally, Alyssa pulled out her phone, tapped a few times, and said flatly, “Done.”

I nearly sagged with relief. “Thank you!”

I hurried over to Lisa, practically bouncing. “You’re in! She sent it.”

Lisa smiled, and this time it was real. “See? You’ve already got connections.”

⸻

After school, we went straight to her place to plan outfits. Her room was scattered with clothes, shoes, and half-finished posters from past art projects. We tried on dresses, swapped earrings, and laughed at how ridiculous we looked in certain combinations.

“Okay, this top with your skirt,” Lisa said, holding items up against me, “and you’ll look like you stepped out of Vogue.”

I laughed. “And you with this jacket? You’ll own the room.”

For the first time, the idea of walking into that party didn’t feel terrifying. It felt exciting.

But the excitement dimmed when I remembered I hadn’t actually asked my parents yet.

⸻

Back home, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, rehearsing different versions of how to bring it up. Mum would probably be fine—she’d already met Lisa and Alyssa, and she trusted me. But Dad? Dad was all about rules, structure, and focus. To him, senior year was about college applications, not parties.

I tossed and turned, stomach churning. Finally, I gathered my courage.

Downstairs, Mum and Dad were watching TV together. I hovered in the doorway for a solid minute, my throat dry.

“Angela?” Mum asked. “Is everything okay?”

“I, um…” I stuttered. “I was invited to a party tomorrow. A senior party. Can I… go?”

Both of them turned to me. Dad’s brows furrowed immediately. “Who invited you?”

“Alyssa Harris. She’s in my Literature class. And Lisa will be there too,” I added quickly.

Mum exchanged a glance with Dad. “I know Alyssa. She came here yesterday, right?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding eagerly.

Mum smiled. “I think it’s fine. It’s good she’s making friends.”

Dad, however, leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Listen, Angela. I’ll allow it. But there are rules.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“No boys. No drinking. No funny business. You’ll be back home before nine, understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And you’ll answer your phone if we call. No excuses.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I repeated, relief washing over me.

Mum patted his arm. “She’ll be fine. Let her enjoy herself a little.”

Dad sighed. “We’ll see.”

I ran upstairs grinning so wide my cheeks hurt.

⸻

In my room, I immediately FaceTimed Lisa. “We’re on!” I squealed.

She cheered, throwing up a peace sign. “Yes! Now we just need to make sure we look flawless.”

We agreed to meet at her place an hour or two before the party to get ready together.

Later that night, I curled under my blankets with my phone, scrolling through TikToks of American high school parties—red cups, flashing lights, music so loud you could feel it through the screen. My heart raced with anticipation.

Tomorrow would be my first real American party.

And for the first time since moving to L.A., I couldn’t wait to see what happened next.