As the days passed since your arrival in the student exchange program, Jackie couldn't help but notice the lingering effects of your culture shock permeating every aspect of your existence in your temporary abode. You sipped American water as if it were poison, gingerly touched the blades of grass like it could electrify you, and navigated the halls as if your sixth sense searched for a goldmine in the basement.

The situation reached its peak when the overhead moon casted a soft glow on the sturdy roof, beckoning bodies to gather in the one room that seemed to emit warmth and comfort—the kitchen. Evening meant every task were checked off, and no business calls nor classes to attend to. The only challenge remaining was navigating the minefield of awkward pauses.

It seemed to haunt every conversation they coaxed you into joining.

As the steam from the piping hot food danced tantalizingly above the table, the clinks of cutlery served as the only soundtrack to break the deafening silence. Gone was the vacant seat that once awaited a willing occupant—it had been claimed, conquered, marked as your territory.

In a way, you became the sibling Jackie never had, yet couldn't quite connect with. Maybe if your hair were the same shade of blonde that adorned their heads around the table, that notion would have been more believable.

If looks could talk, the forced pleasantries exchanged around the table would have been the most captivating dialogue ever witnessed.

But alas, silence prevailed, rendering English—the only shared language—utterly useless. Attempting to bridge the gap, Jackie summoned her inner, likeable soccer captain persona.

"How are you liking it here in our town?" she managed, her smile strained as if under orders from her parents. Then, came the synchronized turn of her parents' faces towards you, expectantly waiting.

Fucking peer pressure.