Nick’s relatives were doing all the yelling for him. He only needed to smile and be confused, both of which he was doing very efficiently, especially the be confused part.
“Bonjour, Nicolas!” cried his uncle, who had just ran out from the backyard, grass clipping sticking to him like well-shredded green confetti. “Welcome to America!”
Nick smiled and was confused. Also horribly jet-lagged, but he didn’t think it would be polite to yawn, even if he knew how to yawn and smile at the same time, which he didn’t. So Nick smiled and tried to suppress his urges to yawn with all his might.
His four-year old cousin was tugging at his hand, laughing and yelling something about having to show his “cousin ‘ick” her penguin. Nick only hoped she meant a toy penguin as that he didn’t feel quite up to meeting a real penguin just yet, even if American families do normally keep penguin as pets.
No yawning, no yawning, NO yawning.
His aunt, or his uncle’s wife whom he called ‘aunt’ at her insistence, was laughing too. She shooed her daughter away and instructed her husband, monsieur the uncle, to take Nick to his room, where he’ll be staying for the next two days—“Can’t you see how overwhelmed the poor boy is?”
Nick couldn’t quite remember what ‘overwhelmed’ meant, but he certainly felt very poor. Or was it ‘poorly’? His urges to yawn were beginning to get the better of him. He noticed two pink flamingoes stuck on what he presumed was the front lawn and wondered what they were for. They looked scarily gauche. He—now being steered into the guest room—could see them from his window.
Finally left alone, Nick yawned so widely that he heard his jaw crack.
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