The Exchange Student

The Pink Song

Being chosen for the exchange program was Lisa’s ticket to a better life. In America, they said, you could be anything you wanted to be. All you had to do was work hard, and Lisa was no stranger to working hard.

Living in Playa Del Carmen, everyone worked hard. You had to just to make it. Lisa’s small home had a well, and every day she carried water from the well to cook and bathe. She tended her grandmother’s garden, to have food to eat. When she went to school, she walked with her backpack on her back.

The exchange program meant leaving behind everything she knew and living with an American family. On TV, though, Lisa saw how American families lived. That was the kind of life she wanted. In America, no one had to carry water or tend a garden, unless they wanted to. They were doctors, movie stars, and bosses in big companies.

Those things took hard work, too, but not the kind of back-aching work that gardening did. That kind of work took brains, and Lisa did have a brain. Her grades proved that, and they were one reason she was chosen for the program. The other was her English, which she practiced as often as her Spanish.

On the day she left Mexico, Lisa hugged her grandmother and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. She boarded a bus with only one bag, which carried everything she owned. In her pocket was one hundred dollars, a fortune for her family. At the end of the journey was her American family, the Smiths.

In America, there were many Smiths. Many Americans on TV had similar names. Johnson. Smith. White. Black. Mexico had some of those, too. The Smiths that Lisa was to stay with for her senior year in high school, were rich by Lisa’s standards. By American standards, they were “well-off” but not wildly successful.

Lisa’s bus arrived at the station in the late afternoon, and her smiling American family waited for her with a sign bearing her name. The tall man with a thin brown mustache was Mr. Smith.

“Call me Jerry,” he said, chuckled, and added, “Or Papi.”

Lisa didn’t want to call him Papi, and instead settled on, “Mr. Jerry,” as she shook his hand.

Alongside Mr. Jerry stood an athletic blonde girl with her hair in pigtails. The girl wore a pleated miniskirt, pink, which paired with a white top that fit her snugly. It bore the word, “Cute” in pink letters. Her lips, which were wrapped around a pink sucker, glittered with sparkly pink gloss, and on her feet were a pair of pink heels with matching pink thigh-highs.

“I’m Julie,” the girl said, popping her sucker out of her mouth. She pulled Lisa in for a tight hug, mashing her large braless breasts into Lisa’s body and putting a sticky kiss on her cheek. Lisa rubbed at the glittery kiss as she pulled away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Julie,” she said in accented perfect English.

The girl cooed and said, “Aw, Daddy! She’s adorable! Did you hear how she talked?”

Mr. Jerry patted Julie’s shoulder and said, “Honey, don’t be rude. It’s not nice to make fun of people. You know Daddy doesn’t like rudeness. I’m sorry, Lisa.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Jerry,” Lisa said. “It’s okay, Julie,” then she brightened and said, “In Mexico, we say, ‘Bueno.’ Okay.”

“Bueno!” Julie cried. She turned to her father, batted her long lashes, and said, “Bueno, Daddy.”

She followed this with a slightly irritating giggle, and Lisa forced herself not to cringe. Mr. Jerry nodded and patted the girl on the head like a pet.

“You see?” he said. “You have as much to learn from Lisa as she does from you. I think we’re off to a good start.”

Lisa smiled politely, nodded, and hefted her bag.

“The car is this way, Lisa,” Mr. Jerry said. “Let me take your bag.”

Lisa hesitated. The bag was everything she owned. But she nodded and handed Mr. Jerry the bag. Julie hooked her arm into Lisa’s, popped the sucker into her mouth, and pulled Lisa along toward the car.

“Do you like hamburgers, Lisa?” Mr. Jerry asked.

“Yes, sir,” Lisa said.

Mr. Jerry beamed.

“Daddy likes that,” Julie mumbled around her sucker.

“It’s really just for my students,” Mr. Jerry said. “And for Julie. It’s important, I think, to use the proper honorific for those in authority. I don’t expect that formality from you. You’re our guest.”

Mr. Jerry’s car was big, shiny, and black. Lisa had seen such cars on American TV. Many cars in America were big. Mr. Jerry put Lisa’s bag into the trunk and then opened the back door for her. Lisa slid inside, and Julie followed. The girl crawled into the seat, which Lisa thought was a bit odd. With how short her skirt was, the view from the back must have been positively indecent.

Mr. Jerry didn’t correct her and didn’t seem to notice. He closed the door and slid into the driver’s seat. All throughout the drive, Mr. Jerry asked questions, and Lisa answered. There were more questions over hamburgers.

The questions were polite, and the kinds of things Lisa expected a stranger to ask. He asked about life in Mexico and school. Life was different. School was good. He asked about her grandparents and her parents. Her parents were dead, and her grandparents raised her.

When Lisa asked, “Is there a Mrs. Jerry?” the question was met with a moment of silence.

Julie popped her sucker from her mouth, and said, “She left. She was a cunt.”

Lisa gasped.

“Julie, language,” Mr. Jerry growled.

“Sorry, sir,” Julie mumbled.

“Julie’s mother and I had some differences. She’s very independent. A month ago, she filed for divorce and moved to California to chase an acting dream.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Lisa said.

Mr. Jerry shrugged and said, “Everyone deserves to go after their dream. I don’t resent her. At least I still have my Julie!”

Julie beamed.

On the drive home, Julie asked her father, “Daddy, can we listen to The Pink Song?”

Mr. Jerry sighed and said, “I don’t know if Lisa wants to hear The Pink Song.”

“The Pink Song?” Lisa asked.

“It’s like the best,” Julie said. “Everyone at school is playing it! You don’t have The Pink Song in Mexico?”

Lisa shook her head.

“It’s one of those fads,” Mr. Jerry said. “One of those one-hit wonders. A little annoying if you ask me, but I’m just an old fogey.”

“Aw, Daddy! You’re not a fogey!”

“Thanks, princess,” Mr. Jerry said.

“I’d like to hear it,” Lisa said.

Getting to know the culture was good. She wanted to fit in. If Americans listened to the pink song, then she should listen to it, too.

“I can’t stand it,” Mr. Jerry said with a chuckle. “But Julie loves it. I keep a set of earplugs just so I don’t have to hear it again.”

Lisa laughed as Mr. Jerry put earplugs in. He tapped at the console of the car and a track began to play. On the screen, the name of the artist and track scrolled in digital letters. Sexy Stacy. The Pink Song.

Lisa had heard a lot of American pop songs. They were almost as popular in Mexico as names like José José, Paulina Rubio, or Shakira. Some of those songs had silly beats or tunes. The Pink Son was one of those.

The beat was bouncy and girly, and the singer’s voice sounded auto-tuned. Julie squealed as the song began to play, a sound that made Lisa grind her teeth. This was America, though. It was time to acclimate to the culture. And in America, people listened to the Pink Song.

So, Lisa gave it a chance. She listened to the beat, which at first she found far too bubbly and playful. As the song went on, though, she tapped her foot. It was a little catchy.

I’m so pink!

So pink and pretty!

I’m so pink!

With luscious titties!

The lyrics made Lisa blush. The singer’s casual use of expletives was a little jarring. In her religious household, grandmother would never have allowed The Pink Song.

I just wanna be cute and shake my booty for the boys.

I wanna be cute and let them treat me like a toy.

I wanna show them how girly I can be.

I wanna let them cop a feel on me!

I’m so pink!

So pink and pretty!

I’m so pink!

With luscious titties!

I’m pink and precious,

Makin’ girls jealous.

The boys are breathless,

Cuz I’m so precious!

The song was atrocious. But Julie sang along with the lyrics as she bounced in her seat, her big tits jiggling as she bopped along with the beat. By the end of the first verse, however, Lisa couldn’t help but bounce a little too. The song was just so… fun.

As Sexy Stacy started the second round of the chorus, Lisa nodded her head along with the beat. The song was in her head. While at first it had seemed annoying, now it was growing on her. It wasn’t all that bad. The girl’s voice was so happy. She really was proud of being pink. Pink like a girl. Precious and pink.

Julie giggled and cupped her big tits to shake them each time Sexy Stacy sang the words, “luscious titties,” and the third time it happened, Lisa giggled, too.