All of It Read Free Page A

initial reason I signed up my sophomore year. I was inexplicably drawn to French. It seemed the most romantic of my three choices. What I didn’t anticipate was that I would fall completely in love with France and the language. I constantly daydream of someday looking out at Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower under a full moon in the arms of the love of my life, or walking with him along the Seine at twilight near the end of summer when the air is still warm. Someday …
    Madame Lemieux spent the summer in the Lorraine region of France visiting extended family. She shares dozens of photos. Each one accompanied by a wonderful story. She’s an animated storyteller and can make even the most mundane traditions sound exciting. I’m so engrossed in the lesson that I jump in my seat when the bell rings. It startles me. It seems as if I just sat down and it’s already over.
    “Merci. Au revoir.” Madame Lemieux’s singsong voice bids us farewell.
    French class propelled me back into my usual happy mood. I take a few deep breaths and vow to keep it going as I head back to the art building to meet Dimitri. My embarrassment has subsided.
    As I step outside into the courtyard the sun shines on my face and warms me. The clouds that masked the sky earlier as I drove to school this morning have passed. The gray’s been replaced by brilliant blue. Looks like the weatherman was right; it is going to be a sunny day after all. It’s going to be a good day.
    I smile as I open the door to the art building. I look down the hall toward the photography lab, but he isn’t there. Did I miss him waiting outside for me? I turn to walk back toward the door, but as I turn I see him standing near a photography display opposite me. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed, staring at me. A smile slowly lights up his eyes.
    “French or English?” He’s trying, for the most part unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh as he walks to meet me.
    “Pardon me?” I’m confused now, but still smiling. I remind myself that it’s going to be a good day.
    He doesn’t speak again until he’s standing within a foot of me. He pauses, smiles again like the cat that caught the canary, and repeats himself, “French or English? Which class have you just come from?”
    I’m caught off guard, but answer without hesitating, “French.”
    He nods, a look of satisfaction painted across his face. The smile grows wider. Obviously he’s the only one in on the joke. “We’d better get going. I don’t want to be held responsible for your
second
tardy, too.”
    I stand there dumbfounded. He holds the door open, waiting patiently. “After you?” He poses it as a question, gesturing toward the courtyard.
    I should ask him how he knew. I want to. But I can’t find the words. My mind’s racing a hundred miles an hour. Did I share my schedule with him this morning? No, we barely exchanged ten words. I’m sure I didn’t.
    “Veronica … are you coming?” His voice is slow and deliberate, but light. It jolts me back and without thinking, my body moves out the door, though my mind slips out somewhere along the way. I’m fairly certain it’s still back inside the building … puzzled.
    We walk silently to and from our next two classes. Psychology and English are a blur, which is too bad, because English is my other favorite subject. I mechanically take notes in both classes. I can always review them in study hall to find out what I’ve missed.
    I look at Dimitri’s schedule as I walk to the gym to retrieve him, tracing down the list with my finger: third period Spanish, fourth period P.E., fifth period lunch, sixth period study hall. I stop. No movement, unless you count my heart that’s now relentlessly slamming against my ribcage. I stand there holding the paper securely with both hands now, looking at it in horror. My stomach somersaults. He and I have the next two periods together. How am I going to face him for the next two hours? Wait, it’s