“Nothing, I guess,” she says, in response to my question about her evening.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. It’s ridiculous how difficult a question can be when the answer means so much. “Wanna go to the movies? They’re showing It Happened One Night at Le Champo.” Just because I haven’t gone out doesn’t mean I haven’t pored over the glorious Pariscope.
“They’re showing what? And I’m not gonna tell you how badly you just butchered that theater’s name.”
“It Happened One Night. Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. Won five Academy Awards. It was a big deal.”
“In what century?”
“Ha ha. Honestly, you’ll like it. I hear it’s great.”
Rashmi rubs her temples. “I don’t know. I don’t really like old movies. The acting is so, ‘Hey buddy, ol’ pal. Let’s go wear our hats and have a big misunderstanding.’”
“Aw, come off it.” St. Clair looks up from a thick book about the American Revolution. He sits on my other side. It’s weird to think he knows more American history than I do. “Isn’t that the charm? The hats and the misunderstandings?”
“So why don’t you go with her?” Rashmi asks.
“Because he’s going out with Ellie,” I say.
“How do you know what I’m doing tonight?” he asks.
“Please?” I beg her. “Pretty please? You’ll like it, I swear. So will Josh and Mer.”
Rashmi opens her mouth to protest just as the teacher arrives. Every week it’s someone new—sometimes administration, sometimes a professeur. This time, I’m surprised to see Nate. I guess all staff members are forced to take a turn. He rubs his shaved head and smiles pleasantly at our class.
“How do you know what I’m doing tonight?” St. Clair repeats.
“Pleeeeease,” I say to her.
She gives a resigned grimace. “Fine. But I’m picking the next movie.”
Yippee!
Nate clears his throat, and Rashmi and St. Clair look up. That’s one thing I like about my new friends. They respect the teachers. It drives me nuts to see students talk back or ignore them, because my mom is a teacher. I wouldn’t want anyone being rude to her. “All right, people, enough. Amanda, enough.” In his quiet but firm way, Nate shuts her up. She flips her hair and sighs, with a glance toward St. Clair.
He ignores her. Ha.
“I have a surprise for you,” Nate says. “Since the weather is turning, and there aren’t many warm days left, I’ve arranged for you guys to spend the week outdoors.”
We’re going outside for class credit. I love Paris!
“I’ve organized a scavenger hunt.” Nate holds up a stack of papers. “There are two hundred items on this list.You’ll be able to find them all in our neighborhood, but you may have to ask the locals for help.”
Oh hell no.
“You’ll be taking pictures of the items, and you’ll be working in two teams.”
Phew! Someone else can talk to the locals.
“The winning team will be determined by the total number of items found, but I’ll need to find photos on everyone’s phone or camera, if you expect to earn credit.”
NOOOOOOOOOOO.
“There’s a prize.” Nate smiles again, now that he finally has everyone’s attention. “The team that finds the most items by the end of Thursday’s class . . . gets to skip class on Friday.”
Now that might be worth it. The classroom erupts in whistles and clapping. Nate picks captains based on who begs for it the loudest. Steve Carver—the guy with the faux-surfer hair—and Amanda’s best friend, Nicole, are chosen. Rashmi and I groan in a rare moment of camaraderie. Steve pumps a fist in the air. What a meathead.
The selecting begins, and Amanda is chosen first. Of course. And then Steve’s best friend. Of course. Rashmi elbows me. “Bet you five euros I’m picked last.”
“I’ll take that bet. Because it’s totally me.”
Amanda turns in her seat toward me and lowers her voice. “That’s a safe bet, Skunk Girl. Who’d want you on their team?”
My jaw unhinges stupidly.
“St. Clair!” Steve’s voice startles me. It figures that St. Clair would be picked early. Everyone looks at him, but he’s staring down Amanda. “Me,” he says, in answer to her question. “I want Anna on my team, and you’d be lucky to have her.”
She flushes and quickly turns back around, but not before shooting me another dagger. What have I ever done to her?
More names are called. More names that are NOT mine. St. Clair tries to get my attention, but I pretend I don’t notice. I can’t bear to look at him. I’m too humiliated. Soon the selection is down to me, Rashmi, and a skinny dude who, for whatever reason, is called Cheeseburger. Cheeseburger is always wearing this expression of surprise, like someone’s just called his name, and he can’t figure out where the voice is coming from.
“Rashmi,” Nicole says without hesitation.
My heart sinks. Now it’s between me and someone named Cheeseburger. I focus my attention down on my desk, at the picture of me that Josh drew earlier today in history. I’m dressed like a medieval peasant (we’re studying the Black Plague), and I have a fierce scowl and a dead rat dangling from one hand.
Amanda whispers into Steve’s ear. I feel her smirking at me, and my face burns.
Steve clears his throat. “Cheeseburger.”
chapter eleven
“You owe me five bucks,” I say.
Rashmi smiles. “I’ll buy your movie ticket.”
At least we’re on the same team. Nicole divided up Nate’s list, so Rashmi and I went out on our own. The week shouldn’t be too bad. Because of Rashmi, I’ll actually earn class credit. She let me take some of the pictures—a statue of some guy named Budé and a group of kids playing football in the street—even though she was the one who found both items.
“I miss football.” Meredith pouts as we tell her our story. Even her springy curls look limp and sad tonight.
A breeze whips down the broad avenue, and we hold our jackets tight and shiver. A dusting of brown leaves crunches underneath our feet as Paris hovers on the edge of autumn. “Isn’t there some league you can join or something?” Josh asks, putting his arm around Rashmi. She burrows into him. “I see people playing around here all the time.”
“Boo!” A familiar disheveled head pops between Mer and me, and we jump like startled cats.
“Jeez,” Mer says. “Give me a heart attack.What are you doing here?”
“It Happened One Night,” St. Clair says. “Le Champo, right?”
“Don’t you have plans with Ellie?” Rashmi asks.
“Am I not invited?” He wedges his way between Meredith and me.
“Of course you’re invited,” Mer says. “We just assumed you’d be busy.”
“You’re always busy,” Rashmi says.
“I’m not always busy.”
“You are,” she says. “And you know what’s weird? Mer’s the only one who’s even seen Ellen this year. Is she too good for us now?”
“Aw, get off it. Not this again.”
She shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
St. Clair shakes his head, but it doesn’t escape our notice that he doesn’t deny it. Ellie may be friendly enough in person, but it’s clear she no longer needs her SOAP friends. Even I can see that.
“What do you guys even do every night?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“It,” Rashmi says. “They do it. He’s ditching us to screw.”
St. Clair blushes. “You know, Rash, you’re as crude as those stupid juniors on my floor. Dave what’s-his-name and Mike Reynard. God, they’re arses.”
Mike Reynard is Dave-from-French-and-history’s best friend. I didn’t know they lived next to him.
“Watch it, St. Clair,” Josh says.There’s an edge in his normally relaxed demeanor.