And he’s already lost one, I thought, but I couldn’t wait to get to school to see the reactions to my clothes and makeup. Some of the girls were surprised and happy for me, but there were others who looked so envious that they seemed angry. It was as if I had violated some unwritten assumption: Emmie Wilcox will always look uninteresting, bland, and drab. She will never be competition for me.
I so overshadowed Chastity that no one noticed her new clothes, shoes, and makeup. Right before lunch, what I had dreamed might happen, did happen. Evan Styles stepped up beside me in the hallway. I was in such a daze from the compliments I had received that I didn’t notice he was there until I heard him say, “Parlez-vous français?”
I turned and for a moment was so surprised, I didn’t speak. He shrugged.
“I thought you were part French and spoke it at home,” he said.
“Oh. Oui. Je parle français. Pourquoi demandez-vous?”
“Demandez-vous,” he muttered. “Oh. Why do I ask?”
“Oui. Pourquoi?”
“I’m in first year French. I mean, moi les premiers francais d’année,” he replied, pointing at himself.
I laughed. “Je prends français premier-ans.”
“Oh. Je prends. Oui. I thought,” he said, looking around and then leaning toward me as if he were going to tell me a great secret, “if I could talk to you every day, I’d get way ahead of anyone else in the class. I mean, my parents know French people, but I don’t see myself talking with them much except, you know, simple stuff when they come to dinner, like comment allez-vous? Je suis bien. Or Quelle heure est-il? Like they don’t have a watch.”
“Bien. Quand voulez-vous que nous parlions?”
“When do I want . . . oh, how about right now? At lunch.”
“Mais oui,” I said, and we walked on to the cafeteria.
I saw Chastity waiting for me near the food line. Her eyes widened when she saw me enter with Evan. I smiled at her and shifted my eyes toward him, but she didn’t react.
“Why don’t you take that table in the corner for us?” Evan said. “What do you want for lunch? Burger?”
“Just a salad and a cranberry juice,” I said.
“Très sage,” he replied.
I started for the table when he started for the line.
Chastity hurried over to me. “Where are you going?”
“Evan wants to practice his French with me. I said yes. He’s getting me my lunch.”
She looked back, and then her whole face seemed to begin to slide off her skull. She muttered a soft “Oh” and started away.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” I offered. She didn’t turn back.
I could feel most of the other girls and some of the boys looking our way when Evan brought me my lunch and set his down beside mine.
“So? Your mother is French?”
“Oui. Ma mère est née à Paris.”
“Let’s see. Your mother was something in Paris.”
“Born.”
“Oh, right. That makes her French.”
“Yes, it does,” I said, laughing.
“But you were born here in America, right?” he asked, as if that were a real concern.