by Cathy Hapka
“Oh, I cannot wait,” Annike said enthusiastically as they discussed the culinary-arts course. “I simply adore French food, don’t you?”
Nicole smiled weakly, realizing she hadn’t really stopped to consider all the implications of taking a cooking class in a foreign land. Oops.
“I am also taking Paris Through an Artist’s Eye,” Annike added. “That one should be fantastic! I talked to someone who took it last term, and he said it was the best. They got to go to a really good play, and visited a big fashion show.”
“Huh?” Despite Annike’s almost perfect English, Nicole wondered if they were having translation problems. “Wait, I’m taking that one, too. But I thought it was, like, an art-appreciation class or something.”
“Oh, yes,” Annike assured her. “But it is much better than that—I think more of a culture-appreciation class. We will cover architecture, and literature, and music, and film, and philosophy, and ways of seeing...”
Nicole tuned out. The more Annike went on about the course, the more Nicole’s heart sank. She’d expected a dull hour spent napping through poorly lit slide shows or trudging through dusty museums staring at boring paintings of fruit baskets and landscapes. That she would have been able to handle. This? She wasn’t so sure.
The interior of the school building turned out to be just as gray and forbidding as the exterior. Stopping in the crowded lobby, Annike turned and smiled rather anxiously at Nicole.
“I wish we had one of our classes together right away,” she said. “I’m so nervous! I’ve never been to a school where I didn’t know anyone.”
“I have,” Nicole admitted. “Unfortunately. See, my parents are landscapers—they create gardens for people. Big ones, I mean, like new parks and giant estates and stuff, you know?”
“Oh, what a cool job!” Annike exclaimed, her eyes widening. “It must be such fun to observe their work, no?”
Nicole had never really thought of it that way. “I guess,” she said. “But it really stunk for me growing up, since we had to move pretty much every time they finished a job and went on to a new one.”
Annike nodded sympathetically. “Ach, I would think so,” she murmured. “An adventure for them but just a big change for you...”
Nicole didn’t usually spill her guts to people she’d just met. But Annike seemed so sympathetic that it didn’t even feel weird.
Just then a very tall, very thin girl rushed past them so fast that her elbow hit Nicole’s backpack, sending it flying. It crashed to the floor at Annike’s feet, spilling notebooks and pens everywhere.
“Oh, so sorry!” the tall girl cried in an Australian accent, stopping and turning back to help. “I’m such a drongo today....”
“That’s okay.” Nicole crouched down to gather her things. “No biggie.”
Annike and the other girl both bent to help. “My name’s Ada,” the tall girl said. “Are you lot here for the S.A.S.S. program, too?” Without giving either of them a chance to respond, she went on, “Jingoes, but I’m nervous about today! I’m supposed to be in Euro-history class right now, and the room number is all smudged on my form, so I have no idea where to go.”
“European history?” Nicole glanced up. “Is your teacher Mr. Jenks? I have that one now, too. And yeah, we’re both with S.A.S.S., too.” She gestured toward Annike.
“Brilliant!” Ada smiled with relief at both of them before focusing again on Nicole. “Mind if I tag along with you to history, then? I swear I won’t knock you over again. At least I’ll try not to.”
Nicole giggled. “Sounds like a plan. I’m Nicole, by the way.”
Somehow, just meeting a couple of her fellow students was making her feel a little less anxious about things. Annike and Ada both seemed really nice.
“Bye, then,” Annike said, sounding a little sad. “I’ve got my French-language class now. But I’ll see you two later, okay?”
“Okay.” Nicole smiled and waved as the other girl hurried off. Then she turned toward Ada. “Ready?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Ada declared with a mock shiver.
Yeah, Nicole thought as the two of them headed off down the hall. I second that.
“Bonjour, students. Welcome to Introductory French.”
Nicole forced a smile as her French-language teacher, a beaming young man with a prominent Adam’s apple, looked around the classroom. The class was her second to last of the day, and she was already counting the seconds until she could escape.
It’s only my first day, and I’m sick of this whole deal already, Nicole thought. How am I going to survive three months of this?
Just then the door burst open and Ada rushed in. “Sorry!” she cried, red-faced and flustered. “I mean, er, pardon? Um, is this my French class?”
A few of the other students tittered. Nicole winced on Ada’s behalf, though the Australian girl didn’t really look that embarrassed.
The teacher smiled. “Let me guess,” he said in heavily accented English. “You are Mademoiselle Ada Williamson, n’est-ce pas?”
“Too right—uh, I mean oui, that’s me,” Ada replied cheerfully. “So I am in the right place!”
“Please take a seat, mademoiselle,” the teacher said, looking amused. “We were just about to get started.”
Ada glanced around the room. When she spotted Nicole, her face lit up. “G’day, Nicole,” she said, taking the empty seat beside her. “It’s nice to see a friendly face.”
“Ditto,” Nicole replied, feeling a little better herself. She’d had the same feeling earlier that day after walking into her French cooking class and seeing Annike smiling at her. “So how have you been making out since history class?” she asked Ada.
“Doing all right,” Ada replied. “Other than being late for nearly every class—I just can’t seem to find my way around this place. My teachers must think I’m a total yobbo!” She laughed, seeming amused at her own ineptitude. “Oh hey, where did you wind up for lunch? I looked for you outside, but I wasn’t sure if we had the same break—I’ve got second-hour lunch.”
“Me, too.” Nicole was touched that the other girl had looked for her. If only she’d known that, maybe she wouldn’t have spent her lunch hour sitting by herself at Mickey D’s.
Just then the teacher called for attention. At least that’s what Nicole guessed he was doing, since he did it in French. He then launched into a speech about the goals of the class and the history of the French language. Thankfully, that part was in English.
“All right, class,” he added at last. “Now I think we will begin with a class exercise, a way to get to know one another, eh? I want you to look at this list of basic French words and phrases and try to use some of them in a conversation with your neighbor. I will move around helping with your pronunciation.”
Ada turned to Nicole as the teacher started passing out the papers. “Partners?”
“Absolutely,” Nicole replied. “Um, do you speak any French at all?”
“Not worth a zack,” Ada replied with a laugh. Seeing Nicole’s confused expression, she added, “I mean, not at all. What about you?”
Nicole shook her head. “Nope. I take Spanish back home. So I’m pretty much clueless.” She sighed. “And not just about the language, either...” she added under her breath.
Ada shot her a sympathetic look. “No worries, Nic,” she said. “I’m sure it will all get easier—you’ll see.”
To Nicole’s surprise, Ada was right. It did get easier—at least a little. With each passing day of her first week she was able to find her way around a little more smoothly. By Thursday, when she arrived at French cooking class, her daily schedule was starting to feel familiar, if not yet totally comfortable.
Annike was waiting at their workstation. The classroom consisted of a dozen large, marble topped cooking stations. Though each station included a stainless-steel stove and sink, Nicole suspected the room had been remodeled out of an old science lab. Whenever the stoves heated up, the whole pl
ace smelled faintly of formaldehyde.
“Bonjour,” Annike greeted her. Then she nodded toward Nicole’s feet. “Oh, good. You remembered to wear comfortable shoes.”
Nicole glanced down at her sneakers. “Huh?” she said, wondering if Annike’s comment had lost something in translation.
“Did you forget? Today is our first field trip in Eye!” That was their shorthand for Paris Through an Artist’s Eye, the art and culture class that they shared with Ada.
“Whoops. I guess I did forget.” Now that Annike had reminded her, Nicole vaguely recalled their teacher mentioning the trip. The teacher had also mentioned that the reason the Artist’s Eye class always fell at the end of the day was to allow more time for frequent field trips around the city—just one more thing Nicole hadn’t realized when she’d signed up for the class.
For some reason, Annike seemed excited at the prospect of their extended school day. “I can’t wait—I adore the Louvre!” she exclaimed.
“That’s, like, a big famous art museum, right?” Nicole did her best to seem interested. She’d pretty much zoned out while their teacher had described the trip, finding her own doodle of Nate’s name much more fascinating than listening to the details of some deadly-dull museum.
“Yes—the biggest and famous-est. You’ll love it!”
“Maybe.” This time Nicole couldn’t help sounding dubious. “Museums aren’t really my thing, though.”
“Really? Well, perhaps the Louvre will help to change your mind about that.”
Just then their cooking teacher called the class to attention. Nicole slumped on her stool, feeling unsettled.
Okay, it’s nice that I’m making some friends here, sort of, she thought with a sidelong glance at Annike. But in a way, hanging out with Annike and Ada is making me miss my real friends even more—friends who like the same things I like. I mean, how weird is it for someone my age to actually be psyched about going to some stuffy art museum?
She shook her head as the teacher continued with her directions. Was she ever going to feel like she really fit in here? And more importantly—did she even want to?
“...and here we have a piece known as Moroccan Notebook by Eugène Delacroix. In the year 1832 the artist brought this notebook with him to Tangiers, and we can see before us a blend of notes and sketches, which...”
Nicole’s mind wandered as the Louvre museum guide, a short French man, droned on and on about the piece in front of the group. Nicole wasn’t sure why he was spending so much time on it; it looked like nothing more than a bunch of scribbles on old yellowed paper. She glanced around and found that no one else looked as bored as she felt. The rest of the Artist’s Eye class was listening politely. Even Finn and Seamus, the pair of lively Irish friends she’d already secretly nicknamed the wonder twins—as in, she wondered if they ever stopped talking, moving, kidding around, shoving at each other—seemed to be paying attention. Annike and Ada were also gazing raptly at the piece as if it held the meaning of life.
She sighed. While she had to admit that some things about the Louvre were kind of cool, such as seeing the Mona Lisa and other famous paintings, she was already getting a little bored. Plus her feet were starting to hurt. Whatever else the Louvre might be, it was definitely big.
The course teacher, Dr. Morley, stepped forward and took over the lecture from the boring guide. “Thank you, monsieur,” she said to him in her crisp British accent. “Very interesting.”
Nicole snapped back to attention. Dr. Morley had that effect on people. Almost six feet tall, with flaming red hair, a large beaklike nose, and a penchant for flowing dresses, Elizabeth Morley was practically a force of nature. Her unusual appearance was topped only by her vibrant personality. She was the type of person who might do or say something outrageous at any moment, which made Nicole a little nervous.
“Now then, class,” the teacher said. “Who can say how this piece is filtered through the lens of Romanticism, as we discussed yesterday?”
Nicole shrank back, trying to avoid her teacher’s quick, roving eye. She had barely paid attention to the previous day’s lecture on different art styles, and couldn’t recall just what was so unique about Romanticism. Somehow she knew it probably didn’t have anything in common with the pink-and-red Valentine’s Day card Nate had given her last year.... Luckily at least half of her dozen classmates were already raising their hands, eager to answer the question.
Dr. Morley pointed to one of them, a petite, bright-eyed Australian girl named Janet. “Yes?” the teacher said. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Well, first of all, Delacroix definitely used, you know, bold and dramatic lines and stuff,” Janet began with obvious enthusiasm. “And also it’s an exotic setting, as you were saying they liked, and...”
Nicole zoned out again as Janet babbled fervently about emotion and nostalgia and all sorts of other things that didn’t seem to have much to do with the rough little drawings of people and mountains and windows in front of them. I should be at home dozing through precalculus class with my friends right now, Nicole thought, then gossiping about the new cute boys in school and beginning the quest for the perfect homecoming dress. But no, instead I’m here in a foreign country with a bunch of art freaks.
It seemed like forever before the others finally stopped gushing over the sketches and trooped off toward the next room. Nicole trailed along at the back of the group, wishing she could duck out to the gift shop or cafeteria or something.
“Having a nice time?” Annike fell into step beside her. “This is great, isn’t it? I mean, I have visited the Louvre before, of course, but I never have seen it like this....”
Nicole forced a smile. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s great. Um, so you’re pretty into art and stuff, huh?”
“Only to look at.” Annike laughed. “I cannot draw at all—not even a stick person. What about you? You seem creative—do you paint or anything?”
“Um, not really.”
Just then the museum guide started speaking again, and Annike shot Nicole a quick smile before pushing forward for a better view of the next piece. Nicole stayed where she was, a little surprised by Annike’s comment.
Creative? Me? Nicole thought. I wonder where she got that from....
Nicole’s eyes stayed on Annike. How did she do it? She seemed so calmly self-confident, so genuinely pleased to be wherever she was at the time. It reminded Nicole of Zara; one of the things she’d always admired about her friend was the way she seemed to be in command of every situation. Nicole couldn’t help envying people like that. Why couldn’t she be a little more like them?
“So what are you doing this weekend, Nicole?”
Nicole glanced up from packing her books into her backpack. Annike was smiling down at her, looking way too fresh-faced and beautiful for the wrong end of a full day of classes. It was Friday, and their Artist’s Eye class had spent almost the whole hour talking about the trip to the Louvre the day before, which had made Nicole a little sleepy. Most of the other students were still hanging around in little groups near the front of the room continuing the discussion, while Ada was in the midst of an animated conversation with Dr. Morley herself.
“I—I’m not sure yet.” Nicole suddenly felt anxious. Someone like Annike was probably full of fabulous plans—going to clubs, shopping for haute couture on the Champs-Élysées—and Nicole didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t even thought about how she was going to fill her first weekend in Paris. “I think my host family probably has a few things planned or something,” she added weakly.
“Sounds lovely. Enjoy!” Annike gave her a friendly wave, slung her stylish leather bag over one shoulder, and hurried out of the room.
Nicole sighed, feeling like the world’s biggest loser. If she were back home where she belonged, she would have had a good answer to Annike’s question. She would be looking forward to a full schedule for the weekend—Friday night at a house party with Nate and their friends, Saturday at the mall or the flea m
arket or playing tennis with Zara. Then came Saturday night—date night—when Nate would appear at her door smelling of sandalwood and looking so cute she could hardly stand it, after which he would whisk her off to Lucky Chin’s for Chinese food or perhaps Luigi’s for the Italian buffet, followed by a drive to their favorite make-out spot. Sunday she would go over to Annie’s house for bagels as usual and tell her girlfriends all about her date, then listen as Zara and Annie described their own evenings with the latest in their long line of guys and Patrice bemoaned another Saturday night spent watching TV with her boyfriend Hank.
Thinking about that made Nicole’s heart ache like crazy. Trying to take her mind off it, she quickly gathered up her things and scurried out of the room before any of her other classmates tried to talk to her. At the moment she wasn’t sure she could respond without bursting into tears.
She felt a little better once she was out in the fresh, warm, late-afternoon air. Taking a few deep breaths to steady her nerves, she shifted her backpack to the other shoulder so she could reach her purse.
She dug into her change pouch, which felt alarmingly light. When she opened her wallet and flipped through the Monopoly-money-looking euro bills, she found that there weren’t many left. She was going through her spending money fast, mostly by taking taxis back and forth to school every day. If she didn’t cool it, she wasn’t going to have enough to buy lunch next week.
But she was ready to forget about that, at least for one more day. It was Friday—she wasn’t in the mood to figure out the métro on the last day of a tough week. She would just take one more cab, maybe pack a lunch a couple of days next week to make up for it.... Then she remembered that she’d been planning a nice, leisurely long-distance call with Nate over the weekend. It was just about the only thing keeping her sane, and she didn’t want to risk having to cut it short. That meant she needed to save a decent chunk of cash so she could either buy a phone card or pay the Smiths for the international call.
