Pardon My French

by Cathy Hapka

  “Her charm,” Luc prompted in a loud stage whisper.

  “And her charm.” Marissa grinned, seeming pleased with herself. “Her charming charm.”

  Nicole blushed. So now Luc was enlisting the kids to help him hit on her? Great.

  “Excuse me. I have a phone call to make,” she muttered, stepping toward her room.

  But when she checked her watch, she saw that it was still a little early in Maryland. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up Nate before his alarm, especially if he’d been out partying with his friends the night before.

  She veered off into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a long countertop. Opening the refrigerator door, she grabbed a carton of juice.

  “What’s she doing?” she heard Brandon say from the other room. “The phone’s not in the refrigerator.”

  “I think she is cooling herself off,” Luc replied. His voice was loud enough to carry easily into the kitchen. “Perhaps she is not used to being around such attractive young men as us?”

  As Brandon burst into giggles, Nicole rolled her eyes. Typical. Why did Luc insist on being so obnoxious? He knew she had a boyfriend back home.

  She grabbed the cordless phone from the counter and escaped to her room. Once inside with the door shut and locked, she sat on the edge of her bed and sipped at her juice, willing the clock to move forward. Finally, as she drained the last sip of her drink, she decided it was late enough. Her heart was pounding with excitement as she carefully dialed the phone number.

  It seemed to take forever for the line to connect. Finally she heard ringing on the other end. Pressing the phone to her ear, she held her breath and waited for Nate to pick up.

  And waited. And waited some more.

  Finally there was a click. Her heart jumped, then sank again as she heard the familiar sound of Nate’s voice-mail message: “Yo, this is Nate. You know how this works, so go for it.” Beep!

  “All right, people.” Dr. Morley glanced down at the silver-filigree pocket watch she always wore on a long chain around her neck. “That just about does it for today’s hour. I hope everyone is nearly finished with their class journal entries about our trip to the Louvre because our next field trip will be in three days’ time.”

  “Where are we going?” Seamus called out.

  Dr. Morley pursed her lips playfully. “As they say here in France, tout vient à point pour qui sait attendre. You will have to wait and see.”

  The students filed out of the room, most of them buzzing curiously about the upcoming trip. Annike waited for Nicole, and they stepped out into the hall together.

  “I wonder where we’re going on the field trip.” Annike shot a glance back over her shoulder at Dr. Morley, who was standing just inside the classroom door chatting with a couple of their classmates.

  Nicole shrugged, not nearly as interested as the rest of the class appeared to be. “Dunno,” she said. “Hey, what about what she just said? Did you do your journal entry yet?”

  “Of course.” Annike seemed slightly surprised by the question. “It’s been over a week since we visited the Louvre.” She smiled at Nicole. “I wanted to write everything down right off so I wouldn’t forget.”

  Nicole smiled back weakly. It was hard to believe another whole week had passed—each individual hour of each individual day seemed to creep by like molasses. The only time she felt normal was when she was writing e-mails or letters to Nate and her other friends. At school Nicole still felt like an outsider, even though she was becoming pretty good friends with Annike, Ada, and Janet from her Artist’s Eye class—pretending to fit in was one of the talents she’d developed growing up.

  But she still felt a little tentative about it all. Under other circumstances, she suspected she and Annike, for instance, might become true friends. It was tempting to try to spend more time with her—maybe ask her to hang out on the weekends or something. But was it worth the effort? After all, in a few months Nicole would be heading back to Maryland and would probably never see any of her Paris schoolmates again. Why waste the energy getting to know them any better when, at best, she might end up with a pen pal at the end of the semester?

  As the two girls stepped out through the school doors into the bright afternoon sunshine, Annike turned toward Nicole. “Do you need to run off home right away today? If not, I was hoping you might join me for, er, mellanmål—I think your word is snack?” She smiled brightly. “Lunch was a long time ago, and I’m far too famished to wait for dinner.”

  Nicole hesitated. This was the first time Annike had come right out and invited her to do something specific. She didn’t want to turn her down and appear rude. Besides, she wasn’t particularly looking forward to rushing back to the Smiths’ apartment, where she would have nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon but work on her homework, fend off Luc’s advances, and listen to the kids shriek.

  “Um, okay,” she responded cautiously. “Do you want to go grab a burger or something?”

  For the past two weeks Nicole had eaten lunch between classes at the McDonald’s around the corner from school. Sometimes she went alone, though Ada had come with her once or twice, and she’d run into the Irish boys from her Artist’s Eye class there a few times as well. Since Annike had her lunch break at a different hour, Nicole had no idea if she liked the place or not.

  Annike wrinkled her nose, effectively answering the question. “Ach, I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. But what about that crêpe stand down the block?”

  “Crêpes?” Nicole repeated uncertainly. “Um, I don’t know if I would like something like that....”

  “You mean you haven’t tried a crêpe yet?” Annike’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, but you really should, you know! They’re très bon.”

  “Well...” Nicole hesitated.

  Clearly taking that as assent, Annike smiled. “Great! Come on.”

  Nicole sighed. How many times had she wound up doing something she didn’t really want to do just because someone else insisted? Zara never did anything she didn’t want to do—in fact, she rarely did anything that wasn’t actually her idea in the first place. Annie, too, was pretty good at saying thanks, but no thanks, as long as the person asking wasn’t Zara.

  Oh well, Nicole thought as she followed Annike. If I don’t like the looks of these crêpe thingies, I just won’t eat one. No big deal.

  They headed down the block, dodging students, tourists, shoppers, and other people. “It’s just ahead there,” Annike said, pointing across the street.

  As Nicole squinted at the quaint-looking food cart, which was labeled CRÊPERIE, she heard someone calling Annike’s name. A moment later a pair of girls their age caught up with them. One of them, petite and dark-haired, started chattering eagerly at Annike in what Nicole could only assume was Swedish.

  Annike laughed and replied in the same language, then glanced apologetically at Nicole and the other girl. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “Hey Petra, let’s stick to English, okay?”

  “Sorry!” The girl turned her bright smile in Nicole’s direction. “My English not is so good as Annike’s yet, sorry. I forget sometimes how to speak when too excited.”

  Annike introduced the girls. Petra was another Swede, though she and Annike had met only recently at their S.A.S.S. orientation. The other girl, Chloe, was an ivorycomplexioned British brunette Nicole vaguely recognized from her large European-history class.

  The two newcomers immediately accepted Annike’s invitation to join them for crêpes. Nicole was tempted to make an excuse and slip away now that she wouldn’t be leaving Annike all alone, but she couldn’t quite find a break in the conversation. Petra was a chatterbox—she might not speak English as fluently as Annike, but that certainly didn’t stop her from trying. With a pang of homesickness Nicole realized Petra reminded her a little of her friend Patrice. Chloe didn’t have as much to say, but occasionally tossed in a joke or other witty comment.

  Nicole mostly listened in silence as
the four of them stood in the line of waiting customers at the crêpe stand. The menu hanging over the cart’s service window was written in French. Nicole recognized quite a few of the words but didn’t feel anywhere near confident enough to put them together into an actual order. And what if the crêpe guy didn’t speak English? The thought of another encounter like the one in the bookstore made her shudder.

  “Um, maybe I’ll just wait while you guys eat,” she said.

  “Oh, no, please have a crêpe!” Annike exclaimed, clutching her arm. “You really ought to try one at least once. I’ll pay if you like.”

  “Oh! No, it’s not that, I...” Embarrassed, Nicole cleared her throat. “Um, I’m just not sure what to order, you know?”

  “Do you fancy something sweet or savory?” Petra asked, staring intently at the menu board. “I can’t myself decide; perhaps I will have one of both!”

  “One of each,” Annike corrected, then glanced toward Nicole for confirmation. “Correct?”

  Nicole nodded, and Chloe smiled. “Poor Petra,” she teased. “When she’s hungry or excited, her tongue gets all twisted round those pesky English words.”

  Petra giggled. “It’s not just English,” she admitted. “I do the same in Swedish, too.”

  Chloe laughed, then glanced at Nicole. “You really ought to try a crêpe, you know,” she said. “The food here is brilliant—I think it’s my favorite takeaway stand in Paris so far. Think I’ll go for the fromage et champignon again.”

  As Chloe and Petra discussed their choices, Nicole stared blankly at the menu board. “Shall I order for both of us?” Annike suggested to her tactfully. “After all, I’m forcing you to eat here, the least I can do is pick out something tasty for you, ja?”

  Nicole smiled weakly. The odors drifting toward them from the crêpe stand were sort of tempting. “Sure,” she said, pulling out a few euros and handing them to Annike. “Thanks. Um, something sweet would be good, I guess.”

  “Got it.” Annike nodded, then stepped up to the counter, ordering rapidly in French.

  Nicole hung back and watched as the other two girls gave their orders. Chloe seemed to be just as fluent in French as Annike, and while Petra struggled a little, her cheerful laugh at her own mistakes made the crêpe seller smile.

  All three of them rejoined Nicole to wait for their food. For a minute or two the conversation revolved around the crêpes. Then it drifted to other subjects.

  “I was certain I will die of frightened when I was to come here,” Petra declared as they all took turns discussing their experiences in Paris so far.

  “Fright,” Chloe corrected. “You’d die of fright. And I felt the exact same way. I’ve never lived away from home before.”

  “Me, neither,” Nicole blurted out. “It’s so weird being here.” She could hardly believe what she was hearing. These other girls all seemed so poised and sophisticated. Were they really just as nervous about all these new experiences as she was?

  For a moment she almost felt comfortable with them. Then Annike shrugged and laughed. “Anyway, it’s worth a little worry for the shopping alone, ja? Makes the Biblioteksgatan back in Stockholm look like a village flea market.”

  Nicole snapped back to reality. No, these girls weren’t like her. Annike and Chloe both lived in big cities—Stockholm and London. Paris just wasn’t as much of a stretch for them. As for Petra, well, she might talk as much as Patrice, but otherwise she seemed more like Zara or Nate—she had that same sort of automatic self-confidence.

  Soon the crêpes were ready. Nicole cautiously accepted the paper plate Annike handed her, which held the neatly folded, cone-shaped crêpe. A bit of brown goo oozed from the seam at one end.

  “Is that chocolate?” Nicole asked.

  Annike smiled. “Just try it. Bon appétit!”

  Nicole gingerly lifted one end of the folded crêpe and carefully bit into it. Her teeth tore easily through the warm, light shell, and a sweet, chocolaty taste filled her mouth. “Whoa!” she cried, quickly chewing and swallowing the bite. “This is good!”

  Petra and Chloe giggled. “You sound so surprised!” Chloe cried.

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s rather simple compared to some, but I thought it might be a good place to start,” Annike told Nicole, sounding relieved. “It’s just bananas and a bit of Nutella.”

  “Nutella?” Nicole said. “What’s that? It tastes like chocolate.”

  “It is chocolate,” Chloe put in. “It’s a cocoa and hazelnut spread—Nutella is the brand name. Don’t you have it in the States?”

  Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know. But if we don’t, we should!” She took another bite, chewing more slowly this time to savor the flavors.

  Okay, so maybe there’s at least one good thing about Paris after all, she thought. Even Zara wouldn’t be able to complain about this!

  When she walked into the Smiths’ apartment the next day after school, Nicole found Mrs. Smith pulling on her coat and looking harried.

  “Oh, there you are, Nicole,” the woman said distractedly, grabbing her purse and digging through it. “My editors just called an urgent meeting and I really have to go, but Luc isn’t scheduled to be here for another hour and he’s not answering his cell phone at the moment. Could you do me an enormous favor and watch the children until he gets here? Normally I wouldn’t impose on you, but—”

  “Sure,” Nicole interrupted. She was in a good mood—not only had she received a particularly sweet e-mail from Nate that morning, but her French teacher had returned their latest quiz that day in her language class, and Nicole had aced it. Plus she’d had lunch with Ada, Chloe, and Petra, making her feel almost popular. “No problem,” she told Mrs. Smith magnanimously. “I’d love to help out.”

  “Oh, bless you!” Mrs. Smith looked relieved. “The twins are asleep, so they shouldn’t be any trouble at all....”

  She rambled on for another moment or two, then hurried out the door, leaving Nicole alone with the children. Brandon and Marissa had been sitting quietly on the sofa, but now they jumped to their feet.

  “Play with us!” Brandon demanded.

  Nicole smiled at him. Even Brandon’s brattiness couldn’t ruin her mood. Besides, he wasn’t really such a bad kid—just overly exuberant. “What’s the magic word?” she wheedled.

  “Please!” Marissa spoke up. “Please-please-please!”

  “That’s right.” Nicole patted the little girl on the head. “Okay, so what do you want to play?”

  As the children scurried about pulling various toys and games off the shelves, she heard a thin wail from the back of the apartment. “Oops,” Brandon said. “Sounds like one of the twins woke up.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Nicole headed for the nursery/office, humming under her breath.

  Someday I’ll be doing this for real, she reminded herself with a happy shiver. She slowed to a stop, lost in the happy fantasy of her future family with Nate. A sudden loud squall snapped her out of it as the second twin joined voice with the first.

  “All right, all right,” she murmured, hurrying on. “I’m coming....”

  “Bonjour,” Luc called from the front door. “Anybody home?”

  A moment later he walked into the living room. For a moment all Nicole could do was stare at him from where she’d just collapsed on the sofa. One twin was sleeping in the crook of her arm while the other chewed on a rattle at her feet. Across the room, Brandon and Marissa were arguing over a box of crayons.

  “Thank God,” she gasped out at last. “What took you so long?”

  “Sorry I am a little late, but the métro...Hey, what happened in here, anyway? The place looks like a disaster.”

  Nicole pushed herself to a more upright position, being careful not to jostle the sleeping baby. “How do you do it?” she blurted out. “How can you stand to stay trapped here in this apartment with four little kids to look after?” She was vaguely aware of Marissa shooting her an insulted glance, but ignored it.

 
; Luc shrugged. “Ah, but it is my job,” he said. “Besides, I’m quite fond of the little rascals. I amuse them, they amuse me, and then at the end of the day I go home. It suits me fine.”

  “Well, I thought it would suit me, too. That’s why I said yes when Mrs. Smith asked if I’d babysit.” Nicole shook her head. “But it’s totally insane! I thought taking care of kids was fun, but they had me running all over the place non-stop without two seconds to even sit down and breathe. It’s nothing like I thought it would be.”

  Luc kept a straight face, though there was an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Well, you are free now,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Free. The word rushed through Nicole like a stiff breeze, giving her a sudden jolt of energy. She was free. She didn’t have to stay there chained to the Smith children for one minute longer.

  She could do anything she wanted. The truth of that statement filled her with relief. She hurried over and handed the baby she was holding to Luc. Then, impulsively, she gave them both a hug.

  As she pulled back she winced, expecting some kind of smart or flirtatious comment from Luc. But he only smiled at her.

  “Okay, then,” he said, turning toward the older kids. “Have you little monsters had a snack yet?”

  Brandon and Marissa immediately dropped their crayons and leaped to their feet. “Snack! Snack! Snack!” they chanted excitedly, swarming around Luc.

  “Want to join us, Nicole?” Luc asked. “I make quite a good snack chef, if I say so myself.”

  His voice and eyes were so friendly that for a moment Nicole was tempted. When he wasn’t trying to flirt with her, he wasn’t such a bad guy. In fact, he was pretty cool.

  Then Marissa let out a particularly loud shriek, and Nicole quickly shook her head. “Thanks, maybe another time,” she said. “I—I really want to get out for a while.”

  She rushed for the door, barely pausing long enough to grab her jacket. Once she emerged from the building into the crisp afternoon air, she took several deep breaths, a little surprised at how relieved she was to be out there. What was the big deal? Was she really so freaked out by spending an hour or so watching a few little kids?