Love Lessons

by Daphne James Huff

  “Trying to lose the last of the baby weight, Rex?” Don calls from across the way, a smirk on his face.

  “Some of us actually care what we put into our mouths,” I yell back, and smile sweetly at Jackie, who turns a violent shade of scarlet. “Better be sure you get your shots.”

  He stands, and it takes both Jules and Will to get him to sit down again.

  “Geez, why does Armado hate us right now?” asks Bronx, stabbing a piece of salad with more enthusiasm than I expected.

  I shrug. I never told them about the bet, and I don’t plan to. If getting them to focus was just about money, I’d have been paying them off since freshman year.

  I consider telling them about Don and Jackie, but no, I keep my word, even to a tool like Don. “I told him to stay away from the French girls.” Well, one girl. “They probably got kicked out of their fancy Swiss boarding school or something for being trouble. I was just watching out for him.”

  The lie comes out so smooth, I wonder if I shouldn’t have tried acting instead of writing.

  “Seems like he’s paying attention,” says Rex, glancing over at his table. Don has stayed seated while Jules heads in the direction of Jackie’s table. He leans over casually, hand in his pocket. I can see Don pretending not to watch him, but his eyes dart over every few seconds.

  “He’s kind of a tool. Costard isn’t too bad though,” says Bronx between bites. “Always willing to help a guy out.”

  “And what’s he helped you out with lately?” Reggie asks, his mouth half full of salad.

  Bronx shrugs, and a sense of foreboding trickles through me. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, and his face is smooth and expressionless. He doesn’t look guilty, exactly, but he looks…like the time he swiped the art teacher’s keys in order to sneak into his classroom at night to steal paint.

  I have tried to forget what he ended up doing with the paint.

  “Are you sure you guys haven’t talked to the girls at all?” I narrow my eyes as I scoop up the last sad piece of chicken on my plate.

  “I haven’t said a word to any of them since that day in the library,” says Reggie, holding up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Same,” says Bronx, but his smile is a little too wide for me to be completely reassured.

  Whatever he did, I just hope no one else finds out about it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zara

  When we get back to our room after the disaster of a night eating out, Rosalie looks a little pale.

  “Are you okay?” I hope she isn’t getting sick. If American bowls of soup are huge, I can only imagine what their doses of antibiotics look like.

  “There’s just…” she trails off and pulls a folded piece of paper out of her coat pocket. “Someone gave me a note.”

  A happiness bubbles up through me, and I discretely put my hand into my own pocket. But nothing is there. I try to push down the jealousy that rises up inside of me. I don’t like Rex, but the way he kept looking over at us all night made me wonder…

  No, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be leaving soon.

  Rosalie takes off her coat, still clutching the note in her hand. It’s shaking a little, and I’m stunned to realize how much she cares about this. I thought I knew everything about my best friends.

  “Do you know who it’s from?” I ask. She shakes her head, but her cheeks turn a bright red. “Who do you want it to be from?”

  Rosalie shrugs, and Maria giggles.

  “Well open it and find out, don’t keep us waiting!” Maria urges. She’s always been the more romantic one, turning quick glances in the metro into epic love stories.

  Rosalie, ever the more cautious and practical one, unfolds it slowly, taking care not to rip it. I hold my breath, going through all of the people that were in the pizza place tonight. I’d hoped for a quiet night out. I heard everyone complaining about the cold, I figured no one else would go anywhere. Rex and his friends showing up had been a surprise. I wonder if he would have talked to me if the other kids from Shelfbrooke hadn’t shown up.

  At least there hadn’t been too many people there to witness our ordering error. Back home, onion soup meant a little bowl of flavorful onions with just the right mix of broth and a sliver of comté cheese on top, enough for one. When the server showed up with giant bowls covered in enough thick stringy melted cheese to feed a family of four, I wanted to tell him to take it away. But I felt all the eyes in the restaurant on me and hadn’t wanted to make a fuss.

  At this point, I shouldn’t be surprised, but it was still embarrassing. Whoever wrote Rosalie the note didn’t seem to care, however.

  “What does it say?” I ask and resist the urge to rip it out of her hands to read it myself.

  She’s frowning, and for a horrible moment I worry one of the girls who was there slipped something mean into her pocket. The girls here looked nice enough, but so far, no one had really talked to us outside of class. I tell myself it doesn’t bother me, that I have Rosalie and Maria, but it still hurts a little that the entire student body seems to have decided to ignore us.

  “I don’t think it’s for me,” Rosalie says finally, holding out the paper so both Maria and I can read it.

  Oh Jackie, your eyes are like two stars

  I can see them from very far

  Away

  I wish you were closer to me

  And could sit next to me

  Always

  Maria and I look at each other and start to giggle.

  “Not exactly Baudelaire, is it?” I say, unable to stop as my giggles turn into full on laughing. The sentiment is sweet, however, and I wonder who this Jackie is. Whoever wrote this was clearly hoping it would make a good impression, and maybe this is the kind of thing American girls like. I calm my giggles and stand up. “We should get this to its rightful owner.”

  Maria crinkles her nose. “I think she’s in my math class. Should I give it to her then?”

  I shake my head. “Just point her out in the dining hall. Rosalie can give it back to her.”

  Rosalie is still frowning, however. I sit down next to her and take her hand.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “What’s wrong?”

  She shakes her head and looks away, but not fast enough. I can see her eyes are lined with tears about to fall.

  “I thought…” She takes a deep breath to steady her voice. “I thought it would be for me, that’s all.”

  My eyebrows shoot up, and Maria’s face mirrors my concern.

  “Who were you hoping it would be from?” Maria asks, but a smile plays at the edge of her lips.

  Rosalie shrugs. “It’s just…Bronx kept looking at me at the restaurant. I thought maybe…” She shrugs again. “Never mind. It’s stupid. They’ve sworn off girls anyway, right?”

  I nod, but a trickle of understanding runs through me. After all, I thought that Rex had been staring at me, too. And hadn’t I just been super jealous that she’d found a note in her pocket?

  Of all of us, Rosalie is the only one who’s ever had more than a casual boyfriend. Her last breakup had been…well, “very hard” doesn’t even begin to cover it. I know that getting away from our school in Paris and the people there was a big draw for her when she agreed to come with me to the States. The last thing I want to happen is for her to get her heart broken again.

  “Look,” I say, grabbing each of them by a hand. “We’re only here for a few months. There’s no reason to get all gooey eyed over some silly American boys with big heads.”

  They both nod, but they look so sad, it’s all I can do not to call my parents and beg to come home right away.

  I sigh. “We need to focus on this literary prize. If we win, we can go home that much sooner.”

  “Is going home two months early really worth it?” asks Maria.

  “I can’t stand to be here a day longer than I have to,” I say, my voice catching.

  And, I add silently to myself, I can’t lose you to boys right now.

&
nbsp; Just then, a crash in the hall draws our attention. We hurry to the door and peek out. This is the most drama that’s happened in the girl’s dorm since we’ve arrived. Everyone mostly stays in their rooms.

  “You did not go get pizza with Alex!” A girl with dark brown curls has thrown open the door to someone’s room and is standing in the hallway, screaming at her. I can’t see who it is inside, but I don’t dare venture further to investigate.

  Maria, however, has no such issues. She strides out into the hall, head held up, and joins the gaggle of girls standing just to the edge of the fight. After exchanging a few words with a brunette, she runs back to us, a wide grin on her face.

  “What’s going on?” I say quietly, my eyes still glued to the shouting match.

  “Oh, just the typical boyfriend stealing antics you’d expect in a place like this.” She shrugs. “That girl, Bette, told me this has been a thing between the two of them since their sophomore year.”

  I wrinkled my forehead. Freshman was the first year, that was easy enough. F for first. And we were seniors, which made sense, too. But I could never remember if junior came first or sophomore.

  Rather than admit I didn’t know yet another thing in English, I peer at the girl Maria had spoken to.

  “Do you know her?” I ask, a strange, tight feeling rising in my chest.

  Maria nods. “She’s in a few of my classes.”

  “Me too,” says Rosalie. “She’s nice.”

  The tightness becomes an ache and I swallow hard before speaking again. “Maybe we should get ready for bed. I’m pretty tired.”

  Looks like it’s not only boys I may need to be worried about stealing my friends away from me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zara

  A few days later, I need to remember my own advice to Rosalie about not getting gooey eyed over silly American boys with big heads.

  I’m in another tutoring session with Rex, who’s telling me about his day, in French. He’s babbling about his runs with his friends, and I try to hide a blush. The memory of him in the garden the other day is still fresh in my mind. I didn’t think someone so obsessed with his studies would also be athletic. But his broad shoulders and lean frame speak to a generally healthy lifestyle. Even at the pizza place they got salads. Salads! Though if they were anything like the disgusting soup, it might have actually been worse for their health.

  Interrupting my thoughts of food and fitness, Rex suddenly says, “You’re a really good teacher, you know.”

  I blink, startled and unsure what to say. I’m worried he’s making fun of me, so I just laugh a little, and wave my hand.

  “Rosalie would have done a better job. She’s much better at explaining things.” Maybe that’s why she’s making so many friends here, I think sulkily to myself. Neither girl has mentioned Bette again, but I’ve started to notice how many people smile at them in the hallways, or wave. No one seems that interested in talking to me, however. What I thought had been a blanket avoidance of the three of us looks like it’s concentrated on me.

  “Well I’m glad it’s you and not her.” Rex is looking right at me when he says it, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look away. This is very unsettling and unexpected. But also, it’s the kind of attention I need right now, and I bask in this unexpected admiration. Before I let myself get too happy about it, however, I shake my head.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew her. Rosalie is amazing.”

  “Why do you do that?” he asks in English. I turn to scold him, but he’s tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at me in a very adorable way.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “You talk about them like they’re so much better than you. Like you can’t live without them.”

  “Well, they are, and I can’t.” He clearly doesn’t understand the relationship I have with these girls. Even if they’re presently more interested in making all sorts of new friends here than helping me with the Navarre project, they’re like my sisters. Except without the annoying comparison from my parents about every major life event.

  I don’t say all of this to Rex, but I briefly consider it. His eyes are still narrowed, and now he’s rubbing his chin like some scientist studying a new species. He seems genuinely mystified.

  “They really, just, followed you here?”

  “I told you before, I asked them. We’d do anything for each other. It’s the same with you and your friends.”

  He pulls back, surprised.

  “What do you mean? They’d never follow me across an ocean.”

  I laugh a little. “Those guys adore you. They do whatever you tell them.”

  He waves a hand, like he’s brushing it away. “That’s because I’m the responsible one who knows what he’s doing. I just keep them out of trouble.”

  I just shake my head, my turn to be mystified. He clearly doesn’t see the love his friends have for him, and it breaks my heart a little.

  Rex tilts his head and looks at me. “Why was it so important to have your friends here with you?”

  I shrug. We’re being surprisingly open with each other, and his compliment from before has me feeling like maybe I can trust him with some of this. So far, he’s the only one here to pay any attention to me, and even if it’s because he has to for class, I hate to admit how good that feels.

  “I can just be myself with them, and they accept me, even though I have faults.”

  “I don’t see many faults.” And then he smiles.

  Oh. Mon. Dieu.

  I’ve seen him laughing and smiling with his friends, of course, in the dining hall and in class. But this smile, directed entirely at me, would have knocked me off my feet if I’d been standing. I was going totally gooey over a silly American boy with a big head.

  This is not good.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be saying things like this to girls for another two months,” I say, looking down at the French textbook to pick another topic to talk about. If he can’t even keep a promise for a few months, how can I take anything he says seriously?

  He clears his throat. “You’re right. I’m not supposed to talk to girls like that,” he says. Then his eyes light up, like he’s just thought of something. “You’ll never hear me say anything like that to you again.”

  An odd rush of disappointment runs through me at that. I think again of Rosalie and the note she’d hoped had been from Bronx. I’ll never have to worry about that, apparently.

  “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” I say in French, and dive into an explanation of the subjunctive case.

  Before long, we’re back to the slightly more cordial atmosphere that’s been dominating our sessions. I hate how sad it makes me, to think we’d come close to being friends.

  But as we say goodbye, and I follow his retreating form out of the room with attentive eyes, I remind myself that I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to learn English and get home as soon as possible.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rex

  A week after the pizza place, and I finally find out what Bronx was up to.

  We’re in the stacks at the library, looking up towns in New England. Bronx didn’t win the sonnet discussion the other night, and The Secret Garden still stands. I want this to be historically accurate as well as good writing, so I have them helping by looking up different details. Research assistants count as helping, right?

  From the other side of the bookshelf, I can hear two girls’ voices giggling. My ears perk up but go right back down when I realize it’s Marion and Jackie.

  Not that I was hoping it’s Zara or anything. I’ve seen her once already this week for tutoring, and I spoke almost the entire time in French. She really is a good teacher. I was surprised at how bashful she was when I told her. And then I just couldn’t seem to stop saying nice things about her. Maybe it was the blush on her cheeks, and the sparkle of happiness in her eyes. She looks so sad when I see her ar
ound campus; it felt good to see her so pleased.

  But she’s right, I’m not supposed to say stuff like that to her. And I won’t. But maybe in a letter…

  “Who’s the letter from?” I hear Marion ask. My head turns, and I catch Bronx’s gleaming eye. Mischief is never far when he’s around.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not even for me,” says Jackie in a disappointed whisper. “It’s for one of those French girls.”

  “Ew, why would someone mix up you with one of them?” A current of rage streaks through me, and I fight the urge to yell at them. “Those French girls” are goddesses next to the girls here.

  “Obviously it was a mistake.” I can practically hear Jackie rolling her eyes. “I only noticed it in my coat today. It could have been there since I wore it last week to the pizza place. They were there too, remember?”

  Bronx’s face suddenly goes pale. I narrow my eyes and step closer to the side of the bookcase where the girls are.

  “What does it say?” Marion asks.

  Jackie takes a deep breath and recites quietly.

  “Like a starry night in June,

  You let your beauty shine

  Brighter than the midsummer moon

  And far more fine

  Even the sun, in summer hotly felt

  Will turn too cold in fall

  And winter’s beautiful snow will melt

  Before we get to enjoy it all

  But your loveliness knows no end

  Or limit to how deep it runs

  Death itself will before you bend

  So long as there are Knights at ’Brooke

  Tales of Rosalie’s beauty will beg for all to look”

  I turn to glare at Bronx, who just shrugs and shoots me a sheepish grin. I hear the girls walk away, and it’s all I can do not to run after them and snatch it away.