Pardon My French Read online

  Yes, she admitted to herself. I guess I was.

  She wandered slowly down the block, not really paying attention to where she was going. She was too busy trying to figure out what it was that had wigged her out so much. So the Smith kids hadn’t exactly fit into her homey, rose-colored fantasies of the future....

  The truth clicked into place in her mind like the last piece of a difficult puzzle. That was it, wasn’t it? Her image of what it would be like to be grown-up and married to Nate and raising children had always seemed so perfect. But just now, for the first time, she had realized that the true day-to-day reality of that sort of thing could be a lot more complicated.

  I guess I never really thought about it before, she told herself. I figured it’s just what people do—they fall in love, get married, have kids. It should be a no-brainer, right?

  She sighed, vowing not to think about it anymore. It would just make her crazy, and she definitely didn’t need that, especially now that she was starting to feel a little more comfortable being in Paris.

  Because really, all she had to do was survive the rest of

  the semester, maybe try to have a decent time if possible. Then she could go home and let her life get back to normal. She could figure out the rest later.

  “Did your feet recover from yesterday yet?” Annike asked with a grin as Nicole walked into their Artist’s Eye classroom. It was the day after the latest class field trip, and most of the students were still buzzing about it.

  Nicole let out a dramatic groan and flopped into the empty seat beside Annike. “Feet? What feet?” she exclaimed. “All I have left are stumps.”

  Annike laughed. “I know. It was a lot of walking, wasn’t it? Especially in the cemetery—it’s so huge! Like a little city of mausoleums or something.”

  “Yeah.” Nicole sat up a little straighter and glanced at her. “You know, I never would’ve guessed a field trip to a cemetery could be interesting. But it totally was, wasn’t it? I mean, to think about all those famous people.”

  She shuddered slightly, thinking back to the class’s first stop, the Cimetière du Père Lachaise, an enormous Parisian cemetery where lots of famous people were buried, including Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Marcel Proust, Frédéric Chopin, Georges Seurat, Gertrude Stein, and countless other writers, artists, statesmen, and famous people. The class had spent a long time wandering along the tree-lined walkways peering at stone grave markers, square, solemn sarcophagi, and other memorials.

  “I know what you mean.” Annike grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. “Then again, visiting a cemetery started to seem quite normal once we found out where we were going next!”

  Nicole laughed. After they’d finished at Père Lachaise, Dr. Morley had explained that they still had another stop to make on their trip. They’d ended up at, of all places, the Paris Sewer Museum! That had meant still more walking as they hurried through the rather odoriferous displays, reading the signs and looking at the huge pipes and tunnels that carried waste material beneath Paris. By the time they made their way back to school, Nicole’s feet were throbbing. She was pretty sure she’d never walked so much in a single day—and that included the time the previous summer when she’d completed a charity walkathon sponsored by Nate’s father’s office.

  “Yeah, my friends back home will freak when they hear about the sewer museum,” she said. “Annie can’t even use a public restroom without practically fainting from disgust. Then there’s Nate....” She giggled, imagining her boyfriend’s reaction.

  “What?” Annike asked. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, it’s just that Nate is just such a, well, a typical boy, you know?” Nicole shrugged. “He likes jokes about poop and stuff—like a little kid. He and his friends would’ve gone nuts at a place like that.” She couldn’t help laughing out loud as she pictured it. “He cracks me up when he gets going on something like that. Not because the jokes are that funny, really—he just gets such a kick out of them, you know?”

  Annike smiled. “Nate sounds like quite a character.”

  “Oh, he is.” Nicole sighed, her smile fading. “I miss him. Especially now—did I tell you today is our anniversary?”

  “You mentioned it a few times,” Annike said. “I guess it will be especially difficult for you being apart on this day, yes?”

  “Definitely.” Nicole bit her lip. “I’m trying not to stress about it too much, though. It’s not like I can do anything about it. Anyway, Nate and I are already planning to blow all our extra funds on an extra-long anniversary phone call tonight. I can’t wait! It’s hard to believe I’ve only talked to him twice since I’ve been here.”

  “Yes, I know,” Annike said. “I have only spoken with my parents three times. It is very strange, isn’t it? Being away from home.”

  “Yeah.” Nicole picked at the corner of the school desk. “It’s weird, though. At first that was all I thought about—how bizarre it was to be here, how much I missed home and the people there, that kind of stuff. But now, sometimes...”

  “You forget all that and just go like the flow, as if it wasn’t strange at all to be here?” Annike nodded. “Me, too. I was just thinking about that yesterday when we were leaving the Père Lachaise.” She shrugged. “I almost said something to you about it—I guess I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand.” Nicole smiled at her, grateful to have found someone so much on the same wavelength. “Totally.”

  At that moment Dr. Morley strode into the room and called for attention. Nicole got up and headed back to her own desk, feeling less stressed than usual about being there—Artist’s Eye, school, Paris in general.

  Maybe it’s true what Dad told me in that e-mail the other day, she mused as the teacher started talking. People can get used to almost anything.

  She expected Dr. Morley to spend most of the class period discussing the previous day’s field trip. Instead she quickly realized that the teacher was announcing a new class-participation activity.

  Nicole sat up a little straighter, suddenly anxious. She hated class participation-type activities. Standing up in front of a classful of bored faces for any reason whatsoever always gave her major flashbacks to her all-too-frequent grand entrances to a new school. She’d managed to stay in the background for Dr. Morley’s class activities so far, but she knew that lucky streak probably wouldn’t last much longer.

  Dr. Morley was already explaining the exercise. “...and yesterday we spent time looking at things many people might not consider—well, hello, Ms. Williamson. So glad you could join us.”

  Nicole glanced toward the door just in time to see Ada scurry into the room. “Sorry, sorry!” the tall Australian girl cried breathlessly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!”

  “It’s quite all right. Take your seat.” The teacher paused as Ada rushed toward her desk.

  Ada shot Nicole a wink and a grin as she took her seat. Nicole waggled her fingers to return the greeting, though she was still distracted by Dr. Morley’s announcement. What kind of class activity was in store for them?

  Dr. Morley continued. “As I was saying, we saw things yesterday that most people might not consider fit for public viewing,” she said. “But a true artist has different ways of seeing even the most ordinary or humble things—not taking them for granted as most people do.”

  “Yeah, like seein’ the special beauty of Parisian poo!” Seamus called out in his distinctive Irish accent, making the whole class laugh.

  Dr. Morley smiled at him. “Just for that, young man, I think we’ll let you go first.” As Seamus groaned melodramatically, pretending to be upset, the teacher stepped over to her desk and picked up a soft black felt hat. “I’ve put slips of paper in this hat. Each of you will choose one, and then you must get the class to guess the place or item on your slip by describing it the way an artist might see it—without using any giveaway words, of course. Understand?”

  The class murmured its comprehension. When Nicole glanced around,
most of her fellow students looked intrigued, even excited, about the assignment. She felt her stomach sink as she rapidly calculated the time left in the hour and the likelihood that they would run out of it before her turn came. Unfortunately, with only thirteen people in the class, it seemed almost certain she would have to take a turn.

  Seamus got up and ambled to the front of the room. “Pick something cracker, mate!” his friend Finn called to him, making the class laugh again.

  “Silly clown,” Annike said with a grin. “I hope you get something dull like ‘traffic light’ when it’s your turn. Would serve you right!”

  Finn merely grinned in response. Meanwhile Seamus was already reaching into the hat. He pulled out a slip of paper and glanced at it.

  “Crikey!” he exclaimed, bringing still more laughter. “All right, all right. Pay attention, you lot....Here goes.”

  He started dancing, kicking up his legs as high as he could in a rather spastic imitation of a cancan dancer. At the same time, he held both hands out from his chest to indicate a rather large bosom.

  “I know!” Finn called out as the rest of the class, including Nicole, collapsed with laughter. “It’s that place with the windmill, you know, where the birds kick up their heels and show their knickers....”

  “The Moulin Rouge,” Ada supplied.

  Dr. Morley’s expression remained stern, though there was a twinkle in her eyes. “That’s correct, my dear. But we’re not supposed to be playing charades here, Seamus,” she scolded. “Now choose another slip—and this time, I want to hear some words!”

  “Yeah, stop acting the maggot and grow up!” Finn added helpfully.

  Seamus good-naturedly pulled another slip. “All right, all right,” he murmured. “Er, if I were an artiste”—he slipped into an exaggerated French pronunciation of the last word—“I might say that this item is all smooth lines and shiny surfaces, smaller than its relatives but handy for tight spots. The smart armor of its outsides hides its black, active interior.”

  “The Eiffel Tower?” a British guy named Michael guessed hopefully.

  Seamus shook his head. “This thing can be necessary for those quick trips down to the boozer or just to wrap yer legs around for fun....”

  That brought out a few more guesses from Finn and others, most of them dirty. But Seamus shook his head at every one.

  “Not even close, any of you,” he said. “Let me try again—one must feed this thing with liquid gold or it won’t do a thing for you.”

  Most of the class looked blank, but Nicole tentatively raised her hand. “Is it—are you talking about those little motor scooters everyone rides around here?”

  “That’s it!” Seamus pumped his fist. “Give that lady a prize!”

  Dr. Morley chuckled. “Good job this time, Seamus. And very nicely solved, Nicole,” she said. “Since you seem to be good at this little game, why don’t you give it a go next?”

  Nicole gulped, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. “Er, that’s okay,” she mumbled. “I don’t really...”

  But the teacher was already shaking the hat, gesturing for her to come forward. Not knowing how to refuse, Nicole reluctantly left her seat and walked to the front of the room.

  “Luck!” Annike whispered as she passed.

  The slip of paper Nicole drew out of the hat contained two words: PARIS MÉTRO. She grimaced at the irony—though the métro no longer terrified her, she still hated every moment she spent in its dank, dark, dirty environs.

  “Go on, my dear,” Dr. Morley said encouragingly as Nicole stood staring at the piece of paper.

  “Oh,” Nicole said. “Okay, um...”

  She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say. But her mind was completely blank. How would an artist see the métro? She couldn’t imagine seeing it as anything other than an affordable and practical, yet disgusting means of transportation. She felt her cheeks start to go red as everyone stared at her.

  “Er, this is a thing that you can use to get around,” she stammered uncertainly. “You can see it from underneath the ground or the top part of the métro stop—oops!”

  Her hands flew to her face and she stopped. She started to apologize, but Dr. Morley didn’t seem upset at all.

  “Never mind, Nicole,” the teacher said soothingly as Nicole sat down. “I’m aware that this exercise isn’t as easy as it might seem. But let’s not move on just yet; this is an interesting one to discuss, I think.” She turned to the rest of the class. “I’m sure you’ve all experienced the Paris métro by now. Millions of people use it to get around every day and probably never think twice about it. Who here can come up with a different way of looking at it?”

  Several students raised their hands. The teacher called on Annike.

  “The métro reminds me of a sort of city within the city,” Annike said. “It’s separate from the surface world in many ways—it’s got its own weather, sort of. At least you don’t know what the weather is outdoors when you’re down there, you know? You cannot even tell what time of day it is. It might just as well be another planet.”

  Other hands were already waving as she finished. It seemed that everyone was eager to share his or her own impressions of the métro.

  At first Nicole was too aware of her mistake to pay much attention. But gradually she got caught up in her classmates’ views of the métro. One girl described the way it looked on maps as a multiheaded snake slithering its way around Paris. Another said the muted colors of the dimmer sections of the stations, together with the ageless architecture of the tunnels, reminded her of an antique black-and-white photo that had been partially colorized. Even Finn contributed the opinion that the métro was the perfect stage on which to observe the theory of survival of the fittest in action, and therefore could be called the true urban jungle.

  Nicole found herself nodding along with several of the comments, realizing that they made a lot of sense. Cool, she thought. Maybe this class isn’t as lame as I thought....

  For the first time ever, Nicole was smiling as she emerged from the métro station near the Smiths’ apartment. Thinking about the class discussion earlier that day had made the less pleasant smells, sounds, and other aspects of her commute a bit more bearable—almost exotic, even. Maybe Dr. Morley was right, she thought as she blinked in the afternoon sunshine. Maybe this artist’s-eye stuff is useful for more than just school. At least a little.

  That reminded her about the assignment Dr. Morley had given them at the end of class. They were supposed to take what they’d learned that day and use it as a framework to write about the previous day’s field trip in their journals.

  Realizing she was approaching a neighborhood café where she’d eaten once or twice with the Smiths, Nicole decided to stop in for a while and work on her journal there. The place had English-speaking waiters, an excellent selection of herbal teas, and a low-key atmosphere. Besides, she had a few hours to kill before she could call Nate during his lunch hour.

  Since the afternoon was warm, she found a seat at one of the outdoor tables on the sidewalk just outside the front door. After ordering a cup of tea, she pulled out her journal. Soon she was completely absorbed in her writing.

  “Ça va, Nicole?” a voice spoke after a while, interrupting her train of thought.

  Before she quite realized what she was doing, Nicole answered the greeting in French: “Ça va bien.”

  She glanced up to see Luc standing over her wearing a delighted grin. “Ah! So she can speak something other than straight American.”

  Normally Luc’s teasing irritated her like crazy. But somehow today she was able to hear it a little differently—as good-natured ribbing between friends. Potential friends, at least. She returned his smile, trying not to notice how cute he looked in his jeans and black sweater.

  “I guess the secret’s out,” she said. “I was trying to keep my French-speaking talent from everyone, but you found me out.”

  He chuckled and gestured to the empty chair across fr
om her. “May I join you?”

  “Sure,” she said, feeling unusually friendly toward him, though she wasn’t really sure why. If she could see the métro differently, why not Luc?

  He sat down and gestured for a waiter, ordering himself a coffee. Then he nodded at her journal, which was still open on the table. “What are you doing?”

  She draped one arm over the page, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s a class assignment,” she said. “See, we’re supposed to be keeping these artist’s journals talking about the stuff we do in class. Right now we’re supposed to be writing our impressions of the field trip we took yesterday.”

  “Cool.” Luc leaned across the table and tapped her hand, which was still covering the journal page. “So what are you writing?”

  Nicole blushed a little. It seemed like sort of an intimate question. “I—I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I’m just writing down whatever comes to mind.”

  “I see.” Luc leaned back in his seat. “So this trip of yours, where did you go? To the Louvre? The Musée D’Orsay?”

  “No.” Nicole grinned. “We went to the Père Lachaise cemetery and, um, the sewer museum.”

  Luc blinked. Then he laughed. “Ah,” he said. “So now you must write something meaningful about—er, what is it in English? Poo?”

  Nicole giggled. “Right. It’s a very intellectual assignment. So do you guys talk about this kind of stuff in your college classes?”

  “Sadly, no.” Luc glanced up as an attractive young waitress brought his coffee. “Merci, chérie,” he said, flashing her a rather wicked smile, quickly adding something in French that made the waitress blush and roll her eyes. She responded just as quickly.

  Nicole’s French was getting better every day, but she couldn’t quite follow what either of them had said. “What did you just say to her?” she asked when the waitress moved out of earshot.