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| When Words Collide By: Susan Moore I was hoping to slip into French class unnoticed when Madame Cartier catches me, "Mary, check the seating plan before sitting down. I want you in alphabetical order today." I'm late, again, and feel like everyone must know why. I spend my free period with my "special" teacher, as I call her. My best friend Angie calls her what she is: a speech therapist. Sometimes our speech lessons run over and I end up late to my next class, which is, ironically, French. Like, I should probably try to get the English language down before I start tackling another one, right? I quickly skim the seating plan for my name, although it's fairly obvious when there is only one empty desk that it must be mine. Angie is giving me a funnysmile from scross the room and raising her eyebrows up and down. What's her problem? Then I realize: Andrew Norris--the dark-haired god of the 8th grade-- is sitting next to the only empty chair in the room. He smiles as I sit down. "Now," says Madame Cartier. "I am splitting you into pairs for a reason. We will be holding 10 minutes of French oran conversation every day, and I would like you to compose a dialogue with your partner that sounds as natural as possible." My heart misses a beat. Why do I have to have a name that puts me with the best-looking guy in the school? Madame Cartier is still rambling on. "Begin by introducing yourselves." By force of habit, and be cause I ahve learned to torture myself, I frantically begin counting the people in front of me. Only six. My throat goes dry. How can all these people be breezing through this so quickly? "Je m'appelle Andrew Norris." He has a warm, slightly husky voice. Now it's my turn. I feel the heat rush up my neck as I start blushing. "Je m... Je m... m'appelle M... Mary Nelson." THe words fly out of my mouth with the effort as if they have been catapulted. Then it's over, and the next person goes. Andrew leans over and whispers,"Forget your name there for a second?" I've heard it a million times before. The thing is, people actually mean it, not realizing I have a speech thing happening. Andrew isn't being a jerk, he's just making a joke. I stamp out my original impulse, which is to say something rude right back at him-- in English, not French-- because my bilingual vocab for rudeness is pretty limited. "Haven't had my caffeine today," I say the whole sentence smooth, without a glitch. He laughs back. Another good sign, because he really is adorable. Now that the introduction are over, Madame Cartier gives out her assigned topics. Andrew and I get "Describe a visit to teh dentist." He begins scratching down a few notes tight away. I have a sinking feeling that the French word for "dentist" also begins with a "d" and I start to sweat. Every word to do with the dentist is going to involve a wrestling match with my tongue: Drill. Decay. Disgusting dentures. "Let's make our's funny," says Andrew, interrupting my thoughts. "What d'you think?" His earnest face is so close to mine I can see that his brown eyes are flecked with yellow bits, like gold. I really try to get my mind back to the dentist. "Okay," I nod. "What were you thinking?" He looks like he's deep in thought. "Maybe if we could each come up with a couple paragraphs... Listen, I have a free period tomorrow before French-- is that good for you?" |