Never Slow Dance with a Zombie - By E. Van Lowe Page 0,5

name--saw me looking into my lap, frantically typing into my phone.

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"Margot, comment vas-tu?" which is French for "stop tex-ting and pay attention."

"I'm fine. Tres bien" I replied, and smiled. I threw in that tiny bit of French hoping he'd think I was paying attention and move on to the next student. My ploy did not work.

"Good," he said. "Would you please come up to the board and write the following sentence enfranqaisl" But of course he said the entire thing in French, and while I wasn't able to follow along word for word, I knew exactly what he meant: It was time for Margot jean Johnson's public humiliation.

"Merci beaucoup" I said as I got up. There were a few relieved snickers from classmates who breathed sighs of relief over dodging the chalkboard assignment bullet. I moved to the board, my mind racing.

"Mr. Monsieur, before we begin I want to thank you for having such a profound effect on my life." I delivered this with such sincerity that a blank expression actually crossed his face. He was trying to figure out if I was serious or yanking his chain. For my part I was buying time, hoping I could come up with a clever reason why I couldn't do the assignment today: I'm sorry, sir, but as much as I'd love to do the sentence, I'm afraid I've been stricken with a sudden case of hysterical blindness. Can someone please help me back to my seat?

I wish someone would explain to teachers that embarrassing us in front of twenty-two of our peers does nothing toward helping us learn. In fact, it has the opposite effect. Teachers should call on the kids who actually want to go up to the board. You know, those kids with their noses so far up the teachers' butts they can tell what they had for lunch. I know, gross--but I'm trying to make a point. Why call on those of us who are doing our best to blend into the woodwork?

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"Mademoiselle Johnson" Mr. Monsieur said, his eyes urging me on.

As I started writing, I tried glancing surreptitiously at my phone. Still nothing from Sybil.

"Mademoiselle Johnson, ce qui est dans votre main?"

"Urn. Okay, you're asking me a question... and it's in French, right?"

A few snickers from the class as Mr. Monsieur's brow pinched tight. "I asked, 'What is in your hand?'"

"Oh. Easy. La bibliotheque."

"Ann. So, that's the library in your hand, is it?"

The class erupted with laughter.

I looked around the room, my cheeks flushed, one thought on my mind: I'm going to kill Sybil

"I hope you're happy!" I said when she finally arrived at our lockers. "I totally messed up in French, and now I've got an extra dose of homework, and it's all your fault." Class had been out for fifteen minutes. I'd been waiting by my locker, stress lines snaking across my brow. "Where were you?" I slammed open my locker and rummaged around for my French workbook.

"I was in history class." She had this silly half smile playing on her lips.

"I texted you three times!"

"Five, but who's counting."

"Well?" I found the workbook and stuffed it in my backpack.

"/ Well, what?"

I know she thought she was being cute and funny, drawing out the tension of the moment. But she was actually being ridiculously childish.

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I took a deep, cleansing breath. "Did you happen to speak with Dirk?" I was calm on the outside, but my insides were churning as if they'd been thrown into a blender.

"Yes."

"And how did it go?" I wanted to wipe that silly grin right off her face--but I played it cool and smiled back as 1 eased my locker shut.

"Well... I said if he wasn't doing anything tomorrow night, my very good friend, you, would love to go to the carnival with him. And he said... maybe. He'd think about it." She was grinning from ear to ear.

Maybe? Maybe! I couldn't believe my ears.

"He didn't say no?" 1 stammered.

"I know."

"He didn't say 'Margot? Who's Margot?'"

"1 know."

"He didn't say I'd rather stick needles in my eyes.' He didn't say 'Please! I'm going to the carnival with Amanda Culpepper.' He said 'Maybe.' Maybe!" At that moment my earlier embarrassment in French didn't seem so bad, as the possibility of going to the carnival with Dirk once again danced in my head.

For those of you out of the loop, the word maybe is teen boy code for I don't have a girlfriend right now, and while I may have been asked out by someone else,