“And you, Mademoisel e Oliphant.” She snatches my quiz as well .
That’s so unfair! “But—”
“I do not tolerate chee-ting.” And her frown is so severe I want to hide underneath my desk. She marches back toward the front of the classroom.
“What the hel ?” Dave whispers.
I shush him, but she jerks back around. “Monsieur! Mademoisel e! I zought I made eet clear—zere iz no talking during tests.”
“Sorry, professeur,” I say as Dave protests he wasn’t saying anything. Which is dumb, because everyone heard him.
And then . . . Professeur Gil et kicks us out.
I don’t believe it. I’ve never been kicked out of a class.We’re instructed to wait in the hal until the period is over, but Dave has other plans. He tiptoes away and motions for me to fol ow. “Come on. Let’s just go in the stairwel so we can talk.”
But I don’t want to go. We’re in enough trouble as it is.
“She’l never know. We’l be back before the hour is up,” he says. “I promise.”
Dave winks, and I shake my head but fol ow him anyway. Why can’t I say no to cute boys? I expect him to stop once we’re in the stairwel , but he
descends the entire way. We go outside and onto the street. “Better, right?” he asks. “Who wants to be stuck inside on a day like today?”
It’s freezing out, and I would rather be in school, but I hold my tongue. We sit on a chil y bench, and Dave is prattling about snowboarding or skiing or something. I’m distracted. I wonder if Professeur Gil et will let me make up the quiz points. I wonder if she’s checking the hal way. I wonder if I’m about to get in more trouble.
“You know, I’m kinda glad we got kicked out,” Dave says.
“Huh?” I turn my attention back to him. “Why?”
He smiles. “I never get to see you alone.”
And then—just like that—Dave leans over, and we’re kissing.
I. Am kissing. Dave Higgenbaum.
And it’s . . . nice.
A shadow fal s over us, and I break apart from his lips, which have already grown overactive. “Crap, did we miss the bel ?” he asks.
“No,” St. Clair says. “You have five more minutes of teeth gnashing to enjoy.”
I shrink back in mortification. “What are you doing here?”
Meredith stands behind him, holding a stack of newspapers. She grins. “We should be asking you that question. But we’re running an errand for
Professeur Hansen.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Hiii, Dave,” Mer says.
He nods at her, but he’s watching St. Clair, whose face is cold and hard.
“Anyway! We’l let you get back to ... what you were doing.” Mer’s eyes twinkle as she tugs on St. Clair’s arm. “See you, Anna. Bye, Dave!”
St. Clair shoves his hands in his pockets. He won’t meet my gaze as he stalks away, and my stomach turns over. “What’s that guy’s problem?” Dave
asks.