We’re waiting for La Vie to begin. Last week we learned about the importance of eating local y grown food, and before that, how to write a col ege
application essay.Who knows what they’l drag out today? Meredith and Josh are the only ones not here, Josh because he’s a junior, and Mer because
she’s taking that extra language class, advanced Spanish. For fun. Craziness.
Rashmi taps her pen against her notebook. She’s been working on her essay to Brown for two weeks now. It’s one of the only universities to offer an
Egyptology degree, and the only one she wants to attend. “You don’t understand,” she said, when I’d asked why she hadn’t finished it yet. “Brown turns
away eighty percent of its applicants.”
But I doubt she’l have any problems. She hasn’t received less than an A on anything this year, and the majority were perfect scores. I’ve already mailed in my col ege applications. It’l be a while before I hear back, but I’m not worried. They weren’t Ivy League.
I’m trying to be friendly, but it’s tricky. Last night, while I was petting her rabbit, Isis, Rashmi reminded me twice not to tell anyone about her, because animals are against dorm rules. As if I’d tattle. Besides, it’s not like Isis is a secret. The smel of bunny pee outside her door is unmistakable.
“Nothing, I guess,” she says, in response to my question about her evening.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. It’s ridiculous how difficult a question can be when the answer means so much. “Wanna go to the movies?
They’re showing It Happened One Night at Le Champo.” Just because I haven’t gone out doesn’t mean I haven’t pored over the glorious Pariscope.
“They’re showing what? And I’m not gonna tell you how badly you just butchered that theater’s name.”
“It Happened One Night. Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. Won five Academy Awards. It was a big deal.”
“In what century?”
“Ha ha. Honestly, you’l like it. I hear it’s great.”
Rashmi rubs her temples. “I don’t know. I don’t real y like old movies. The acting is so, ‘Hey buddy, ol’ pal. Let’s go wear our hats and have a big
misunderstanding.’”
“Aw, come off it.” St. Clair looks up from a thick book about the American Revolution. He sits on my other side. It’s weird to think he knows more
American history than I do. “Isn’t that the charm? The hats and the misunderstandings?”
“So why don’t you go with her?” Rashmi asks.
“Because he’s going out with El ie,” I say.
“How do you know what I’m doing tonight?” he asks.
“Please?” I beg her. “Pretty please? You’l like it, I swear. So will Josh and Mer.”
Rashmi opens her mouth to protest just as the teacher arrives. Every week it’s someone new—sometimes administration, sometimes a professeur.
This time, I’m surprised to see Nate. I guess all staff members are forced to take a turn. He rubs his shaved head and smiles pleasantly at our class.
“How do you know what I’m doing tonight?” St. Clair repeats.
“Pleeeeease,” I say to her.
She gives a resigned grimace. “Fine. But I’m picking the next movie.”
Yippee!
Nate clears his throat, and Rashmi and St. Clair look up. That’s one thing I like about my new friends. They respect the teachers. It drives me nuts to see students talk back or ignore them, because my mom is a teacher. I wouldn’t want anyone being rude to her. “Al right, people, enough. Amanda, enough.”