Juliet
bribed
Mrs. Anton or Michelle? For someone with such a shady past, I wouldn’t put it past her. That being said, April had to be mine.
“April—
quelle surprise!
Juliet DeStefano!” Michelle announced. I put my head down on the desk.
Quelle surprise
, it turned out that Juliet was also going to be Miss May through December as well. Instead of being the French Club of Castle Heights High Calendar, it had become the Juliet-DeStefano-in-Twelve-Different-Outfits Calendar. Kids who sit in the middle of the cafeteria aren’t really the type to protest like, say, Wally Twersky, who was always staging sit-ins or stand-ins or lie-ins or stuff like that. And I was never one to rock the boat. But before I knew it, all that passion that had spent the last sixteen years steeping inside me, like the herbal sun tea that my mom made in summer, spilled out. As soon as the bell rang, instead of turning right and going to history, I turned left and marched straight toward the office so I could catch Michelle.
“
Bonjour
, Sophie,
ça va?
” she said as she walked out of Mrs. Anton’s office wearing a beret and her blue and white boatnecked shirt. Mademoiselle Fritsche, our French club advisor who had lived in Paris for four years, said that no one wore those shirts except for dumb American tourists.
“Don’t
ça va
me, Michelle,” I growled. “You do realize that what just happened went completely against school rules?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“This is a calendar to raise money for the French club!” I cried. “Juliet DeStefano isn’t even
in
the French club! She’s not in
any
clubs!” Probably because she didn’t want to risk her past catching up with her if anyone got hold of our yearbook.
“I don’t remember us voting on a motion that said it was limited to French club members only,” she said.
“That’s because that part was
understood
!” I cried. “And who voted for her? Other than Phan, she doesn’t have any friends!”
“Probably the entire male student body,” she replied.
I guess she was right. “Well, I have it on good authority that I happened to get a lot of votes for the month of April,” I said.
“Okay, Sophie. As president of the French club, I certainly wouldn’t want there to be any sort of controversy during my administration, so I’ll talk to Miss Fritsche about this
tout de suite
and get back to you.”
“Thank you,” I said, and turned on my heel.
“Au revoir!”
she cried after me as I stomped down the hall.
I know I had wanted drama, but this was ridiculous. Between Michael and this calendar, I was feeling a little sick to my stomach.
Which, by the end of lunch, had turned into
a lot
sick.
I wished I was a stoner or a goth or a video-game geek and sat on the fringes at lunch, because even though I may have felt invisible, that day I sure wasn’t.
I was eating my smoked turkey and Swiss sandwich when Michelle sauntered over. “
Bonjour
, Sophie.
Ça va?
” she asked.
This was no time for small talk. I put down my sandwich. “Did you talk to Miss Fritsche?” I demanded.
“I did. And she agreed with me that by limiting the calendar just to French club students we’d risk being seen as elite and discriminating.
Quel dommage
,” she said, which meant, “What a pity.”
It figured. “Well, thanks anyway,” I sighed.
As she walked away, Ali shook her head. “I can’t believe you voted for yourself
fifty-four
times with all those fake e-mail addresses and you
still
didn’t get Miss April!” she said.
“Shhh,” I said. Her older brother was partially deaf because he was a metalhead, so Ali tended to talk really loud. Her whispers were more like regular people’s yells.
Unfortunately, luck would have it that Kyra Mattson was sitting right behind us that day. Not only did Kyra have supersonic bionic hearing, but she was also a huge gossip. By the time I got to history later that afternoon, a group of kids were gathered around
bribed
Mrs. Anton or Michelle? For someone with such a shady past, I wouldn’t put it past her. That being said, April had to be mine.
“April—
quelle surprise!
Juliet DeStefano!” Michelle announced. I put my head down on the desk.
Quelle surprise
, it turned out that Juliet was also going to be Miss May through December as well. Instead of being the French Club of Castle Heights High Calendar, it had become the Juliet-DeStefano-in-Twelve-Different-Outfits Calendar. Kids who sit in the middle of the cafeteria aren’t really the type to protest like, say, Wally Twersky, who was always staging sit-ins or stand-ins or lie-ins or stuff like that. And I was never one to rock the boat. But before I knew it, all that passion that had spent the last sixteen years steeping inside me, like the herbal sun tea that my mom made in summer, spilled out. As soon as the bell rang, instead of turning right and going to history, I turned left and marched straight toward the office so I could catch Michelle.
“
Bonjour
, Sophie,
ça va?
” she said as she walked out of Mrs. Anton’s office wearing a beret and her blue and white boatnecked shirt. Mademoiselle Fritsche, our French club advisor who had lived in Paris for four years, said that no one wore those shirts except for dumb American tourists.
“Don’t
ça va
me, Michelle,” I growled. “You do realize that what just happened went completely against school rules?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“This is a calendar to raise money for the French club!” I cried. “Juliet DeStefano isn’t even
in
the French club! She’s not in
any
clubs!” Probably because she didn’t want to risk her past catching up with her if anyone got hold of our yearbook.
“I don’t remember us voting on a motion that said it was limited to French club members only,” she said.
“That’s because that part was
understood
!” I cried. “And who voted for her? Other than Phan, she doesn’t have any friends!”
“Probably the entire male student body,” she replied.
I guess she was right. “Well, I have it on good authority that I happened to get a lot of votes for the month of April,” I said.
“Okay, Sophie. As president of the French club, I certainly wouldn’t want there to be any sort of controversy during my administration, so I’ll talk to Miss Fritsche about this
tout de suite
and get back to you.”
“Thank you,” I said, and turned on my heel.
“Au revoir!”
she cried after me as I stomped down the hall.
I know I had wanted drama, but this was ridiculous. Between Michael and this calendar, I was feeling a little sick to my stomach.
Which, by the end of lunch, had turned into
a lot
sick.
I wished I was a stoner or a goth or a video-game geek and sat on the fringes at lunch, because even though I may have felt invisible, that day I sure wasn’t.
I was eating my smoked turkey and Swiss sandwich when Michelle sauntered over. “
Bonjour
, Sophie.
Ça va?
” she asked.
This was no time for small talk. I put down my sandwich. “Did you talk to Miss Fritsche?” I demanded.
“I did. And she agreed with me that by limiting the calendar just to French club students we’d risk being seen as elite and discriminating.
Quel dommage
,” she said, which meant, “What a pity.”
It figured. “Well, thanks anyway,” I sighed.
As she walked away, Ali shook her head. “I can’t believe you voted for yourself
fifty-four
times with all those fake e-mail addresses and you
still
didn’t get Miss April!” she said.
“Shhh,” I said. Her older brother was partially deaf because he was a metalhead, so Ali tended to talk really loud. Her whispers were more like regular people’s yells.
Unfortunately, luck would have it that Kyra Mattson was sitting right behind us that day. Not only did Kyra have supersonic bionic hearing, but she was also a huge gossip. By the time I got to history later that afternoon, a group of kids were gathered around
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