One of Those Nights (boyxboy)

Chapter 3

"Bonjour madame Spiers!" I exclaim upon entering the classroom. "Bonjour monsieur Irving." she laughs. She loves me. Seriously, this teacher always goes on about how I'm the only one of her students who reaches her expectations. She's the only teacher who likes me though.

I plop down in my usual seat with a sigh and start tapping on my desk. The only student here already is some emo girl in the back. I have no room to judge though since I'm dressed in all black myself. Students start trickling in in small groups. Eventually my seatmate shows up. We bump fists and he sits down. His name is Lucas, he should be a senior but he got held back last year. I'm honestly kind of glad that happened because if it weren't for him I'd be slowly dying of boredom and loneliness in this class.

"Have I ever told you Lucas is such a generic name?" I ask. Lucas sighs. "Yes, every time I enter this classroom." "Oh." "Oh indeed."

"Oh oh oh it's magic!" I sing in a high pitched voice. He wiggles his eyebrows and bite the air at me. "Charming."

I let out a loud laugh. Then madame Spiers tells all of us to shut it and starts today's lesson. I spend all of class spinning my pen around my thumb and bumping my leg up and down, until Lucas whispers 'omelette du fromage' in my ear and I drop the pen.

The next class is cooking. It has a different name, but I just call it cooking. I picked it because I thought I would be good at it since I live with a chef. There's this theory I came up with that when you spend enough time with someone both there mannerisms and talents spread to you as well. I was proven wrong. I can't cook for shit.

Luckily for me there was this new kid from France. And the teacher paired me up with him because I blurted out that I can sort of speak French. We make a great team though. I hover around awkwardly, hand him the stuff he asks for, taste the food in between, and he does all the actual cooking. He loves cooking and is really good at it. If he were gay I'd ask him to marry me so I can eat his food forever.

I pass a bag of flower to Olivier and watch him mesure it. That's the French guy's name by the way, Olivier. In my opinion that's a very generic name for a French guy. My preference of French male names goes out to Matteo or Matisse. But alas, his parents didn't consult me when naming their child.

You know during the first cooking class of the year I tried to help him more by doing some measuring. I fucked up. And he yelled at me to never do that again. It was obvious that he was very, very pissed at me but his accent just made him look all adorable and I received his reprimanding speech with a goofy grin instead of cowering in fear. I like to think that's when we became friends.

"Reiss, taste." Olivier suddenly demands. He's holding up a spoon with some kind of sauce. I immediately step forward and close my mouth around the kitchen utensil. He slides it out of my mouth and looks at me expectantly. I keep the sauce on my tongue for a while then swallow it. "C'est magnifique!" I yell and throw up my arms. He grins and continues cooking. "Thank you." he mumbles. There's a small blush on his cheeks. Awwwww, he still doesn't know how to take a compliment. So cute.

My eyes land on an abandoned pot. I turn it upside down and start tapping a beat on it. Might as well give Olivier some background music to enjoy while I let him slave away.