Pardon My French (62)

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June has been going by quickly and without another incident. But I've seen less of Raven's apartment, and less of the abandoned school, and more of my desk in my room than ever. Final exams are soon and I've been spending as much time as possible studying. Mostly to stay on Laura's good side, because I dread to think what might happen, how she'd act, if I failed an exam of all things. But also because I happen to care about my grades, back to my old self in that regard.

Ryder, on the other hand, doesn't care as much as I do. He wants to pass, of course, but he also likes spray painting all corners of the building that he hasn't already touched, or else painting over old art. Not to mention getting stoned. Sometimes I wish I was in there with him instead of trying to absorb mathematical equations and French grammatical rules.

"You know, I wonder why I'm even doing this sometimes," I say as I rest my hands on my palms, my elbows propped up on the cafeteria table.

"I wonder that all the time," Ryder says back. Unlike me, he doesn't have his nose stuck in a book, or a hand cramping over pages of notes. He's just peacefully eating his lunch.

"I've been studying so much the days are just bleeding into each other. I don't even know what day it is today."

Ryder is quiet for a few seconds as he thinks, then says, "It's a Friday. Uh, June twenty-sixth."

"Jesus Christ," I say as I lie my head on the table. "Less than a week 'til exams start."

"Guess you're not coming over tonight for a movie?" Ryder guesses.

I shake my head without lifting it from the table.

He groans. "You have to be more like me sometimes."

"What?" I ask, finally looking up at him tiredly. "You want me to bleach my hair? Pierce my lip? Or— I got it— you want me to fail tenth grade?"

He looks at me sideways, exasperated. "Actually, on second thought, you need a nap."

"I need a helmet that when you put in on, all the shit that you're supposed to know just zaps into your brain. I'd be a fucking genius and I wouldn't feel like crying when I look at the quadratic formula."

I'm saved from listening to another smart ass reply from Ryder when he freezes suddenly, listening to the chatter of the cafeteria. He says slowly, "Are the kids behind us speaking French?"

I strain my ears. "Yeah, they are."

"Are they in your French class?"

"No, I think they're in the other one, but they're in my history class."

"Well, what are they saying?"

"I can't just eavesdr—" I cut myself off when I hear one of the girls say my name and that's when I start listening to how they're saying I showed up out of nowhere, made one friend with the "weird gay kid," and somehow got to the top of my class within weeks. How it wasn't fair and I should just go back to wherever I came from.

"Well?" Ryder asks.

"They're... they're taking about me," I whisper, "so keep it down."

He lowers his voice and leans across the table closer to me. "Want me to go tell them to shut the fuck up?"

"No, I'd rather mess with them."

Ryder grins, rubs his hands together excitedly. "Now that's what I mean by being more like me sometimes. What are you gonna do?"

"Just watch." I get up from the table and go around to the one behind Ryder, then casually sit next to the girls who abruptly stop their conversation and look at me with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Before either of them can say anything, I lean forward with fake innocence on my face and dripping from my voice. "Were you guys speaking French?"

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