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I hold my breath while I scan it. Phew. No
surprises. Senior English, calculus, beginning French,
physics, European history, and something dubiously
called “La Vie.”
When I registered, the counselor described “Life”
as a senior-only class, similar to a study hall but with
occasional guest speakers who will lecture us about
balancing checkbooks and renting apartments and
baking quiches. Or whatever. I’m just relieved Mom let
me take it. One of the decent things about this school
is that math, science, and history aren’t required for
seniors. Unfortunately, Mom is a purist and refused to
let me graduate without another year of all three.
“You’ll never get into the right college if you take
ceramics,” she warned, frowning over my orientation
packet.
Thanks, Mom. Send me away for some culture in
a city known for its art and make me suffer through
another math class. I shuffle toward Meredith and
Rashmi, feeling like the third wheel but praying for
some shared classes. I’m in luck. “Three with me and
four with Rash!” Meredith beams and hands back my
schedule. Her rainbow-colored plastic rings click
against each other.
Rash. What an unfortunate nickname. They
gossip about people I don’t know, and my mind
wanders to the other side of the courtyard, where St.
Clair waits with Josh in Q-through-Z. I wonder if I have
any classes with him.
I mean, them. Classes with them.
The rain has stopped, and Josh kicks a puddle in
St. Clair’s direction. St. Clair laughs and says something
Anna and the French Kiss | 32