Sweet Thirteen Page 7

  Isabel told Sophie she looked “muy bonita.”

  Avery used her own second language: sports talk. “Score one for Sophie!” she cheered, punching the air.

  Isabel and Avery had chosen not to follow the fashion plan for the day—Isabel preferred her own unique look, and Avery didn’t own any skirts!

  Charlotte had put on a khaki skirt, but couldn’t find anything yellow that was clean. Sophie does look nice, Charlotte thought. But the whole scarf-matching thing seems a little over the top for school. Charlotte touched the collar of her plain white scoop-neck tee, feeling drab and dull next to sophisticated Sophie, fashion-savvy Katani, and colorful Maeve.

  “Oooh, and your purse matches, too!” Katani squealed when Sophie took out a rose-embroidered pocketbook to look for her lip gloss.

  Katani didn’t squeal very often, Charlotte noted as several other girls in the hallway gathered around, exclaiming over Sophie’s scarf, purse, and French cosmetics. When the bell rang, the sea of worshipful girls carried Sophie away into social studies.

  Maeve was about to follow when Chelsea trotted up behind her. “May 9! I’m saving the date. When are we going to get your Bat Mitzvah invites?”

  “Any day now,” Maeve replied with a sweet smile. “Just keep checking your mailbox.”

  Josh Trentini overheard and asked, “Is your party going to be as radical as Yurt’s?”

  “I got three hats and a T-shirt!” his twin Billy bragged. “Plus I won tickets to a Red Sox game in the trivia room.”

  “Just as rad,” Maeve echoed. “Maybe even radder!”

  Henry Yurt popped his head out of a nearby classroom. “Radder than mine?” he asked. “The only thing you can do that might be radder would be to ride around the room on a solar-powered rocket ship! Oh, wait”—he paused for effect—“I did that, didn’t I?”

  Henry was just joking around, but as the kids all rushed off to their next classes, Maeve just stood still for a moment, shaking her head with the realization: I seriously need a plan. A grand, stupendous, marvelous plan. And fast!

  Love Struck

  “Hey.” Dillon walked up to the BSG at their usual seats near the window in Ms. O’Reilly’s class. Sophie was sitting next to Charlotte, making last-minute notes for a short presentation about France before the phone call with her Parisian classmates.

  “Hey,” Avery raised her fist for a knuckle butt, her usual greeting with pal Dillon. Whoa!Avery was shocked when Dillon not only didn’t knuckle her back, but didn’t even seem to notice she was standing there. Avery had never seen that expression on her buddy’s face before.

  “How was kung fu yesterday?” Sophie asked primly, looking up from her notes.

  “Uhhh,” Dillon began. Avery waved a hand in front of his face, but he didn’t even blink. “Karate, you mean?” He was stumbling over his words. He looks like he needs a roundhouse kick to knock him back into reality, Avery thought.

  Sophie tipped her head slightly when she added, “But of course. I was only making a joke.”

  “Oh.” Dillon, master of the snappy comeback, didn’t have a ready reply.

  Isabel gave Avery a wink behind Dillon’s back. She’d seen this so many times with Elena Maria and boys, but Avery was pretty dense when it came to romance. “Crush alert,” Isabel mouthed. Avery whispered back, “No, he’s lost his mind.”

  Isabel made a little heart with her fingers and flashed it at Avery. “True love,” she murmured.

  Sophie continued asking Dillon about his karate class; simple questions ranging from “How long have you been teaching?” to “Which master do you follow?” To Avery and Isabel’s amusement, Dillon seemed to have been reduced to Neanderthal grunts for replies instead of actual words.

  “Okay, class! Take your seats!” Ms. O’Reilly stood up from her desk and clapped her hands. That seemed to snap Dillon back to Earth. He retreated to his crew in the back of the room, but not before Sophie blew him a kiss! Dillon turned redder than a tomato, and his buddies gave high-fives all around.

  “Enough, boys,” Ms. O’Reilly scolded, then began the morning class by welcoming Sophie in French. It was clear that the young teacher didn’t actually speak French, but had someone teach her the word “Bienvenue,” because her accent was atrocious.

  Charlotte gave Sophie a wide-eyed look, and Sophie winked back at her—wordlessly, they agreed not to correct her. It would be their secret.

  “Merci,” Sophie replied graciously. She got up from her seat and went to the front of the room to address the class.

  “I am so honored to be a guest in your school. This is the first time I have been to America. You know, I met Charlotte when she lived in Paris and we have been, as you say, BFFs—Best French Friends—ever since.” She paused, and the laughter came. Charlotte felt proud that her best friend was up there, speaking to the whole classroom. Everyone in class knew this was Charlotte’s friend, and more people had said hello to Charlotte today than ever had before. It was actually a little overwhelming!

  Sophie continued, “Charlotte has introduced me to all her friends. Now I want to introduce you to mine.”

  Sophie was about to press the button on the computer to turn on the Skype connection to her own school, where an afternoon English class was beginning, when Ms. O’Reilly stopped her. “Sophie,” she said. “Can you prepare us a little for the conversation by telling us a few differences between French and American schools?”

  “But of course,” Sophie replied. “In my school the dress is more formal.” She waved a hand around the room. “It is nice here that the students can express their own mode.”

  “Style,” Charlotte translated, even though Sophie didn’t need her to.

  “My favorite mode is à la mode!” Henry Yurt joked. Then he asked, “So, what about our country has been the most surprising?” The Yurtmeister couldn’t resist adding, “I bet you’ll say it’s our fine American cooking. Just wait until you eat the mystery meat at lunch today!”

  Sophie smiled. “I cannot wait to go to the cafeteria. Charlotte told me to eat nothing I cannot recognize.”

  “That won’t leave many options,” the Yurtmeister warned. “You might starve!” Giggles broke out through the room.

  “I doubt that, but to answer your question”—Sophie smoothly came back to the topic at hand—“I am surprised at how casually the boys here dress. At my school, the garçons—the boys—wear straight jeans, nice shirts, pointed shoes, and sometimes scarves.”

  “Sounds suave,” Maeve whispered, leaning over to Katani.

  “Sounds lame!” Billy Trentini called out from the back. “Shorts and T-shirts. That’s the American way.” And to prove his point, Billy flashed both hands at Dillon like the MC of a fashion show presenting the top model.

  The entire class burst into laughter. Except Dillon.

  Katani expected that, after Billy’s comment, Dillon would stand up next to his chair and flaunt his very “stylish” American “mode.” But instead, he just sat there, staring at Sophie like a lost puppy.

  What’s up with D?

  Katani quickly jotted on the corner of a paper. She tore the page out of her notebook and when Ms. O’Reilly wasn’t looking, passed it over to Avery.

  Avery read the note and wrote back. Then she folded it and had to wait another second for Ms. O’Reilly to look away again before thrusting the paper back to Katani.

  Katani peeked at Avery’s reply:

  I’m monitoring the situation. No worries.

  Rock Stars and Pointy Shoes

  When the laughter in the room died down, Sophie hit a button on the computer. A camera and microphone were already set up so that the kids could see and hear one another. On two continents, students gathered around their classroom computers and waved to one another. Skype was working!

  “Bonjour, mes amis!” Sophie greeted her friends at home. “Bonjour, madame,”Sophie said to her teacher.

  “Hello,” the French students replied, practicing their English. Sudde
nly everyone in France and Boston was talking at once.

  “One at a time,” Ms. O’Reilly commanded.

  “Un par un,” the teacher in France told her own class.

  Riley raised his hand. “I have a question.” Ms. O’Reilly had to shush the class so Riley could ask, “What kind of music do you like?”

  A French boy name Pierre answered. He named five of the hottest American rock stars, including John Thomas!

  “No way! JT sang at my party last weekend!” Henry Yurt burst out.

  Anna raised her hand. “Don’t you have any bands of your own?” she asked.

  “Oui,” said Pierre. “There are many French singers and bands. But we like yours better!”

  The kids in Ms. O’Reilly’s class laughed out loud.

  Sophie shook her head. “That Pierre, always with the jokes. There are nice bands in France, too.” She paused for a thoughtful moment. “Pierre plays drums for a school band named Clair de la Lune.”

  “Moonlight,” Charlotte translated.

  Riley would have loved to talk about music with Pierre and compare band stories, but it was the French class’s turn to ask a question.

  Julia, a tall girl with braided hair, asked, “Sophie! Did you see movie stars?”

  Sophie smiled when she replied, “Most of the movie stars are in California. I’m three thousand miles from Hollywood.” She pulled Maeve over into the camera’s view. “But this is Maeve. She will be a BIG movie star someday!”

  Maeve beamed.

  A boy in glasses named Marc asked, “What do American people like to eat?”

  At that, the Trentini twins couldn’t help but lean toward the camera and shout out together, “French fries!”

  “I read that the students in America, they only eat hamburgers and pizzas,” Marc explained after he stopped laughing.

  “Yep, all true,” Nick confirmed, patting his belly. “And I heard French kids eat frog legs and snails at every meal.”

  Marc shrugged and joked, “Ahhh. That too, it is true.”

  Marc and Nick gave each other a cyber high-five. Nick asked Sophie to give him Marc’s e-mail address later. They liked each other immediately and wanted to talk more.

  “Is it my turn?” Betsy Fitzgerald wanted to know.

  “Sure, Betsy.” Ms. O’Reilly told Nick to move away from the camera so that Betsy could have a chance.

  “In 1793, at the height of the French Revolution, Marie Antoinette was executed for treason,” Betsy began. “Modern scholars disagree on how influential she was during the Revolution. Do you believe she was honestly to blame, or was she sacrificed as a martyr?”

  The French classroom was so silent, you could hear a pencil drop. Betsy had a way of taking things way too seriously sometimes.

  Sophie’s teacher broke the silence by recommending a book on the subject for Betsy.

  The rest of the class passed by quickly as the students on both sides of the Atlantic exchanged stories, opinions, and jokes.

  “Awww, man,” Henry remarked when the bell rang. “I wanted to ask the boys to show off their pointed shoes and scarves. I never got a chance to ask for a fashion show. . . .”

  “Maybe we can do this again another time,” Ms. O’Reilly told him. “We could start a cyber pen-pal program!”

  As the American students poured out into the hallway, off to their next class, Sophie took a second to say “Au revoir” to her French friends.

  “Au revoir, Sophie,” chimed the French students. The girls were waving. The boys—blowing kisses.

  Avery and the rest of the BSG hung back, waiting for Sophie to finish the call. Dillon stayed behind too, and he blushed a slight red when all the French boys blew kisses. Is he jealous?Avery wondered. She had told Katani that she was “monitoring the situation,” but now she wondered if she needed to keep a closer eye on her long-time friend.

  If Dillon was falling too hard, too fast—she might need to knock some sense into him. Avery couldn’t help smiling as she imagined herself taking Dillon out to the soccer field and getting him to head a few balls into the goal. That would shake his brain for sure! Snap him right back to reality.

  The Queens Dethroned

  In the hallway the QOM waited in ambush. “Can we talk to you?” Anna asked Sophie.

  “Go ahead.” Sophie gestured with one hand. “What have you to say?”

  “In private.” Joline smirked with a head nod toward a nearby empty classroom.

  “You can say anything in front of my friends,” Sophie indicated toward the BSG. “We have no secrets.”

  Anna looked seriously at Joline, then said, “Fine. We think you should come hang out with us tonight. Kiki’s father got four tickets to see Rock-a-Do.” Anna glanced at the BSG. “They’re VIP passes.”

  Rock-a-Do was a new 3-D movie about the glamorous life of celebrity hairstylists. It hadn’t made it onto Katani’s careful schedule, but Maeve especially had been dying to go see it.

  “I think we should all go,” Sophie replied, indicating herself and the BSG.

  Charlotte nearly choked. She’d told Sophie all about the QOM—they even knew some girls just like the QOM in Paris, and called them Chuchoteurs, or “Whisperers.” Kiki was even worse. In fact, the girls called her the “Empress of Mean.”

  “I don’t think we should all go.” Joline sneered. “I mean, it’s about hairstyles. Have you seen Avery’s hair?” She paused while everyone turned to Avery, who, as always, had her hair pulled back tightly in a ponytail. “I didn’t think so. That tail hasn’t been set loose since third grade.”

  “We want to invite you,” Anna said firmly, placing an arm on Sophie’s shoulders. “Only you.”

  From the blank look on her friend’s face, Charlotte wasn’t sure what Sophie was going to say. Sophie kept staring at the QOM, and there was a split second when Charlotte thought that Sophie would say, “Yeah, sure, I’ll go. Pick me up at seven.”

  It came almost as a surprise to Charlotte when Sophie said, “You are very unkind.” She put her hands on her hips. “Why you say these most terrible things?” Head held high, Sophie led the BSG down the hall toward the math classroom. “Au revoir.”

  Charlotte gave a quick glance back to see that Anna and Joline were stunned at how their invitation backfired. They stood, jaws dropped, staring after Sophie and the BSG.

  Later, Charlotte heard it from Chelsea, who heard it from Betsy, that the last thing anyone heard from the QOM that morning was Joline turning to Anna and asking, “What can I do to make my hair chic, like Sophie’s?”

  CHAPTER

  8

  Spinning Out of Control

  Hey, Avery,” Dillon mumbled, head hanging low and feet shuffling as they walked off the soccer field after a quick pick-up game. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Yeah?” Avery switched her soccer bag to the other shoulder.

  “It’s kinda embarrassing.”

  “More embarrassing than my team beating yours ten to five just now? Really, Dillon,” Avery continued with her teasing, “what could be worse than being crushed by a GIRL?” She laughed, recalling how she’d headed the ball into goal, and Dillon hadn’t even seen it coming! “It’ll be weeks before you can raise your head high at school.”

  Dillon sighed. He shook his head and looked up at Avery seriously. “Yup, it’s more embarrassing. Believe it or not.”

  “No way!” Avery was still smiling, but she was beginning to get the idea that Dillon wasn’t joking around.

  “I need a big favor.” Dillon paused at the intersection at one end of the school parking lot, where Avery usually turned off to walk home.

  “Okay.” Avery decided to use this moment to her advantage. “I’ll do you a favor, but you have to do me one first. I’m headed to Charlotte’s, since it’s my turn to walk Marty. So, you carry my equipment.” She thrust her soccer bag at him.

  It was so weird! Dillon didn’t fight the demand. He just took Avery’s bag and slung it over his shoulder with his o
wn bag. “Let’s go, then,” he responded.

  “What’s up with you?” Avery asked him as Dillon sulked along silently beside her. “You are definitely not acting yourself!”

  “Hey, keep it down. No one can know!” he replied.

  “Know what?! What?!?” Avery practically yelled at him, although she had a pretty good guess what this was all about.

  Dillon looked around and over his shoulder. “Shhh,” he warned. “Okay, here’s the thing.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to find out if Sophie has a boyfriend in France. Maybe that Pierre dude? Or someone else?”

  “Have you gone nuts?!” Avery was yelling at him now. “Do you remember what happened when Maeve liked you? I played matchmaker, and it was a huge mess!”

  “Maeve and I are still friends,” Dillon said calmly.

  “Yeah, but the whole thing was a disaster! I swore I’d never do anything like that again.”

  “But, Avery,” Dillon pleaded, “this is really important.”

  Avery searched his face carefully, considering his words and earnest expression. “Okay,” she begrudgingly agreed. “Gimme my stuff. We’re almost there.” Avery glanced up at Charlotte’s house, looming in front of them. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Say nice things about me, too, okay?” Dillon put in.

  “Who do you think I am, Cupid?” Avery retorted, jabbing Dillon playfully in the stomach. “Don’t push your luck.”

  As they took the last few steps toward the house, Avery was excited to see Charlotte, Sophie, and Mr. Ramsey outside, loading a few bags into Mr. Ramsey’s car.

  “Dillon!” Avery pointed. “There’s Sophie now. Go talk to her. Start a conversation.” She turned her head toward him, adding, “It’s your big chance!” But Dillon had suddenly disappeared. She was talking to herself.

  “Avery!” Charlotte called out as she carried a small basket to the car and put it in the trunk. “We’re going into the city. Want to come?”