The teacher standing beside me is so cheerful—it's making me nauseous.
"Good morning, class!" she greets.
"Good morning, Miss Bustier," the class choruses back.
They're speaking English for me, which is honestly more difficult to understand because of their thick French accents.
"I'm fluent in French," I mutter to the teacher in French. "So... you don't have to speak English for me."
"Oh, perfect!" She switches to French, then addresses the class again. "Everyone, we have a new student joining us today! Victoria, would you like to introduce yourself?"
Everyone in the room turns to me, and I gulp. I wonder how they see me: Brown skin, curly black hair pulled into a puff, dark eyes downcast. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket and force my gaze upward.
"Hi, I'm Victoria. But... I go by Tori."
A blond girl in the front row rolls her eyes. "Um, speak up. We can't hear you."
Miss Bustier glances over at her. "Chloé, be kind."
Chloé just huffs and crosses her arms, so I clear my throat and try again.
"Hi, I'm Tori. I just moved from Ontario, and... um." What else is there to say?
"Well, I'm sure everyone will make you feel right at home here. Isn't that right, class?"
Everyone nods, and I start down the center aisle, trying to find myself a seat. No one even glances at me as I take a seat in the back row, next to a girl with long, brown hair. I set my bag on the floor beside me and try to ignore the way the brown-haired girl is side-eying me.
"Now, let's start class today by turning to our neighbor and giving them a compliment," Miss Bustier says from the front of the room.
All my other classmates immediately start chatting away, complimenting each other's hair and clothes. I'm not exactly sure what to say to my neighbor, but luckily for me, she initiates the conversation.
"I absolutely love your shoes," the girl gushes, and I glance down at my feet.
They're just sneakers, I think to myself, but out loud, I say, "Thanks. My mom bought them for me when we lived in New York City."
"Oh, that's so awesome!"
She seems nice, so I compliment her on her gray romper. She thanks me, then adds, "Oh, I'm Lila, by the way."
We smile at each other, then turn back to the front as Miss Bustier begins today's lesson.
Lila, I think. Maybe I'll stick with her for a while. I turn on the tablet on the desk in front of me. It'll be nice to have a friend here.
I haven't made many friends since I started moving around a ton for my mom's job, and the friends I have made always turn out to be fake or manipulative. And now, as I tune in to Miss Bustier's lesson on French history, I hope with everything in me that Lila is neither.
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To Be a Hero | MLB
Fiksi PenggemarWhen Tori Moreau-Stewart arrives in Paris, all she expects to do is practice her French, visit the Eiffel Tower, and maybe taste some macarons. What she doesn't expect are two superheroes flying around and saving the city almost every day. Even less...
