My 1st Prom

Date: 7/7, Thurs (part 1)

  'What are we supposed to do?' Nick taps on his iPad screen, leaning backwards, 'Cutie?' 'How am I supposed to know? I don't understand what Madame Lafrance is saying.' I shrug, still not adapting to the relationship between us yet. I mean, I've seen his chest and stomach, and he's doing the opposite of actively avoiding me. Our classmates chatter among themselves (about the Mocktail in 5 days) in the additional French double class our teacher applied for. None of us are paying any sort of attention to our exam results in a massive party fever.

'Right you are, dumbass,' Nick snaps his fingers. 'Figure it out, smartass,' I flip my textbook to a random page. Neither of us mention the texts two nights ago. 'She's going to distribute our dictations and she's asked Apple to hand out some school dictionaries.' He explains. 'Such a good student,' I croon, 'even paying attention in the laaaaast class of the year.' Deliberately not looking at S1G2 people's gaping mouths, I uncap my pen for the endless upcoming corrections (for the final time this year), 'What did you ask me for?' 'Oh, no reason, cutie,' his face gives him away. I gently tilt his chin with a hand, 'Penny for your thoughts?'

'Catch!' A thick dictionary crash lands onto my other hand. I yelp, biting my lip in effort not to whimper. My left hand automatically shoots to cradle my flattened one. 'I'm so sorry!' Apple's arm is outstretched rows from us, her other arm supporting a stack of old dictionaries. Madame Lafrance doesn't seem to care. The Person Whose Rucksack I Contaminated sticks his tongue out in my direction. I wiggle my fingers, 'It's fine.' No visible injury. Nick switches his iPad off, 'I can help, gimme half the stack.' I'd give anything for him to help me like that. He starts distributing them along with fist bumps & jokes. 'Whose idea was it for Celestia to be Nick's seat buddy?' The Person Whose Rucksack I Contaminated asks no one in particular. I cringe. 'The honours all mine,' Nick winks at me, passing out dictionaries by the front. I might have squished my cheek against my palm and sighed. Apple waves a dictionary, 'You should ask Madame Lafrance to sit next to me. Tell Nick.' 'No thanks,' I continue wriggling my fingers, 'I like being at the back.' 'As far as I'm concerned, that's exactly why your seat buddies are guys,' Nick tells The Person Whose Rucksack I Contaminated smoothly. Apple says, 'Nick has plenty of friends, just tell him that you need to accompany me.' 'No,' I insist, 'we're good.'

'Madame Lafrance,' Apple raises her voice, 'Celestia wants to sit with me!' Nick jolts near the front of the room. He never complained about the seating plan. 'No I do not !' I hiss. Nick raises a corner of his lips into a heart-warming smirk. Madame Lafrance looks at us before averting her eyes. 'Can't blame me for trying. Is your hand better now?' Apple asks. 'Way better,' I counter, 'aren't you supposed to serve half the class?' Apple dumps a dictionary on Nick's table, 'Do I look like a maid to you?' 'As a matter of fact,' I mutter loud enough, 'yes.' 'Madame Lafrance!' Apple's volume earns her several eyerolls. Celestia would like to sit close to me!' 'Apple!' I hiss once more. 'Cut it out!' The Person Whose Rucksack I Contaminated exclaims in exasperation, 'We know you love M germs, ok? There's no need to brag about it.' I want to be invisible. Apple stands up for me before Nick could object, 'Don't call her M germs!'

The board changes from white to yellow (at the front of the room). Yellow background with blurry blue horizontal lines. The projector zooms out, clearing the fuzzy lines into handwritten French- my French dictation. As if my mortification earlier isn't enough. What did I do wrong this time? Apple focuses on the board, Nick stops chatting and Madame Lafrance draws a big red oval on top of my dictation. The entire class hushes. 'Zero marks,' Madame Lafrance caps her pen, 'is the lowest result in class.' I look everywhere but the board as my classmates whisper in denial, pointing at my result. My intestines scramble into knots. 'I'd give a negative ten if I could.' Madame Lafrance frowns deeply, revealing hidden wrinkles, 'What have you got to say for yourself?' Sweat slides down my temple. I want to dig a deep hole and crawl in.

She doesn't hide her rage, 'Celestia Blank.' All eyes snap to me right away. Some onlookers do convincingly real shivers, which has nothing to do with the summer heat. She blows her top when I remain silent, 'Answer me!' Just because I fail doesn't mean I deserve to be humiliated. 'This time's a pop dictation,' I tread carefully, 'I wasn't prepared at all.' 'How come you can't even get a double-digit number?' She presses on. 'I didn't revise,' I drop my gaze. She demands, 'Why didn't you do revision?' The Person Whose Rucksack I Contaminated snorts. I answer in a roundabout circle, 'It's a pop dictation.' Some classmates laugh at my response. 'Learn to be more like Nick,' Madame Lafrance says, 'he's earned 81% in all French papers-crème de la crème!' What is she saying ? 'Non,' The girl who sits in front of Nick counters, 'c'est trop facile pour lui.' I have no idea what the girl meant, except for her "non". She might have not spoken at all, as Madame Lafrance doesn't even spare her a glance.

'You are undoubtedly the worst student in my class. I have no choice but to put you in mandatory summer supplementary tutorials.' Madame Lafrance rips my dictation out of my grande cahier, 'You will come to school two times per week during the holidays.' My summer vacation plans! I can never escape this hellhole, not even in July. While everybody else is having fun, I'll be in school. Studying for a subject I'm not even interested in. 'Madame Lafrance, you can't do that!' Apple protests helpfully, 'Summer tutorials for Modern Lang are against the school rules. It's stated in our handbooks too.' I smile gratefully to my friend. If Madame Lafrance expects my head to droop in shame, she's wrong. 'Walk-ins are welcome. Does Apple want to sign up too?' Madame Lafrance chuckles, folding my paper in half. The girl who sits in front of Nick looks like she wants to say something, but wisely chooses not to. Apple quits arguing entirely. My entire body is jittery-I'm getting nervous from my classmates eyeing me.

Our French teacher slips my dictation into her plastic file, 'I have received prior permission from Chief Principal, so don't even think about skipping class.' Why? 'If you have any major events, cancel them. Learning is a student's major responsibility.' I glare at her sandals (definitely not in the teachers' dress code), 'Madame Lafrance, I did try to learn. I've always handed in all my homework on time, also-' 'Most of my students submit their work on time,' she interrupts, 'do not weasel out of supplementary tutorials.' My beating heart plummets from my throat back into my chest. 'Don't get me started on your composition exam, Celestia.' Madame Lafrance rotates her wrists, 'You wrote English words here and there, for crying out loud!' In other words, I've basically failed miserably in this subject. Nick gets to my side quicker than a flash.

'You only told me about supplementary tutorials today-on the last lesson of the school year!' I grip the edge of my table, voice shrill, 'I've arranged plans!' My summer vacation isn't mine anymore. There's no way my parents will agree with her, right? 'I will see to it that you come to school first thing in the morning on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Starting this week, even if it's the last thing I do!' She loses her temper. Screw you! I let out a deeply frustrated sigh. Nick drums his fingers, the only sign of his restlessness. 'Over my dead body,' I don't regard my curious classmates. 'Your parents won't have any say in this,' she assures. 'You will receive a notice soon,' she speaks as if I haven't protested at all, 'skipping supplementary tutorials will count as truancy.' 'Objection!' Nick whacks his ruler on his table, scaring several classmates close to us. Madame Lafrance carries on, ignoring her star student, 'Your dictation is terrible. Your examinations are perfect fiascos. Your results are beyond nasty. Your-your eyes are puffy.'

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Uh oh. Is Celestia going to weep? Or will her friends do something? 

How about a vote to teach Madame Lafrance to mind her own business ?

Part 2 of 7/7 entry coming soon!