Vanilla Chaos

Chapter 2: Crèpeboy

"Nelly!" I gently shook the boy who was fast asleep on my floor, underneath a thin white blanket with a matching pillow underneath that pretty little head of his, "Frenchie! Get your arse up!"

I had to hold back a few squeals and pull my signature poker-face as he stirred and mumbled softly in the cutest way known to man. He rubbed his stunning eyes and looked straight at me, they were boring into me, reading me like a book. Nelly always looked absolutely perfect, but without his glasses on... We were talking about male-model material. He picked up the spectacles and placed them on his porcelain face, carefully. He smiled and greeted me with his signature "Bonjour!". His voice sounded tired, deep and oddly seductive, well, about as seductive as his French falseto voice could get. I felt my cheeks flush, but thankfully only a little.

"Do we have to get up, Heidi?" Nelly whined, "I have pasta-class, today, first period..."

I sat down next to his make-shift bed, "You mean Italian? Shush, crèpeboy, it's a beautiful language! I have Japanese."

My eyes had began to wander away from the boy who was giggling at his new nickname and around my room. But it was clear my attention was wanted when I heard a loud "Ugh!"

"What now, Nelly?"

I gasped as a pair of long pale arms wrapped around me and dragged me down. I shouted something along the lines, "Run, it's SlenderNelly!" and turned as red as Nelly's blood was that one time he wrote a will because he got a paper-cut.

"We could lock the door, and then just stay here all day." He as he pulled me even closer, so that I was lead next to him.

"Nelly, I wish we could but you know that we have to get to class. My Grandma won't let me go to Paris with you if she finds out I've been skipping classes." That last part was a lie, but I needed some way to get him out of bed.

"But I feel sick..."

"Really?"

"Oui."

I placed a hand on his forehead and to my suprise, he did feel like he had a slight temperature, "Where do you feel sick."

"Ugh, I have stomach ache." Okay, now he was laying it on thick. He moaned out each word, dramatically, he was overdoing it, "I think I'll have to go to the nurse's office, for today."

"Nelly," I whined, "You're gonna fail Italian if you're not careful. Please try and get to lesson... For me?"

He moved his long lanky legs so that he was sitting on his knees and yawned, stretching out his arms, "On one condition."

"And what would that be?"

"You ring your grandmother about visiting Paris. Today."

***

I think I was one of the only students who actually enjoyed language lessons, but when I had to spend two hours (without a single break) with 'Sensei Fitzpatrick', the overly perky bottle blonde teacher who we all knew wanted to be Japanese, the enjoyment started to decrease. I was ecstatic to escape into the locker corridor, where a beautiful brunette was awaiting me, "Salut!" I walked over and greeted him in his native tongue.

"How was Japanese class?" He smiled, closing those brilliant baby blues I fell in love with a long time ago.

"Good, but Fitzpatrick annoys the living shißer outta me." I replied.

He tilted his head with confusion, "So you just came out of Japanese and feel a sudden urge to swear in German? I doubt I will ever truly understand the British."

"Probably not, I hear girls from where you're from have more dignity."

"It's true, but you will find the odd slag," it took me a while to process the word 'slag' being said in French accent, "especially in the city."

"Which city? Paris, you mean where you grew up?" I laughed at him poking fun at the pretty girls of his homeland.

"Oui," he smirked, "I have been looking up girls' skirts since I was four years old."

I pushed him away, playfully, "Nelly! That's gross! And perverted!"

He did a little floaty-armed dance and sang, "Trolololololola!"

"French people are such trolls."

"You racist bitch, not all, only moi!"

"Name one who isn't, then, you bloody git." I stifled my laughter.

"My poindexter sister."

"Your sister?" I remembered he had told me he had a big sister but I didn't even know her name, "What's she like?"

"Annoying, hyper, ginger."

"You idiot, what's her name?"

"Dominique."

"She sounds nice."

"She's nineteen, and everytime I visit Paris, she tries to get me a boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" I gasped. Did Nelly bat for the other team? Not that there was anything wrong with that, I was just sort of planning our wedding. After all, he was very camp, and he could just have been kidding about being a stereotypical teenage boy.

"You are so stupide, I like girls. Women. Boobs. My sister reads these wierd-ass manga-comic things from Japan, called 'Yaoi' or 'Boy's Love' or something..."

"So she wants you to be gay...?"

"Exactly, and this is the girl the rest of ma famille live with, so you will have to put up with her crap for entire Summer holidays."

"But what if I don't come to Paris with you?"

"Then I will kidnap you. French mafia."

"I'm so done with you, right now, asshat."