Varsity Boy and The Prep

7

Break is usually this slow time, during which I am in a country that speaks, eats, and acts in a completely different way than I do. Don't get me wrong, I was born and raised in the small town of Lyon, but being in the US for three years had changed me. I was used to eating bulk, not six course meals, and talking to people on the streets wasn't forbidden to me. So yes, sitting with my brother and Theo's little sister, was a relief. All of break had been spent with the full family, who didn't understand how I'd become more of an American during my time there. My brother Marc did, though, and we sat in an old room. The walls were bare, painted a cream colour and everything else is white and brown. I guess when I used to live there, colour didn't really matter to me.

"What is America like?" Theo's sister, Sophie asked.

I looked up from the musty rug that I was picking at, and found her small face staring at me. Sophie spoke in a voice that fit her seven year old self, and held a strong accent.

"Well," I said, "it's very big. There's a lot of people."

"Met any friends?" Marc asked.

"Of course. I've been there for three years, now."

"That's good, because I thought Theo was your only friend at that school."

I continued to feverishly pick at the hem of the rug, holding myself back from doing anything to Marc. Everyone said this type of feeling was mutual between all siblings. I didn't believe that bullshit. Marc was trying to provoke me.

"When is lunch?" Sophie asked.

"Your mother is preparing it at the moment. It will be grand, as most lunches are." Marc looked to me. "I hope you can still do four courses. You used to love it as a kid."

A chuckle came with Marc's last comment, not because it was true, but because the difference between child me and teenage me were drastic, and everyone noticed them. For some reason, the family always liked to comment on the fact that I snack, which is a habit that's too deeply engraved to give up. They also took note of how little I usually ate at a typical four course lunch and how much I ate at a small dinner. Needless to say, Marc's comment didn't really hit me that hard. Sophie laughed and her mom came into the room, calling the three of us to lunch. Marc led the group down the windey stairs in Theo's house, and into the dining room. In the middle, sat a polished wooden table.

"Hey, Asher." Theo's dad said.

This was followed by a chorus of the same statement, with Theo's being slightly different (he called me Ash).

"Hello, Theodore." I said. "Mom, dad, Theo's parents, Sophie, and Marc."

"Quest-qui va pas?" Sophie whispered from my side.

My breath came out in a large exhale and tension I didn't know I held, was released. Sophie was still looking at me waiting for a reply. I searched for a possible response that wouldn't be too hurtful towards a seven year old. "Ce n'est pas grave." I finally said.

Theo, sitting on my other side, seemed to have heard this and jumped in. "Asher, dit-moi-"

"Non." I said. "And just because I speak French to Sophie, doesn't mean that you can force me to speak it you. It's not your main language, now."

"Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't know that's what bothered you so much about-"

"It's not. I'm glad to be away from California."

That was true.

Why does Asher hate his family? You'll find out in May!