All I Needed To Know [7]

Le Septième Chapitre

I began to look at Aimee in a whole different light… a critical yet self-assessing way. I didn’t realize before the way she had a few flakes of jet-black mascara resting under her emerald green eyes, how there was a kink in her otherwise straightened hair framing the left side of her face. After continuing my unconscious inspecting, I was disappointed to find that there was nothing else wrong with her. Her skin had a flawless, golden tan, and so clear she could have just stepped off a CoverGirl photo shoot. When she opened her mouth, I could see faultlessly aligned, snow-white teeth that had never even been in the same room as a cup of coffee.  She wore a plain black t-shirt over grey plaid shorts, complete with a matching triangle-scarf and patent-leather heels. It was the ideal look- casual enough to be worn every day yet sharpened enough to send down a runway. These clothes sat effortlessly on her curvy figure, topped of with what else but an itsy-bitsy waist and long, sculpted legs. As I carefully inspected Travis’s ex-girlfriend, I was heartbroken to discover she was perfect… something I could never follow or measure up to.

Why did it matter, anyway? She was just another girl, despite who she dated. It wasn’t like I had any feelings for Travis anyway. Who cared about what kind of ex-girlfriends he had stocked up? Who cared about why a girl like her and a guy like him ever broke up? Who cared about how undeniably gorgeous his smile was? Not me. I am Jolie Thomas, I have a great boyfriend, and I don’t care in the least about Travis Dupont and Aimee Claude, I demanded to myself.

But I really couldn’t help but wonder… “So, what happened? I mean, why did you break up? You really seem to hate him.”

Aimee made a circular gesture with her hand, which I assumed meant she was thinking. She really should have handed out some translation guide to all of her hand motions. “Oh, that boy, Travis,” she spat. “He sweeps me off my feet just like Romeo to Juliet, you know? Together, we were, for eight and a half months. I gave him all my heart. Yes, he took it,”- she dramatically slapped her palm to her forehead- “but did he ever really love me? No. He cared not about me at all. I was just a toy in his sick, sick game. He treats me like a princess, and then? Nothing. He shoves me away.” After gazing at Travis for a split second, I saw the glint in her eye change from hate to… pain. Agony. She immediately snapped back to her proud self before anyone else could notice. “Phooey. Who needs him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, he’s my partner in the project, so I guess I do,” I replied jokingly. She glared at me, so I added an apathetic sigh and eye roll to make it appear more like I was complaining. Aimee approved.

“I am sooo sorry. That talentless hack is probably going to make you look bad... which I am sure is hard to do.” She added a wink. Okay, this was better. It seemed like hating Travis was forming some sort of bond with Aimee… at least, the act of hating Travis. Come on, I didn’t even know the guy, but if it made her act decent toward me, then I’d go right on and fake it.

We both watched as he approached our table, turning our heads and engaging in staged conversation as he came near. He appeared behind Aimee, resting one hand on her shoulder. “Bounjour, Aimee,” he greeted with a polite smile. She grumbled, crossing her arms. “Excusez-moi, pouvez j'avoir ce siege?” his voice was low, yet pleasant... friendly… alluring, even.

“I know English, Travis,” she snapped, wriggling her hand off her shoulder as she turned to face him. He chuckled.

“I’m sorry. Me, not so well.” Travis spoke slowly in English tongue, like he was really having trouble picking the words. I felt bad that he was being forced to speak in a language he obviously wasn’t comfortable in. “May I… please… have your seat? My partner… she sits there.” He gestured subtly to me, causing my chest to flutter lightly.

“Hmph.” Aimee stood up sharply and stomped across the room to her partner. Ignoring this, Travis took her place in the chair next to me, scooting it in casually and laying his hands on the table.

“Well,” he began, then furrowed his brow, searching for words.

“Je parle du Français, vous savez. Vous ne devez pas parler Englais si vous ne voulez pas à,” I interrupted, informing him I speak some French, you know. You don't have to speak English if you don't want to. Travis laughed again, probably at my horrible attempt.

“I can speak. Really, worry not.” I blushed and looked away. He’s so considerate, I gushed in my mind. Then, I caught myself and shoved those thoughts straight out of my head.

“So, you were saying, then?” I prompted.

He paused. “Well… here, I am supposed to be so we both can know… what the other will be doing. For the assignment. But I know already… you photograph, and I play music.”

“Yup. Erm, yes, I know. That’s what we’re doing,” I stuttered. There was a moment of silent, thick air… the seconds ticked slower, every tiny sound I heard seemed amplified- from Ms. O’Toole’s dry-erase marker squeaking on the whiteboard as she wrote PARTNER PROJECT in large red letters to my own heart beating. I looked at Travis, who was smiling at me in a way I couldn’t describe. “So, um…”

“What now then, you ask?” He cracked his knuckles, something that would normally make me cringe, though I didn’t. I just shrugged. Travis’s smile grew a little. “I don’t know either.” Another few moments of silence passed. “We know what we’re doing, then, so when should we get together… to work? You are staying at the academy, yes?”

“No, actually, I’m staying with my Aunt.” Travis leaned back, raising his eyebrows.

“Ah, so you have options then.”

“Yup.”

“Don’t you think that, perhaps, we could meet, say, tomorrow? At the park?” He winked, hinting at exactly what park he was referring to.

“S-sure,” I stuttered. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out… a pen?

Handing it to me, he asked, “May I have your telephone number, so we can plan this better? I apologize, I realize how it must be so hard, communicating… with me.” Get a grip, Jolie, this doesn’t mean anything… I recited in my head in attempt to calm myself as I took his hand in mine, writing all eleven digits on it. “Thank you. Give me a call so we can get to working.” He stood up as people from other classes began filing out of the room.

“Talk to you later.”

“Au revoir,” he said softly before walking to the front of the room, out the door. I swear I could have just melted in my seat, but I had to compose myself when Aimee returned to her spot.

“Ugh, he’s finally gone,” she said overdramatically, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Finally,” I responded absentmindedly as I watched him saunter off.

At the end of class, Ms. O’Toole called off names to dismiss us one by one. Everyone was groaning and whispering… why was she using this method? It took so long, especially since half the names she pronounced wrong and took a few times to get right. “Jolie Thomas?” she called, and I made my way for the door. She stopped me right in front of it, though, handing me an envelope. I took it, and after exiting to the hallway, realized that everyone had gotten one. So that was what was taking so long.

“Jolie Thomas, USA” was printed on the front. I opened the envelope to retrieve a single flyer.

Welcome New Students!

This Friday, June 19^th, will be the all-night kickoff party at the Foreign Arts Summer Program!

Meet new friends, relax, and have fun!

7:30 PM - 12:30 AM

Set your clocks and get ready!

-Mr. Margelo, Director of FASP

Sure, why not.

* * *

When I got home, there were a few missed calls yet again- one from Ashton, two from home, and six from Bryce. Well that’s good- he’s improving, I thought. First I called my mom and dad, filling them in on all the educational aspects of the academy, then Ashton, filling her in on the social. Then, I called Bryce.

“Were they nice to you over there?” he asked jokingly. This was good- he was getting better already.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. Is Ashton being nice to you over there?”

He scoffed. “Not anymore than usual.” I rolled my eyes. “She really does miss you, Jol. It may not seem like it, but you’ve been all she’s been talking about lately. She’s told me all your stories…” he cleared his throat, “… like the one of that um, guy… in the park.”

I laughed. “Oh yeah. That’s a funny story, isn’t it?”

Bryce didn’t laugh or answer. After a pause, he finally said, “The only thing I find funny is how you didn’t tell me that story.”

My jaw dropped. Was he being serious? What was he mad about? “Bryce, I mean… we were talking about time zones and you had to go…”

“I love you, Jolie. Just remember that. No matter what happens over there in France, I just want you to always have that in the back of your mind. I love you so much, Jolie. Please just don’t forget that.” A lump grew in my throat as I had another feeling of déjà vu… the same kind of feeling as the last time I talked to Bryce. I was overcome with discomfort, and the frustration of knowing that there was something… something I was forgetting. What he said began to repeat in my mind, along with the other trigger-phrases… I’ve been thinking about you all day, Jolie… I couldn’t get you out of my mind… I love you so much, Jolie. Please just don’t forget that… I shuddered.

“I know, Bryce,” was all I could choke out. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

In fear he would say something else to prompt the strange feeling, I hung up without giving him a chance to say goodbye.