When the Heart Falls(134)

She has her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes."

I do as told and realize how much I trust her. I don't close my eyes for anyone but Stevie, until now.

I feel her moving closer to me, smell her shampoo as her hair tickles the side of my face, and finally taste her lips as she presses them against mine. I deepen the kiss, parting her lips with my tongue, pulling her by the hips until her body is pressed against mine, her curves conforming to me.

"Yum." As the kiss ends I pull away and start to open my eyes.

"Not yet." Her small, cool hand covers them. "Wait. Now open."

Her hand moves, and she's holding what looks like two tickets. She's shaking with excitement that's contagious.

I smile. "Where are we going?"

"Where do you think?"

There's only one place I can think of that would need train tickets, that we've talked about going. The trip we missed last week for the Louvre. "No way!"

"Oh yeah." She wiggles her bottom and waves the tickets in front of me. "I got two train tickets to Mont Saint-Michel, bitch." She does some kind of gangster hand thing, mimicking Jenifer, and it's so out of character for her I laugh. I'm glad the two of them are getting along again; she seemed so sad when she and Jenifer were at odds with each other.

"When are we leaving?" I ask.

"Now, doofus. That's why it's a surprise."

I mentally clear my weekend, which consisted of studying and finding ways to spend time with Winter that don't involve studying. "Great. Let me get all my worldly possessions." I grab my book bag and phone. Winter's fixing her lipstick in the mirror, so I reach under my pillow, pull out the letter and stuff it in my bag.

Mont Saint-Michel awaits us, but even as we leave for a journey to history, I'm haunted by my own past. Perhaps what came before us never leaves, but is dimly reflected in the present as it wields its ghostly hands to shape the future.



The French countryside passes beside us, hills of green and grazing sheep and sky so blue it looks Photoshopped.

Winter studies my most recent French test. "75%. Not bad."

"Not good enough. Not even as good as the last one." I sound sulky, which I know isn't attractive in a man, but this class is kicking my ass.

Winter shrugs. "They get harder as the semester progresses, but you're getting better faster than they're getting harder. We'll get you to an 80% soon."

"Sure." Her eternal optimism never dims. "If you work hard enough at something—"

"You'll succeed," Winter finishes. I can't remember if she's ever finished my sentence before. Our relationship has deepened in the last month. She blushes, probably thinking the same thing.

"Exactly." I take her hand in mine, and though her skin is always cool to the touch, her proximity produces a rush of heat in me.

Her stomach growls so loud she blushes again and giggles. "That would be my cue to get us some food. Do you want anything special?"

"Whatever you're having is fine." I release her hand and feel her absence as soon as she walks out of our private room.

My French test sits on Winter's seat, mocking me. I pick it up and study it again. Even though Winter has spent countless hours working with me, and I've spent countless hours studying on my own, most of the questions still look like gibberish. I even guessed at several answers I got right, but I'm not going to tell Winter that.

I have to do something before I lose all chance of passing this class. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through the numbers until I find the one I want. "Bonjour. Monsieur Bellugue?"

"Oui. Bonjour, Cade."

"How do you always know it's me?"

"You accent is very distinct."

Oh, right. I clear my throat, planning my words in my head. "I got my last French test back."

"Did you do well? Your professor says you are improving with Winter's help."

I stare at the 75%. "I guess I am, but not fast enough. I've worked real hard, studied real hard, but there's no way I'm getting an 80% on the next test. On any test. And my average is falling. Soon, even if I can pull off an 80% score it won't cut it."

"I see."

"Please, Monsieur, is there anything else I can do for extra credit?"

"Not for a summer program."

"There must be something. I'm heading to Mont Saint-Michel right now. I can write an essay on it."

"Even if you could write the essay in French, it wouldn't help with this kind of course, I'm afraid."

"Please, Monsieur. You know I'll work hard, just give me something to work on."

"I'm sorry, Cade. There's nothing I can do. Keep studying, I'm sure you'll get there."

My stomach clenches as my last hope for salvation disappears. "I understand. Thank you, anyways."

"Au revoir, Cade. Good luck on your French."

I end the call and lay the phone down next to me. I've never been so bad at anything in my life, and never so desperate to be good. Anger and frustration gnaw at me, eating away at my future. I scrunch the test up into a ball in my hand, then stuff it into my book bag so Winter doesn't see. She's given up so much of her summer helping me. I dread disappointing her when I fail this class.