Khalil Gibran
Sunny, Jax, and I step into the main dining area’s dimly lit expanse. Thankfully, the pictures on the TVs have faded to a blank screen, and the music’s no longer piping through the speakers. This leaves the candles popping in the background, students chatting quietly, and silverware scraping plates as the only sounds.
The three of us make our way to a seven-seater table wedged into the farthest corner. Two students wait there, faces flashing in the soft candlelight. I take a place on the empty side, positioning myself so I can wave Mom over if she decides to come out of the buffet area and join us.
“Rune, this is Audrey Mirlo,” Sunny says, motioning to the girl with the ponytail who Jax was flirting with earlier.
“Also known as our little blackbird.” Grinning, Jax flips around a chair at the head of the table to sit on it backward, arms wrapped around the frame. Now it’s crystal clear why he wanted to help me carry my food over. How can she not see it, with the way he looks at her?
Audrey gives him a scolding side glare. Then she nods hello. I nod back, sensing tension. I concentrate on the hearty flavor of the pumpernickel and wash it down with a hot sip of nutty cappuccino, trying not to wonder whether she considers me a lucky charm or a rival.
“Howdy there, Sunspot,” teases the boy on the other side of Audrey, his sloped, almond eyes locked on Sunny. “Saved a seat for ya, ma’am.” The fake Texas accent coaxes my pensive lips to smile.
“Thanks but no thanks, Moonpie.” Sunny takes the place beside me instead, across from him, making a show of avoiding the chair next to him that he’s pushed out with his foot.
He snorts. “Still mad at me, huh?”
“She’s not the only one, big-mouthed guppy.” Jax reaches behind Audrey to smack who I now realize must be the aforementioned Quan in the back of the head.
“Hey!” Quan rubs his fuzzy scalp while sporting a mischievous grin. I’m guessing he always looks mischievous. His thick black hair sprouts up in every direction on top. It looks like an unkempt front lawn when compared to the buzzed sides and back. One eye’s slightly higher than the other and his boyish lips are at a constant upward tilt on the left side—asymmetrical quirks that make him uniquely adorable. Sunny must agree, considering she’s now playing footsy with him under the table.
As the others crack jokes and tease, Audrey watches in silence, smiling shyly in intervals. Her irises—the color of shimmery mahogany—are deep seated within a fringe of mascaraed lashes so long they reach to her dark eyebrows. This girl has perfected the smoky-eye makeup trick.
The flickering candlelight brings out streaks of auburn in her hair. There’s a burgundy tattoo of a flying bird—the size of one of the caraway seeds on my muffin—just below her left eye that draws attention to her shapely mouth, painted almost the same shade.
Chewing ripe, sweet cherries and crisp apples, I listen as my peers carry the conversation. I learn that Sunny and Quan have been a couple since last year, when they sat next to each other in orchestra during the showcase of Faust and connected over their appreciation for spaghetti Westerns and any movie featuring Clint Eastwood. I also find out that Quan’s last name is Moon-soo, which is how the nickname Moonpie came to be, much like Audrey’s nickname was inspired by her surname, Mirlo, which in Spanish means blackbird.
I make the mistake of asking Audrey if that’s why she got the bird tattoo, and the whole table goes quiet. There’s a story there, but she’s obviously too uncomfortable with me to share it.
If only I could assure her that I’m not here to steal her limelight; but I can’t keep that promise. I have zero control over whether or not I’ll interrupt when it’s her turn to audition. And since all the students are expected to be present as part of their grade, I can’t just not show up.
I’m about to drop my muffin on the floor so I can crawl under the table and escape the awkwardness when Sunny saves the day with a reference to the outing Headmistress Fabre mentioned earlier. Every Saturday, the teachers and students make a day trip to Paris.
This weekend, the students will be going to the Eiffel Tower, and afterward the seniors plan to take a water bus to a riverfront shopping mall that has a ten-screen cinema and a huge selection of restaurants.
“Since Halloween’s a little over a month away,” Sunny explains, “we’re gonna see if we can snag some decorations to spruce up this place for October. Last year all we had were old props from the storerooms. And after shopping, we might catch a movie. They’ll be showing Casablanca in French subtitles. You’re in, right?”
I hesitate, tapping my cappuccino’s mug with a fingernail. So far, everyone in the group seems genuinely nice. But will that change after a full week of classes and uncountable impromptu serenades?