“I have these worksheets. They're great for the irregular verbs...""Not today."He shot me a look and kept shuffling papers."Okay," I said. "D'accord.Pas de papiers aujourd'hui. S'il vous plait,Alex. Je...je fais les choses la derniere fois.""Prochaine.""What?""La prochaine fois," he correct. "Next time. Derniere fois is 'last time.' I'm not even going to start on your verb usage.""Right.La derniere...sorry...prochaine fois. How do you say 'I'm begging you'?""Jes t'en supplie," he answered. Then, "You are aware that in order to speak better french, you actually have to speak French.""Oui,monsieur. But the Eiffel Tower will still be standing next week, and french fries will still be American.""Belgian," Alex sighed. "French fries started in Belgium. Look,I'm not going to force you to work. It's your choice and not my job.""Next week," I promised. "I promise.""Right." He rubbed the back of his head, pushing his hair into a funny little ducktail. "Okay,fine. How 'bout a movie?"Worked for me. "Sure.”

“It hit me,then,while he stared down at me with a slight frown.I was standing almost chest to chest with Alex Bainbridge in a very small space. I backed up a step and bumped into the toilet. "I should go," I said, a little shakily. "I should go home.""Right." Always polite, he let me walk out first. "Next week....Next week, we can have our tutoring session in here. We'll discuss art. Or bathroom fixtures. You can sit up there"- he pointed to the counter- "next to the Willing."Now,out of the bathroom, and a few feet away from him, I could laugh- "Okay. Before you start to think that I am obsessive and insane, there has to be something,the sight of something, that would make you go all goofy."He didn't miss a beat. "Mademoiselle Winslow in a tutu. No..." He looked a little goofy when he said, "Spider-Man versus Doctor Octopus. July 1963.""That's a comic book, right?"He sighed. "Oh,Ella." Then, "Come on. I'll drive you home.""You don't have to-""Yeah,I do.”

“Okay.First things first. Three things you don't want me to know about you.""What?" I gaped at him."You're the one who says we don't know each other.So let's cut to the chase."Oh,but this was too easy:1. I am wearing my oldest, ugliest underwear.2.I think your girlfriend is evil and should be destroyed.3.I am a lying, larcenous creature who talks to dead people and thinks she should be your girlfriend once the aforementioned one is out of the picture.I figured that was just about everything. "I don't think so-""Doesn't have to be embarrassing or major," Alex interrupted me, "but it has to be something that costs a little to share." When I opened my mouth to object again, he pointed a long finger at the center of my chest. "You opened the box,Pandora.So sit."There was a funny-shaped velour chair near my knees. I sat. The chair promptly molded itself to my butt. I assumed that meant it was expensive, and not dangerous. Alex flopped onto the bed,settling on his side with his elbow bent and his head propped on his hand."Can't you go first?" I asked."You opened the box...""Okay,okay. I'm thinking."He gave me about thirty seconds. Then, "Time."I took a breath. "I'm on full scholarship to Willing." One thing Truth or Dare has taught me is that you can't be too proud and still expect to get anything valuable out of the process."Next.""I'm terrified of a lot things, including lightning, driving a stick shift, and swimming in the ocean."His expression didn't change at all. He just took in my answers. "Last one.""I am not telling you about my underwear," I muttered.He laughed. "I am sorry to hear that. Not even the color?"I wanted to scowl. I couldn't. "No.But I will tell you that I like anchovies on my pizza.""That's supposed to be consolation for withholding lingeries info?""Not my concern.But you tell me-is it something you would broadcast around the lunchroom?""Probably not," he agreed."Didn't think so." I settled back more deeply into my chair. It didn't escape my notice that, yet again, I was feeling very relaxed around this boy. Yet again, it didn't make me especially happy. "Your turn."I thought about my promise to Frankie. I quietly hoped Alex would tell me something to make me like him even a little less. He was ready. "I cried so much during my first time at camp that my parents had to come get me four days early."I never went to camp. It always seemed a little bit idyllic to me. "How old were you?""Six.Why?""Why?" I imagined a very small Alex in a Spider-Man shirt, cuddling the threadbare bunny now sitting on the shelf over his computer. I sighed. "Oh,no reason. Next.""I hated Titanic, The Notebook, and Twilight.""What did you think of Ten Things I Hate About You?""Hey," he snapped. "I didn't ask questions during your turn.""No,you didn't," I agreed pleasantly. "Anser,please.""Fine.I liked Ten Things. Satisfied?"No,actually. "Alex," I said sadly, "either you are mind-bogglingly clueless about what I wouldn't want to know, or your next revelation is going to be that you have an unpleasant reaction to kryptonite."He was looking at me like I'd spoken Swahili. "What are you talking about?"Just call me Lois. I shook my head. "Never mind. Carry on.""I have been known to dance in front of the mirror-" he cringed a little- "to 'Thriller.'"And there it was. Alex now knew that I was a penniless coward with a penchant for stinky fish.I knew he was officially adorable.He pushed himself up off his elbow and swung his legs around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "And on that humiliating note, I will now make you translate bathroom words into French." He picked up a sheaf of papers from the floor. "I have these worksheets. They're great for the irregular verbs...”

“Thanks for the ride.It was really nice of you.""No worrie. Since I'm down here, maybe I'll swing by Geno's for a cheesesteak." He shook his head. "You saw what was in my fridge.""I did. Alex..."I could ask. It would be so easy. A pizza,some of Nonna's fettuccine..."I had a good time," I told him. Coward, I scolded myself. "I didn't expect to.""Yeah,well,you can't beat a good raptor attack. Next time before we get started, I'll show you my French comic book collection..." He wiggled his eyebrows at me in perv fashion. "Then we'll work.""Okay," I agreed. "Sounds good." I started up the sidewalk. Instead of going home,I'd decided to go over to Marino's. Offer to peel garlic or something.Dad would appreciate it."Hey,Ella."I turned. "Yeah?""I'll see you tomorrow."I must have looked blank."At the dance," he added."Oh.Yeah.See you tomorrow." I turned back toward the restaurant."Hey,Ella.""Yeah?""J'ai passe un tres bon moment, aussi." When I just stared at him again, he snorted. "Work it out."I did,but not before he'd driven away. He'd had a really good time,too.”

“Just out of curiosity, do they know I'm here?""Yep." My Mother did, anyway. Mention of a French tutor had effectively headed off any possibility of shopping."I take it they trust you not to do anything inappropriate."I couldn't tell if he was being serious. I assumed not. "Absolutely. In fact,my mother would probably pay you to do something to make them trust me a little less." I took a look at his face. He looked a little stunned. "Oh,no. I didn't mean-"Or maybe I did. But Alex was backing away from me, hands raised. "okay.""J'etais stupide."He sat down heavily on the edge of my desk, narrowly missing the biscotti. "I wouldn't say that. But your use of the imperfect is improving.""Just what I always wanted," I said sadly, "to get better at imperfection.”

“Truth or dare.""Not fair. You already had a turn.""Correct me if I'm wrong, but this little excursion was to make me happy."I sighed, knowing I'd already lost. "You're right.""DO I look happy to you?" He visibly deflated in his seat and pulled down the corners of his mouth. He looked like a very pretty scarecrow. "Well?""No,Mr. Hobbes, you do not look happy.""So..."I eyed the racks around us. There seemed to be an awful lot of jungle and orange. "If I say 'dare,' are you going to make me put on leopord print?""I might.""If I take 'truth,' will you promise not to ask any more questions about Alex?""I will not.”

“Winslow wants you to learn this"- he waved a few sheets of stapled pages- "and that." He pointed to the book in my lap. Fifty French Conversations. It was one of our textbooks. I'd stopped at the seventeenth: Mon hamster a mange trop de fromage. Il a mal au ventre maintenant. "The rest is the Bainbridge Method.""You have a method?""Patented and proven."I waved the book. "Does it include greedy, cheese-guzzling hamsters with stomachaches?"He nodded. "Absolutely.French conversations is nothing without rodents and cheese.Is there something shameful in your past involving either?""Not that I can think of off the top of my head.""Tant pis.""And that means...?""Fuhgeddaboudit," he translated, grinning.I sighed. "Do people make Russian jokes in your presence?""How do you get five Russians to agree on anything?""How?" I asked."Shoot four of them."I thought for a sec. "I'm not sure that's funny.""No," Alex said. "People don't tell many Russian jokes in my presence.""I should start my three things, huh?""Yeah.That would be good."I did some speedy translating in my head. "Je n'ai jamais lu Huckleberry Finn, Beloved, ou Moby-Dick.""Ella,no one has read Moby-Dick. The French was passable, but as far as revelations go,that sucked.""Ah, but there's a part deux. All three of those books were required reading last year in my American lit class. I used SparkNotes.""You're kidding, right?""See?" I daintily brushed Dorito crumbs from my fingertips. "Changes your perception of me, doesn't it?""No,I mean, 'That's a revelation?' You can do better than that.""Maybe," I agreed, "but it's still early in the game.”