“You are an enigma wrapped in a mystery," he teased me once. "And you're failing French.”

“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.”

“There's a rumor Barsky's Chemistry Club is cultivating some fierce bacteria in the lab," Frankie informed me a few minutes later, after I'd related Mademoiselle Winslow's ultimation, and my soon-to-be tutoring sessions with Alex. "I bet we could break in and get you a good dose of something. Put the kibosh on the tutoring. Could be a little pinkeye, could be leprosy..." He took a cheerful bite of his taco, which flaked everywhere. "Frankie!" Sadie scolded. "That's awful." She'd already finished her apple and Belgian endive. To me, "If it's this or fail French, well, you don't know; Alex might be just what you need.""Oh,yeah,he's a prince," Frankie muttered. "Abso-friggin-lutely guaranteed to man up and do the right thing."With that,he reached over and stole my french fries. He'd already eaten the baggie of almonds Sadie had decided had too much fat. Apparently, she and I were both obsessing with our appearance. She was having a hate-hate day with her upper arms. I was wondering if I was about to be at the tutorial mercy of the guy who'd looked right through me, or the guy who looked at me like I'd never been scarred at all.”

“Back inside, his fire was crackling away. "okay." he actually rubbed his hands together. "Action." In two minutes, he'd pulled cushions and a couple throws from the two sofas and made a sort of nest in front of the fire. Then he grabbed his backpack. "Refreshments."I half expected to see a bottle of wine or someting similar. Instead, he pulled out a thermos.Followed by a bag of marshmellows, a box of graham crackers, and, absolutely, enough Hershey's chocolate bars to feed a small army."S'mores!" I said happily."And cocoa.Sit." He waited until I was in the middle of the nest, then disappeared through a doorway. I heard a few squeaks and rattles. When he came back,he was carrying a tray, loaded with mugs,napkins, and real, three-pointed skewers."You're kidding," I teased when he handed me one. "You actually own s'mores implements.""Roast,then laugh.”

“He jingled his keys in his hand as he walked. "Y'know, I've looked for you around the floors.You haven't been drawing our door."Of course, there wasn't an our anything. Unless,of course, he meant our as in "we the people of means who visit France regularly enough to be in French 5." "I figured I should give up," I said shortly."Why?"Because you looked right through me. Because I might be pitiful, but I'm not stupid. Because I promised the one boy who never disappoints me. "There was no way it was going to turn out the way I wanted it to.""Too bad.""Yeah.”

“Oh,for God's sake," I scolded myself, channeling Frankie. "It's just a French session.It's just a French session with a cute guy.It's just a French session with a cute guy who no longer has a girlfriend, who drunk e-mailed me about my name, and who makes me feel like I've swallowed a caterpillar." I thought maybe I should sit down.The green hood of Alex's car nosed into view at 5:09. I flung myself out of the room, down the stairs, and then had to lean against the sofa for a second to compose myself. Then I stood right behind the door, counting a slow ten after he knocked before opening it. Wouldn't want to look eager, now, would I?"Hi," he said."Hi." What else could I say?It had turned seriously cold over the break. He was wearing a big black peacoat with Russian symbols on the buttons. I tried to remember if I'd ever known the Russian word for "hi." I didn't think so. He waited patiently for a minute, then asked, "Okay if I come in?"I flushed and stepped back.”

“When Sebastian, cearly delighted to be treated like one of the guys, didn't move, Alex bared his teeth. "Depeche-toi!"Sebastian depeched. Alex turned back, all Cheshire cat smile."No," I said."No what?""No,you are not going to teach me all the cool words so I can go to Chamonix and be conversational.""Good." He leaned in so I could see the faint dusting of freckles on his nose and smell spearmint gum. "Chamonix is so 1990s. Everyone who is anyone goes to Courchevel these days."I turned on my heel and started to walk off."Jeez. Ella." He loped after me. "What if your problem? Conversational, my ass. Talking to you is like dancing around a fire in paper shoes."I stopped. "What is that supposed to mean?""It's an expression my Ukranian babushka likes. I'll explain it at our first turtoring session."I scowled at his shirt. This one had what looked like a guy riding a dolphin instead of the ubiquitos alligator or polo player. "There isn't going to be a tutoring session.""Winslow seems to think otherwise.""Wouldn't be the first thing she's wrong about," I muttered.He gave an impressive sigh. The dolphin lurched, but the little guy on it held tight. "You don't want to fail French, do you? That would be a serious admission of weakness from an Italian girl."I almost smiled. Instead, I announced. "Fuhgeddaboudit. I'll buy a 'Teach Your Poodle French in Ten Easy Lessons' online. Problem solved, and Winslow will never be the wiser.""Yeah. Good luck with that. So how's this Friday? I don't have practice." When I shook my head, he demanded, " What is it? I'm a good tutor. Ask Sebastian. I was just teaching him how to tell the obnoxious French dudes on the slopes that they suck.”