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Chapter 3: Mother

"Nathan, make sure you check the shoes." My boss Megan calls from the back. "After you do that, you can go."

I glance at the clock. It's already 10:45 and we closed over an hour ago. I've done everything else, so I stroll over to the shoe department.

I look spot a tag on the floor and I pluck it off the tile, looking at it.

Dicks Sporting Goods.

I toss it in the trash and start organizing the shoes.

Megan walks over to me.

"So?" She questions.

I glance up at her.

She's around twenty eight and she's slightly a friend, but only a work friend.

Mason and Brenda tried to get me to ask her out a few months ago but I refused, firstly because she's my boss but mostly because she's not my type.

She has bright red hair and green eyes. I prefer girls with darker features.

Plus, I'd never date a girl that's older than me. She's like, twenty eight, and I'm only twenty three.

"So what?" I ask, putting a box of Nikes back in their spot.

"So do you have a girlfriend?"

I look at her.

Why does she want to know if I've got a girlfriend?

I swallow nervously.

"Nope." I say.

"Seriously?" She asks.

"Yes." I say, sitting on the bench people sit on to put on their shoes. "Why?"

"Nathan, you are twenty three and you haven't kissed a girl since elementary school." She says.

I shrug, putting the last pair of shoes up.

"I like being single." I lie. "Can I go home now? My bed is waiting for me."

"By all means." She sighs. "And I know you don't like being single. Nobody does."

_____

The moment I emerged from my room Monday morning, Brenda started in on me.

"You know Nathan, you're not an ugly guy. In fact, you're pretty handsome. I think your issue is your attitude."

"I don't have an attitude." I snap.

"What do you call what you just did?" She responds. I glare at her.

"I call it you pissing me off." I reply. "I'll drive myself to school, I don't want to look at you today."

"I'm going to get you a date!" She calls as the front door slams behind me.

"Yeah, sure you are." I grumble, walking down the stairs. It's snowing. I shiver, walking to my car.

This is going to be a long day.

_____

I stopped by Dunkin Donuts and got a large hot hazelnut latte and a breakfast sandwich.

I ate my sandwich in the car in the school parking lot.

I have that stupid French class three times a week. This is the first time since Friday.

I'm dragging, pissed I have to go. I crumple up my wrapper and drink a sip of my coffee.

It's 7:49AM, so I get out.

I have three classes today, three classes Wednesday, and one class Friday. I have five classes all together.

I trudge through the snow to the BKER building, going inside. I stop the snow off on the tile floor, watching as the snow melts into a puddle.

That's what they get for not shoveling the pathway.

I go up the stairs to room 215 and open the door.

It's 7:54AM now. I shove my numb hands in my pockets.

That French chick is already here, scrolling through her phone.

I swallow nervously. She's wearing a white long sleeve shirt today and the front top has laces through it, going down enough to show cleavage. Her breasts aren't that big, but they fit her body perfectly. Her short wavy brown hair makes her facial features look sharp. She has on black skinny jeans, and her left leg is up, pressed against the desk, her right leg resting on the floor. She has white vans on, that look like they're fresh from the box. Her leather jacket rests on her desk, the gloves on top of them. Her stack of paper she had the other day is now opened, but she still has the plastic around it. There's a gray pen resting on the stack of papers. Her left arm rests against the leg against the desk, her eyes flitting over her phone screen. Her lips are full and pink, her brown eyes make my heart speed up, and her nose is adorable, reminding me of one a child would have.

Her features are angelic.

"Nate!" Mason hisses. I rip my eyes from her face, looking at him.

"What?" I ask, frustrated he pulled my attention from her.

I forgot her name again, all I remember is she gave me a bruise from her elbow into my ribs, she is related to the people that came up with the guillotine, and she broke Mason's pen with a flick of her wrist.

"Sit down, you idiot!" He says.

I sit down, looking at him.

"What?" I sigh.

"You were staring at her." He says.

"I was not." I scoff.

"Yes you were."

I run my fingers against my palms.

They're sweaty. Huffing, I wipe them on my jeans.

"I was not." I repeat.

"Whatever you say." He snickers. "I told you that you like her."

"I don't like her, would you shut the fuck up? You sound like Brenda."

I pull my phone from my pocket and open Snapchat, pleased when it loads within a second, I click quickly through my snaps before taking a picture of my boot. I title it 'gms' for 'good morning streaks' and then I send it to everyone I have a streak with.

Suddenly, the emergency tone starts to go off, and more than half the class jumps, including Professor Gaillard. I flip the switch to my phone quickly, clearing the notification.

"Fucking amber alert." I mutter, shoving my phone in my pocket as Professor Gaillard stands up.

The clock hits eight, and Professor Gaillard clears her throat loudly.

"Bonjour les élèves!" she says. Everyone mutters back in response. "Today we're going to have an activity." She says. "See, here is Jenga." She gestures to the stack of tiny logs. "In this game, you pull out a block and there will be a question on it. You ask the question and the person you ask has to reply. If you pull out a block and the whole tower falls, you lose, and then you have to rebuild it and restart. Let's see how many of you there are." She counts heads. "It's multiples of three, so get in groups of three. No more, no less."

I don't even have to look at Mason to tell him he's my partner. We've been friends for years. He knows.

Everyone immediately gets up to partner with people.

I look at Mason. He shrugs.

We need a third person.

After everyone stops shuffling, I look at Professor Gaillard.

"Who doesn't have a partner?"

I hear movement behind me. I glance over my shoulder. The french chick has her hand raised. She hasn't moved her position, and she didn't even look up from her phone.

"Who doesn't have a third person?" Professor Gaillard asks. I gulp, and Mason elbows me. I raise my hand.

"Odeletta, you can work with these two boys. What are your names?"

"Mason and Nathan." Mason speaks up.

"Excellent. Now, before we begin, we're going to go around the room and I want each of you to say five things."

She opens an expo marker and starts writing on the board.

"Numéro un." She stays. She writes a one on the board. Next to the one, she puts, 'Votre nom' and then puts 'your name' in parenthesis next to it. Next, she says, "Numéro deux." She says, writing a two on the board. Next to that, she writes, 'Votre lieu préféré' and then puts 'Your favorite place' in parenthesis next to is. "Numéro trois." And puts a three on the board. She writes, 'Ton loisir' and then puts 'your hobby' in parenthesis next to it. Then she says, "Numéro quatre." She puts a four on the board and writes, 'Où travaillez vous?' and puts 'where do you work?' In parenthesis. She says, "Numéro cinq." She's writes a five, and then writes 'Quel âge avez-vous' and then writes 'how old are you' in parenthesis.

She turns to the class and starts going around the room.

Everyone starts saying their names and things like that, and then she reaches Mason. He stands up.

"My name is Mason Oleson, my favorite place is..." he hesitates. "This classroom." I scowl.

He's so full of shit.

"My hobby is hanging out with my girlfriend, I work at AutoZone, and I'm twenty three."

He sits back down.

His hobby is having sex with his girlfriend.

I snicker at him, and then I realize everyone is staring at me expectantly.

Oh, it's my turn.

I stand up.

"My name is Nathan Reed, my favorite place is my bed, my hobby is Netflix, I work at Dicks Sporting Goods, and I'm twenty three."

I sit back down.

"You're pathetic." Mason says. I shrug my shoulders.

I'm lazy as shit but I at least stay in shape because Mason makes me work out with him four times a week.

It's ironic that a person that's lazy like me works at a sporting store.

I hear the chair behind me scraping and I whip around, everyone doing the same.

"My name is Odeletta Guillotin, my favorite place is my kitchen, my hobby is sleeping, I'm a paid intern at an accounting office, and I'm twenty two."

She sits down loudly.

I'm completely frozen. That's the first time I've heard her speak English, and her French accept is so thick. My heart is pounding and my hands are sweating.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Mason nudges me.

"She's your future wife." He wiggles his eyebrows.

I scowl.

"Shut the fuck up, not she's not." I hiss.

"Okay class, send one person from your group to come pick up your stack." She gestures to the stack of blocks.

Mason immediately looks at me.

"No." I say. "No, last time you made me go, I got elbowed in the ribs by french fry." I jut my thumb behind me

He sniggers and stands up.

"I'll do it." He claps me loudly on the back. I hear the sound of a chair on the floor, and then Odeletta appears in front of me. She sits I the middle, between Mason and I, but on the other side so we can see her face.

She doesn't even look up at me, wave, or anything, she just puts her knee against the table and goes back on her phone.

I notice that she has a necklace around her neck, but it goes under her shirt.

I study the way the chain rests on her neck, how delicately it bends over her collarbone, and runs down her chest, vanishing into her shirt.

I want to know what's on the necklace.

She clears her throat loudly and I snap my eyes up to her face.

"What?" I snap. Her eyes narrow into slits and she glowers at me, and then she mutters something. "What was that?" I ask.

"You're deviant." She mutters.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you want me to scream it?" She asks loudly. Mason sets the tower on the table, glancing at me.

Her eyes are locked on mine, ogling me. I swear it feels like she's shouting needles into mine. She doesn't even blink, and I find myself getting uncomfortable.

Cringing, I look away.

She mutters something in French.

What the hell does deviant mean? Is that French?

I fish my phone from my pocket and click on safari, opening google, I type in 'deviant'.

'Departing from usual or accepted standards, especially in social or sexual behavior'.

I frown. What the hell does that even mean?

I search 'another word for deviant' and wait. After a moment, it loads.

'Aberrant, abnormal, atypical, anomalous, irregular, nonstandard'

She said I have abnormal behaviors, and the thing said that it's social or sexual behavior.

It clicks.

"I was not staring at your chest." I say brusquely. Her eyes lock on mine.

"What was that?" She sneers.

She's a real bitch.

"Do you want me to scream it?" I mock loudly. Her eyes darken.

"Actually yes, I do." She says. "You won't do it, pussy."

What the fuck!

I stand up.

"I said," I begin, and then I yell, "I was not staring at your chest!"

The entire room falls silent, every single head turning in our direction. I stare down at Frenchie, and I swear, I could hear somebody run their fingers through their hair.

Frenchie snorts loudly and then throws her head back, roaring in laughter. Everyone starts talking quietly, and then talking normally, and she's laughing so hard, both her feet on the floor now, clutching her stomach in pain with her left hand while she grips her phone, her right hand wiping her eyes.

After nearly three minutes, she takes a deep breath in an attempt to recollect herself, and then she looks at me and starts laughing again.

"At least I had the guts to do it." I say, pissed off. "You're a real brat, you know that, right?"

She stops laughing immediately, her face hardening.

"Fuck you, Natalie." She says.

"My name is Nathan." I seethe.

"Natalie suits you." She sneers. "Don't call me a brat. Didn't your mother teach you anything about how to treat a lady?"

"My mother taught me a lot, I know how to treat you a lady, luckily though, you aren't a lady." I shrug. "Didn't your mother teach you anything? Apparently not. I bet you don't even speak to your mother."

To my complete shock, she stands up and slaps me across the face.

"Vous ne parlez jamais de ma mère à nouveau!" She yells at me. She grabs her bag and goes storming out of the classroom, making sure to bump into the table Mason and I are sitting at. Our block tower goes toppling over.

I stare at her in shock, the door slamming closed. The entire room is dead silent now.

What the fuck just happened?

_____