Michael turns around, his expression betraying his surprise.

“Hey.”

We both spoke at the same time. My pulse quickens as a blur of pedestrians hurtles by. I can do this, I can persuade some guy to do something for me; I’ve done it before. I don’t get why I should feel so breathless about it. It’s only that, I didn’t remember him being that tall. He’s got a good ten centimetres on me. That alone should be forbidden.

Michael seems tense, looks over his shoulder, doesn’t meet my eyes. Perhaps he’s afraid of me. Why should he be? I’m about as dangerous as a feather duster. Come on, you’ve rehearsed, just say the line. But when I open my mouth, my gum inexplicably decides to take a plunge down my throat to choke me. I start coughing uncontrollably. Two bright green eyes come into my blurry field of vision.

“Are you all right?”

The gum’s gone, swallowed, destined to inflict God knows what damage to my internal organs. Michael’s staring at me like I might drop dead in the middle of the street, and he doesn’t have time for that.

“I was saying…” Forcing a smile, I straighten up. “Do you live nearby?”

He does a strange thing: his eyes slowly dart left and right, like he’s pondering whether to bullshit me or not. That’s right. As I stand right in front of him.

“Yes. Why? Do you?”

“I do. Near Place Monge.”

“So do I.”

“That’s great!” That came out a little too loud. Better tone it down or he’s going to think I’m a phoney. “We can walk together then.”

“Sure, whatever.” Michael pulls at the straps of his backpack, his lips pinched, and resumes his walk. I catch up with him in a few strides.

This is not going the way I wanted it to go. He’s clearly not warming up to me. Perhaps I could talk about the book? After all, that’s the one thing I know he likes.

“So, you know…” When I speak up, he slips me a curious glance. I have to pick up the pace just to keep to a level with him. “The book.”

He doesn’t say anything. All right, I will:

“I was thinking, since you know all about it…”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile. He slows down, then stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re aware that I don’t even know your name, right?”

“What?” I say, stunned. “You don’t?”

First of all, this demonstrates once and for all the conservative nature of our presence log, when teachers only use our surnames. Second, this means I’ve successfully evaded interrogations since the day we met, which is no small feat. Lastly, and I’m utterly bewildered about it, that means that however rude I was to Michael on his first day, he hasn’t told anybody. Or François would have been delighted to tell him how much of a dick he thinks I am. Nobody knows of my shame but him, Tony, Lucie, and myself.

A wave of relief washes over me; I immediately extend my hand. “I’m Louis. But everyone calls me Lou.”

Michael takes my hand and gives it a vigorous shake. The intensity of his gaze forces my eyes down to our feet. My Vans are disgusting compared to his boots. I keep my eyes low as we set off again.

“Why does everyone call you Lou?” Michael asks, avoiding with grace the rush of men and women streaming out of the Cardinal Lemoine station. I have to perform a ridiculous twirl to dodge a stout woman charging toward me.

“Tony says Louis reminds him of the Sun King, and he was a prat. Meanwhile, Lou Reed was a rockstar.” Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I wait for Michael to tell me how cool Tony is. He doesn’t. Instead, he furrows his brow.

“Can I call you Louis, then?”

I’m that close to telling him he can call me Lucie if he promises to write this stupid essay with me. But I nod soberly instead.

“And you can call me Michael.”

I cock my head. “I could call you Mike.”

“I prefer Michael.”

Have I vexed him again? I glance at him, alarmed. But his face is relaxed, turned up toward the inky sky. We tread down the busy streets in silence for a while. The window displays, still packed with Christmas decorations, glitter merrily as though the holidays are just around the corner. They are after all, but in the past. I wonder if Michael likes them. And I wonder… where will I be next year when they’re put up again?

Suddenly, Michael grabs my arm and brutally jerks me toward him. A cringeworthy squeal escapes my lips. When I whip around to ask him what his problem is, Michael, unperturbed, points at a dark shape on the ground. Confused at first, I finally see it: A dog poo the size of India, in which I almost buried my foot.

“You saved me…” I stare at him in awe.

“You should probably lose the sunglasses.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s dark, I don’t know how you can see anything at all.”

I don’t, I don’t see anything. These glasses are not meant to see, but to be seen with. But he’s right, so I remove them with fumbling fingers. My face instantly feels naked, vulnerable. Even more so when Michael looks right at it. My mind races as I’m flicking through different appropriate subjects to engage in small talk. What do I know about him? British. Toilet. Curls. Lots of it. Mum. He said he’s got one, right?

“So, ahem, you said you moved in with your mum, is that right?”

For the first time since I met him, a proper smile appears on his face, revealing a row of perfect teeth. So much for British stereotypes.

“Yes, she’s a theatre actress. She’s starring in that new play over at the Paris Theatre.”

“Theatre actress?”

He nods. I never thought one could actually live off that. That has to be more interesting than selling cleaning products. I start patting my jacket for my pack of cigarettes while searching for my next question. I offer one to Michael, but he shakes his head. As I light the cigarette, the next question comes quite naturally.

“Where do you normally live?”

“London.” He tilts his head. “Kensington, to be precise. Do you know it?”

“No, I’ve never been to London.” I’d like to tell him I’d love to go, but he’ll think I’m trying too hard. I have to tread carefully with him. “But I’d love to travel out of here one day. See the world, meet other people.”

Michael stays silent for a while. He thinks I’m an idiot, doesn’t he? I feel like an idiot. I was supposed to persuade him to do this essay, not bore him to death with details of my life.

“You know—”

“Anyway—”

Shit. We spoke at the same time again.

Michael holds out his hands. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“No, you go ahead.”

“No, no, I insist.”

“Anyway…” Why is this so difficult? My throat’s turning to cement for no reason. “London has a great rock scene, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Right!” He points his finger at me. “You’re in a band, aren’t you?”

Every time.

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, I thought you were.”

A part of me is elated he thought so. The whole attire does give people this impression. But before I can auto-congratulate myself too much, we have arrived at Place Monge.

“I’m going this way,” Michael says. “I’m on Pestalozzi.”

“Nice, I’m on Larrey.”

There’s a silence. Michael does this thing again: looking left, and right, then at me, like he’s trying to make a decision. Then he blurts out, “Why did you decide to talk to me?”

Huh, hello, what kind of question is that? What happened to the good old superficial small talk, heh? There are rules, Mister, rules to which we—

“So?” And he insists.

My throat is suddenly in need of much clearing. “I saw you and I walk in the same direction, so…”

“So what? You seemed to want nothing to do with me the other day.”

Right. He’s into dropping bombs, then. I should have known that much. He’s British, after all. Okay, fine, the truth then. “We don’t really have a choice now, do we? We have to work together, or Paquin will give us both a bad grade.” I realise now I’ve completely forgotten Tony’s plan to ask him to write the essay on his own and slap my name on it. There’s still time to ask, if he refuses me. I mean, to work with me.

Michael seems to think about it.

“Come on,” I insist. “It will be easy for you. You seem to know all about it. You had to read it at school in London, didn’t you?”

Michael’s eyebrows knit together. “I read it for pleasure. The first time, at least.”

“For pleasure, really?” I can’t help laughing, but I swear, I didn’t mean anything bad by it. He’s so very touchy.

“You should try reading it, really,” Michael says. “Not because some teacher you’ll never remember asked you to, but because you want to. Didn’t you say you wanted to see the world and meet other people? Reading a good book can do that for you.”

My shoulder lifts in a half-shrug. “Tony says rockstars don’t read books.”

It’s Michael’s turn to snort in derisive laughter. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I bet you the best ones do.”

And now it’s me who feels offended. Michael thinks he’s so much better than us, huh? Because he lives in Kensington, wherever that is, and reads books and has a mother who not only reads books but learns them by heart. And Tony and I, we’re just dumb freaks in leather jackets. My eyes narrow, and my jaw wires shut in boiling resentment.

Michael looks confused and eager to go. “I have to go, but I’ll see you around, then.”

“And the essay?”

He nods. “Don’t worry about the essay. I know we have to do it together.” With a little wave, he carries on down the street, and I take a left.

So, he knew we had to work together, and he knew he would have to do his part. Took his sweet time to get in touch with me about it, though. And by the way, I did all the work: I came to him, stalked him in the dark and made small talk, and all he did was nothing. It’s like he was waiting for me to come after him, you know. Weirdo.

Well, in any case, mission accomplished. We’ll do the essay together and he’ll use his big smarty brain and… and it will be a success. No biggie. Then why am I so emotional? So what if he hurt my pride a little? I did the same to him when I called him a nerd, and he seems to have gotten over it.

Perhaps he’s just a better guy than I am. That wouldn’t be too difficult. Or perhaps I want to prove him wrong. Perhaps I want to show him what I’ve got. If he thinks I can’t read, then he’s in for a surprise. I’ve read books before, I’m not a complete idiot.