Fiction Friday: Je t'adore

This Week’s Theme: Have your character give 13 reasons why they should learn a new language. Standing among the class of boys, Hudson could feel the colour rising in his cheeks. He wasn’t given over to moments of embarrassment, but his brazenness was dissolving in a puddle of his Mum’s hair product and Dad’s expensive aftershave. Both of which were pointless now. Looking down he could see the words he’d scrawled thoughtfully in his notebook last night. “We’re waiting Monsieur Hudson,” the elderly French teacher said. “You have your homework, non?” He looked up at her with dread in his eyes. This list of reasons for studying French was not for her, this old shrivelled hag of a woman. She reminded him of the dates in jar his Mum kept in the pantry – only this one had a meticulous gun-grey bun glued on top. The reasons on this list were for the babelicious, French hottie his older brother had told him about. The one he’d seen getting about school in the final week of the term with a pile of French books in her arms, her legs long, tanned and luscious beneath her short sundress. Her smile dazzled and her ample cleavage beckoned for him to stare into the depths of the creamy, glistening valley of skin. She was every teenage boy’s fantasy in the flesh. The French teacher bought him out of his reverie with an impatient, dry cough and he took a deep breath, wondering if she’s let him go to the bathroom, then he’d escape down to the Year Coordinators office and immediately change to a different class. “Miss,” he began. “You may call me Madam,” “Madam,” Hudson croaked. “I need to go to the loo.” “There are no toilet breaks in my class. You whiz in your time, not time. Now continue, and stop wasting the time of this class, non?” Hudson cleared his throat and tried to think of reasons other than the ones he’d written down. He was the class clown, he should be able to wing it, but his humour was shot threw by the piercing glare of the French teacher. He looked down, imploring Joe to help him out, but he shrugged his shoulders and closed his exercise book. “Number one. To talk to you……. in French.” An outbreak of laughter was promptly silenced by a smack of the metre long ruler on the row of tables at the front.”Silence!! There will be silence in my class boys.” “Number Two,” started Hudson in an even quieter voice, as the class reluctantly settled, “So I can ask you to add me as a friend on Facebook …. in French.” “Number Three. To ask if you will give me your mobile number … in French” He willed the ground to open up and swallow him, but nothing happened. “ … To tell you you’re hot … to ask you to a party Friday night … To ask you to kiss me …. To ask you to make out with me … to ask you to come home with me … to ask if you give head … to say your place or mine … to say you’ve got great tits … to ask if you’d go out with me. ” Until he got to the final reason, the thirteenth and choked out “To say I love you…” The other boys howled with laughter, as Hudson slipped down into his seat. The amusement continued at his expense. The French teacher slammed the ruler repeatedly and demanding for quiet. “Monsieur Hudson. Whilst this séduire of Mademoiselle Poisson may be considered appropriate to you, it is unwelcomed in my classroom! ….. See me at lunch time and we’ll see to a more appropriate list, non?” “Yes Miss,” he mumbled into the desk, thinking this was the karma his mother was forever talking about when they got letters home about his behaviour in class. “Miss Poisson teachers senior French you dick,” taunted a boy from behind and he didn’t turn around to see who it was. He was too busy formulating a fast-talking, escape plan from the clutches of Madam Date and the best way in which to make is brother pay.
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