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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 2 Usually, my best friend, Colby, joins me and we talk and eat while Betsy puts up her dukes and eavesdrops. But today I had company, so Colby left me alone. Today, my French teacher, Miss Larkin, took a seat opposite. §he opened up her lunch and made herself comfortable, gazing at me with big, dark eyes. Striking eyes. That's the word my mom uses. Miss Larkin didn't grow up around here. Mom says she wandered into town as a teenager with her black hair and her black eyes and the Stoddards took her in. After high school, she went off to a big college in California but she came back to teach, and I'm glad she did. Like me, she conjures up big ideas. Ideas that are too grand for a place like Willard County-like starting up a French class even though only twelve of us signed up. Every time I see Miss Larkin, I can't help wondering if a girl has to be bom with striking in her blood to end up looking like she does. I hope not. If there's a gene for turning out striking, I figure it flew out of our family tree right about the time I was bom. "Have you decided about Paris?" asked Miss Larkin. "The deadline for applying is only a week away." I bit into my sandwich. She seemed concerned. "You are going to apply, aren't you?" I didn't answer. "Is it the money?" she asked softly, quieting her voice so as not to draw attention. I nodded. "I don't have a sliver of hope of having that kind of money. Four thousand dollars! It might as well be a million." Miss Larkin studied her lunch. "Colby Jones told me you two were planning a vegetable stand this summer. I was hoping you might be able to earn the money." |
