Free Still a Work in Progress by Jo Knowles Page B

other people.”
    “Why would they do that?” I ask.
    “How should I know?” he says, suddenly sounding like his old self. “Molly told me they’re more like friends who want to date someone but haven’t found anyone else, so they stay together, even though they don’t really like each other as more than friends.”
    “That’s dumb.”
    “Well, we’re all dumb,” Sam says. “In one way or another.”
    “How are you dumb?”
    “I don’t know. I just am.” He smiles and leans his head toward me. “Molly thinks I’m a good kisser,” he whispers.
    I pull my head away. “I can’t believe you kissed her with that breath,” I say, waving my hand in front of my face.
    “What?” He breathes into the cup of his hand and blows, then sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”
    “You can’t smell your own breath, dummy.”
    “What does it smell like?”
    “Onions.”
    He nods. “Molly shared her salad with me.”
    “What is it with you two and smelly food?”
    He rifles through his bag and pulls out a tin. “Mints!”
    “Terrific,” I say. “You might want to share them with Molly.”
    “I will,” he says gleefully. “And then we’ll make out again.”
    “Good for you.” I’m tempted to storm down the hall like Ryan at this point, but I don’t. “Just don’t do it in front of me. And especially not Ryan.”
    “Fine. Hey, do you really like Sadie? Or have you given up? Seriously.”
    “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe both.”
    “Well, decide,” he says. “Because Molly and I need someone to double-date with, and I can’t stand Tate.”
    “That’s generous.”
    “You know what I mean. C’mon. Ask her out.”
    “I don’t think so,” I say.
    He shakes his head. “Sheesh. I never thought I’d be the one with a girlfriend and you and Ryan would be the ones left alone.”
    “Whatever,” I say.
    I’m starting to get why Ryan has been so moody.
    In French, Madame Estelle makes us repeat after her,
“Elle est petite. Il est petit. Nous sommes petits.”
Ryan ignores us by pretending to pay attention and be a good student. He says the phrases extra loud, with a French-accent flair. Madame Estelle beams at him. It’s so annoying.
    I say the words quietly because I hate my accent. Sam bellows out the words in an exaggerated way, which makes him sound more like a loud Texan than a Parisian.
    “Bon! Bon!”
Madame Estelle keeps saying, though, like she doesn’t mind.
“Qui peut me donner un exemple de quelque chose de petit?”
Madame asks.
    An example of something small? Hm. I don’t know. This is when Ryan’s
Who’s to say?
trick could possibly come in handy.
    Lily pipes up.
“Curly est petite!”
    “Oui! Quoi d’autre?”
    “Noah’s tête est petite,”
Ryan says.
    “What?” I say.
    “Monsieur Ryan,”
Madame says,
“qu’est-ce que vous avez dit?”
    “Uhhhh,” Ryan stammers.
“La tête de Noah est petite?”
    He points to my head, and everyone looks at me.
    “It is!” Sam says, and starts laughing. The class joins in, including Sadie.
    “En français!”
Madame demands.
    I give Ryan a dirty look, but he just grins.
    I would like to say Ryan is a small emu, but I don’t know the words
en français.
Why can’t every class be as easy as art?

After school, we sit on the steps and wait for our rides. Tate and Sadie come out and disappear behind the storage unit, where the school keeps the outdoor gym equipment. Miranda and Belle follow, then Molly and Sam. Before Sam goes behind the building, he looks back at us and waves.
    “What do you think they do back there?” I ask Ryan.
    “What do you
think
?” he answers sarcastically.
    I picture them all making out. “That’s not very romantic,” I say.
    “Well, where else are they gonna go?” he asks.
    “Good point.”
    We both sigh at the same time and watch the shed.
    “Has anyone seen Curly?” the Tank calls from behind us. “I can’t find her. I hope she didn’t get out. No one let her out, right?”
    If