Prologue: Isabella Moriarty, Age Fourteen
Hi. My name is Isabella Moriarty, age fourteen, and I just moved all the way from Paris, France to Washington DC. You see, my father, Lukas Moriarty the Fifth, is a very big French Diplomat, and he was offered a well-paying job at the United States Capital. Obviously, he chose the job and the two of us moved here. My Mom died when I was just a baby, and I don't have any brothers or sisters. Sometimes I think I'm lucky, but others I realize that I am all alone. I can speak English, but I prefer French for two reasons; 1) I can speak to my Father more vigorously, because he can hardly speak any English, and 2) No one else can understand what I'm saying.
The one good thing about moving to DC; Meena Paroom. Meena is the daughter of a Bahavian Diplomat, and the two of us met at a meeting of the League of Nations when we were nine. We visit each other every Summer in Nice, and are the best of friends. She lives in DC, and attends Washington Preparatory, where I will be going to school. Of course, I have not told her that I moved to DC, but I guess she'll find out on Monday. I wanted to surprise her.
"Isabella!" My Dad calls. "Heure pour le dîner!"
Translation: Isabella! Time for Dinner!
"COMING!" I yell, setting down my book and proceeding to walk down the stairs. "I'm not hungry." I say as I enter the formal dining room, which has a large oak table and many chairs. You see, the house my Dad bought is this HUGE mansion. Which, I think, is slightly odd considering the fact that there are only two of us. "Second thought, what are we having?"
"I ordered Chinese." Dad replies.
I gasp. "Did you order me shrimp fried rice?!" He smiles. "Oh, you did! Thank you Daddy!"
You see, shrimp fried rice is the best food on the planet. Nothing can beat it. Meena has tried to make me change my views before, but, it hasn't worked thus far. I love it!
Soon enough, we are settling down to eat, and I have a huge container of shrimp fried rice in front of me.
"Ainsi, êtes-vous attendre avec intérêt l'école?" Dad asks. Translation: So, are you looking forward to school?
"Yeah, I can't wait to see Meena again. I really miss her." I smile and dig into my food. Dad and I don't talk that much, but I usually only talk in French to him when we're arguing. Father can understand the English Language, he just can't speak it. Kind of odd, if you ask me. Sometimes I think that he doesn't even try to learn. He just enjoys being able to say the excuse "Sorry, don't speak English". Pathetic, I know.
"Bon. J'espère que vous continuez à maintenir ces catégories. I don't veulent certain garçon pour assurer votre vie." He takes a bite of his chicken. Translation: Good. I hope you continue to keep up your grades. I don't want some boy to take over your life.
I blush. "Dad!"
So much for loving fathers.