Hey! I'm sorry this took me so long but I've started some other things (like an original story, for once) and I haven't had much time for this. Or maybe I have and I'm just a procrastinator. Both equally likely.

Enjoy!


Now, don't get me wrong. It wasn't like our preteen selves kissed once and from there it was history. It left our minds as quickly as it had come, and we became more interested in playing cards or pretending to be spies than our undying love for each other. Because that didn't exist. Sure, we would probably say we had a friend-type love, but only if pressed. And even then that's all it was. Friends.

"I think we should sneak into the meeting," Francis suggested after a particularly dull game of poker, with bits of notebook paper as chips. "We'll have to learn all this anyway."

"I thought you were going to be an actor," I said. Francis wrinkled his nose.

"Of course I'll be," he responded. "But you might need to know it, and I'm bored out of my mind."

"The meeting won't be any more interesting," I said, sighing. "And sneaking around is for kids."

"Then let us be kids," Francis said, flashing his award-winning smile. I rolled my eyes, knowing he would get his way in the end.

And so that's what brought us to the door of the meeting hall, Francis whispering direction after direction as I pressed my eye to the crack between the double doors. The cool breeze that always seems to be present in barely-open doors kept making my eyes water. Francis' instructions and orders did not let up.

"Can you see them? What are they doing? Get closer. No, not that kind of closer. Make sure they can't see you. No, don't rub your eye. Go back. Get up higher, higher, not that high! Down. Not so far—Mon Dieu are you hopeless!"

I shot back, glaring at him. "Then you do it!"

He sighed loftily, crouching down with what I swear was a flounce and daintily looking through the crack. I scooted back to the other wall, watching as he flinched away. I could almost feel the cool air hitting his eye.

"Not so easy, huh?" I asked with a smirk. He held up his finger to quiet me and then looked through the crack again. This time he was far more cautious.

"It is…" he trailed off, concentrating. I watched him shift around, trying to get a better look, before I spoke.

"All you can see is the radiator, right? And the wall."

But he was unfettered. He pressed his ear to the crack, squinting one eye and listening. After a moment he sat back, digging his nails into the plush carpet.

"I say we knock," I offered.

Francis seemed to think for a second before shaking his head. "No need. It would be boring anyway."

He stood, brushing off the seat of his pants even though these carpets were clean. Then, beckoning to me, he turned and started down the hallway. I watched him for just a moment before standing myself. I went to the door, raising my fist. Then, trying to muster up a great deal of authority, I rapped my knuckles three times on the wood.

There was a moment before I heard a click and the door opened. Francis stopped in the hallway, looking back. A man I'd only seen vaguely before stood in the doorway. Then he turned back. "John, it's your son."

"Well, let 'im in!"

Francis watched me as I winked at him, and then I smiled at the man and thanked him for letting me into the meeting room. I may or may not have twiddled my fingers in a mocking wave. But really, there were only a few times I actually got the better of that French idiot. I wanted to savor the moment.

I stepped inside, a bit disappointed at how it was even more unspectacular than I'd expected. A carpeted room with bleak beige walls held one large table and maybe eight men all in suits. My father had taken off his jacket and you could see his round stomach through the shirt. Francis' father was also there, a man much taller than my father and like a brunet clone of his son. Maybe his nose was a little sharper.

"Come, sit," my father said, beckoning me over with his hand. Nobody really paid much attention to me as I sat where my father directed me. Then a man I'd seen before but didn't know stood, clearing his throat. My distraction was over.

They started speaking in French, and for some reason that was completely unexpected. I'd always known my father knew a lot of French, and that most of the meetings took place in France, but I suppose I'd never put two and two together. I only understood a word here and there, so I quickly became bored. I wondered what Francis was doing, and if he was having a better time than I was. Probably.

Then my father started speaking, and it was so strange to hear him babble on in a language I was only familiar with. It was the last interesting thing that happened before they conveniently decided to break for an hour. The room was stuffy and didn't even feel like there should be important dealings going on.

I stepped out with the others, after telling my father that yes, it was very interesting and yes, I understood enough. I didn't usually lie this much.

I found Francis just outside the door, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"I take it that was enthralling," he drawled.

"It was," I defended, but I could tell he didn't buy it. I didn't buy it either. "What did you do that was so much more interesting?"

"I went for a walk," he said haughtily. "Across town."

"You left?"

"You see? And nobody noticed. I don't even think the doorman noticed."

I searched as quickly as possible for some kind of witty retort. He always seemed to have one for me and I wanted to return the favor. "On screen you'll be absolutely irresistible, then, won't you? If they don't even notice you now."

Francis' eyes narrowed. "You know, if you start being nice to me I'll convince them to let you be an extra."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to take your role."

Francis opened his mouth as though about to shoot something right back but then stopped. He watched me for a second, and I realized that he probably didn't have anything to say. I smiled, shrugging.

"How about those cards?" I suggested. Francis sighed dramatically.

"You're impossible."

"You're just saying that because you'll lose."

"Oh, is it even possible for us to have an intelligent conversation?"

"Yep, you'll lose."


And somehow I got dragged outside as the meeting started back up. Francis convinced me that he had a reason for walking around, that it wouldn't be just an idle stroll. I was mostly worried about my father finding out and losing the little shred of respect he seemed to have for me.

"You worry too much," Francis said.

I guess I did. But that was entirely beside the point. Because soon we were walking down the street and I was unsure whether I actually wanted to be going wherever Francis was taking me or not. He said it was important, and he'd tell me when we got there. I took that to mean that he thought I wouldn't want to if I knew.

We turned some corners and after what seemed like no time at all we were "there." It was, to my complete surprise, a ballet studio. I could tell immediately, even without speaking French, from the sign with a pair of toe shoes on the side. I looked to Francis in confusion, and he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery.

"Here we are," he said, gesturing toward the doors. "There is a class going on right now."

"Why?" I asked, completely bewildered.

He sighed exasperatedly. "For your test. It is more than likely that all of the people inside are girls, and that they are our age."

I blinked before understanding. I gave him a look of incredulity, not even able to comprehend this new level of stupidity.

"So…so you honestly think that I could walk in there and just get some girl to kiss me?" I asked. He shrugged.

"You never know."

"I do know, and what I do know is that it won't work."

"Come on," Francis said, probably trying to be encouraging. "Have some fun once in a while."

"I'm not going in there," I said matter-of-factly. Francis arched one eyebrow, grabbing my wrist.

"You are."

"We're probably not even allowed inside," I reasoned. Francis pointed to some loopy script just below the main sign.

"Do you know what that says?"

I looked at it for a second, trying to figure out the words in my head. Maybe to show him that yes, I did know what the sign said. But I just couldn't. I nodded halfheartedly before changing and shaking my head quickly.

"It says 'Everyone is welcome,'" he told me, shaking my wrist a little. "That means us too."

"I don't think that's what it's referring to," I disagreed, but Francis wasn't listening. He pulled me forward, and as he pushed through the doors I became more than a little anxious.

I tried to get him to release my hand, but it was to no avail. The glass doors closed behind us with a whoosh, and we were inside a main parlor. It was quiet and seemed darker than outside. It was fairly small and a few women and a man were sitting in chairs. They all had magazines and books and didn't look up when we came in. My stomach was more than a bit unsettled. Not only were we out of the hotel but now we were just walking into some random ballet class. Judging from the kind of people in the outer room Francis had been right. It was for the younger set.

"We shouldn't be here," I whispered to him, hoping for some reason that the people reading wouldn't hear us. He shushed me, pointing to another glass door. Inside I could see a wood floor, a mirror on the far wall and the occasional arm of a dancer. We really didn't belong here.

"Come on," he said, leading me to the door. "During my walk I stopped here. The class will end in just a few minutes."

We really didn't belong here, and now I really wanted to go back. "And then what?" I whispered back frantically.

"Then I will do the talking and you will kiss a girl. Okay?"

"You've gone mad."

Francis didn't answer that. I could hear some music playing, and occasionally the thud of a bunch of feet hitting the floor at the same time. Suddenly I was pushed to the door. I blinked at Francis.

"You have to see which one you want," he said, gesturing to the people inside. There were a bunch of girls, and they all seemed to be either our age or a bit older. My mouth parted.

"You want me to pick one?" I hissed, staring at Francis in a combination of wonder and distaste.

"Of course. It will take less time that way."

"But I won't even know what she's like!"

"Look at how she is dancing."

"They're all dancing the same!"

Francis rolled his eyes. "Stop being difficult."

"But there are all those parents here."

"Then we will set up a date."

"I don't even speak French!"

"They all learn English in school. You'll be fine."

I shook my head, trying my best to refrain from strangling Francis on the spot. He seemed to take my silence as a victory and turned back to the girls, who had stopped dancing for the moment. They were all in leotards but no little frilly skirts; I'd never seen anybody doing any dance in real life so I had no clue what to expect. One was wearing skintight shorts.

"I like the one with the little tiny ponytail," Francis whispered by my ear. I let felt my face start to heat up.

"Shut up," I said.

"But the one with the nose that curves down…you see her? I bet she speaks English. And her eyes are captivating, are they not?"

"Shut up."

"I am only trying to help."

"Though I'm not sure with what."

There was a pause, and they started dancing again. This time they followed the instructor, a woman in her thirties or forties who had blonde hair in a braid.

"Have you picked one?"

"Dear God, you sound like you're shopping for a television."

"Now that one," he said, pointing. There was one girl who was sitting in a fold-out chair by the wall, pulling her hair out of the tight bun it had been tucked into. She looked to be a little older than us. "Flatscreen," he said, and I knew exactly what he was referring to.

I elbowed him in the gut. Hard.

"You abuse me," he moaned, holding his stomach.

"You irritate me."

"Just pick one."

"How about we leave?" It wasn't an offer. I turned, eyes set on the door. There was a tug on my collar and I nearly choked, stumbling back. I decided to make the most of it, backing up hard into Francis. He let go and I started for the door again. I just wanted to leave before the class ended. I felt like a voyeur.

"Come on," Francis said, the first thing we'd said above a whisper for a while. One of the women reading looked up.

"Sorry," I said to her, glaring at Francis. "We're just leaving."

Francis rolled his eyes, following me. "I don't know why you're so sensitive."

"I don't know why you're such an idiot."

We came out onto the street again, cars passing left and right. I let out a breath, relieved not to be inside anymore. Francis seemed entirely disappointed.

"But look, class is ending," he said, still watching the doors. "It's not too late."

"You know, if I do end up kissing a girl I think I'd rather like to get to know her first," I snapped. "Not just pick one and pretend it works."

We skirted around the other topic, the fact that we had, in fact, shared a kiss earlier. I didn't want to bring it up.

"That is why we can make a date. The meeting will be going the entire weekend. We have time."

"I mean more," I said, wanting to get off of the subject as quickly as possible. "I want to date someone before I kiss them."

Looking back on the argument it was so juvenile. The fact that we thought of kissing as the height of physical intimacy would seem ridiculous later, but at the time it was all we felt we could reference. But I held to my point.

We went back to the hotel and didn't talk about the ballet trip; my father's meeting had ended just before but he hadn't noticed our absence. For the rest of the weekend we pretended like that whole first day hadn't happened, and by the end it felt almost as though it'd been a dream that I'd woken up from and discovered was not true. I felt comfortable again.

And when I left with my father to go back on that train Francis had kissed me on the cheek, not the kind you would do in greeting but…but something else. And I'd flushed red and told him he was a pervert and he just laughed. Of course, this was when we were only twelve.

What did we know?


No actual ballet students were spied upon in the making of this chapter.

Review? And if you can point out any typos I'll give you some bacon.