A New World Full of Strangers
Chapter 25: First Day of School (Ever)
After we drop the others off at the high school, Esme and I go over to the elementary school.
"Renesmee," she says. "How are you feeling?"
"Do you know how they talk in the books about having butterflies in your stomach?" I ask.
"Yes," she says. "Is that how you feel?"
I nod.
"Well, just think," she says. "You know one other person and she already considers you her friend. Would you like me come in with you to get you started?"
"Yes, Mom," I say quietly.
We have arrived at the school building. The parking lot is full of cars. Momma said that it would be like that. She said that the teachers would be there, but there wouldn't be a need for much more parking since the students couldn't drive. Esme pulls into a spot labeled "Visitor" and we get out. I take Esme's hand and we walk into the school together.
Things have changed a lot since I was last here. The bulletin boards along the wall are full of colorful pictures and words. There are signs everywhere welcoming the students back to school. We pass by a couple of classrooms where I can see more colorful things on the walls.
One classroom is full of very small tables and chairs and here is a large alphabet posted. There are pictures of animals up with words in French identifying "le chien" and "le chat." Looking at them, my mind trips over into French. Then down the hall, I can hear two teachers speaking in French about their plans for the first day of school.
"I can understand every word they are saying," I whisper to Esme.
"So can I," she whispers back. "See? It's really very easy."
We reach the main office and Celine leaps up from her seat and shouts, "Bonjour ma chere amie!"
"Bonjour, Celine," I respond. "Ca va?"
"Oui, ca va," she replies.
And we are speaking in French! She warned me that in the French immersion program the students were supposed to speak in French at all times. Some of the kids cheat, but because Celine often speaks French at home with her parents she never does. I was determined not to either, but now I can see that I didn't have to worry.
Daddy had told me that speaking foreign languages was really not as hard as you might think, well, for a vampire anyway. All you had to do was get your brain thinking in the language and it was easy. And since my brain had always naturally absorbed things with the speed of a vampire brain, it was easy for me.
"The trick," he explained. "Is not to let yourself fall into the trap of translating everything from French to English and back again. Translation is an imperfect science anyway. Unless you are fully aware of the cultural and linguistic contexts of words, it is easy to misinterpret them. French is a very idiomatic language, but trust me, English is worse."
Now that I am standing with Celine in the office, I forget why I was so scared. I am here with my friend and she is going to help me. And when I don't understand something, I will just become very quiet. I turn towards Esme and she gives me a big hug.
"You have a good day, honey," she says. "And I will be here at three o'clock to pick you up."
"Where will I meet you?" I ask.
She turns to Mrs. Miller.
"You will see a line of cars for the pick ups," she answers. "Just get in line. In the beginning you will have to show your identification, but once the paraprofessionals know you, they will just let Renesmee get in the car. Renesmee, you will go to the cafeteria and stand with the other pick up children."
"You are very careful with the children," Esme comments.
"We have never had a child kidnapped from any of our schools," she says. "But there is always a first time. When your husband filled out the paperwork, he only permission for you and him to pick her up. The biggest problem in this pick up situation is not what the Americans call 'stranger danger.' It is non-custodial parents or other relatives trying gain custody using, shall we say, unorthodox methods."
"I never realized that there were so many things to worry about when you send your children to school these days," she says. "There are so many things that we didn't have to worry about when we home schooled."
Esme reaches down and gives me a big hug.
"Bon chance!" she whispers in my ear. "Je t'aime, Cherie!"
"Au revoir, mama!" I reply, and cling to her for just an extra second.
"Come, Renesmee," says Celine. "Let's go meet our new teacher."
"Who is she?" I ask.
"Her name is Mlle. Charles," she replies. "And she is the nicest teacher in the seventh grade. We are very lucky that we didn't get Mme. Beauclair. She is very strict."
"Oh," I say as we walk down the long hallway.
There are so many twists and turns that I cannot understand how Celine knows where she is going. But I guess that if I took her into the woods in Forks that she probably couldn't understand how I found my way around either. We finally walk into a classroom with normal size chairs and tables. A pretty young woman is putting out papers on the table. When she hears us come in, she looks up and smiles.
"Why it is Celine Bouchard!" she says in French. "How are you, dear? And this must be your new buddy, Renesmee Cullen."
"How do you do?" I ask, extending my hand.
"Very well, thank you," she says, shaking it heartily.
Her large brown eyes are very merry. Her brown, coffee-colored skin and long black hair glow with health and vitality. She reminds me of Leah Clearwater back home, but I had never seen Leah smile so much. I can see that she already likes me.
"Well, Renesmee," she says. "Why don't we sit down and chat a little bit before the other children come?"
"Yes, Mlle. Charles," I say politely.
After we are seated, she smiles kindly and says, "So this is the first time that you are going to school? Up until now you have been home schooled?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," I reply. "When my family moved here my Mom and Dad wanted us to have the opportunity to put our French lessons to use."
"Yes," she says. "You have six brothers and sisters over at the high school?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," I say. "It is their first day too."
"Yes, I heard that," she says. "How do you like Whitehorse so far?"
"I like it very well, thank you," I say, keeping my answers brief and to the point.
"Do you have any questions right now for me?" she asks, seeing that I wasn't comfortable answering personal questions.
I think for a minute.
"No, I don't think that I do," I say. "Celine has told me a lot of things. But I am sure that once I get started I will have more questions."
"I'm sure that you will," she says thoughtfully. "Celine, you and Renesmee will be sitting together right over there. You will be seat buddies this year."
She is pointing to a pair of desks. It is then that I notice that all of the desks are paired up and lined up in three rows. There are name cards on each desk. Our two desks say "Celine" and "Renesmee." I notice a little accent mark on the second to last "e" in my name. Of course! French! As I look around the room, I can see that it is a cheerful place.
"Would you like to look around?" asks Mlle. Charles, who notices that I am distracted by everything.
"Yes, please," I reply. "I have never seen a classroom before except in books. Your classroom looks very . . . friendly."
"Thank you for saying so," she says, her eyes lighting up. "I want this to be a friendly place where children can enjoy learning. If a completely new student thinks that, then I must have succeeded."
I am glad that I could make her happy. Celine then takes me on a tour of the room. The walls are covered with things like maps and diagrams. There is a large apron-like thing that Celine says that you put cards in to create a word wall. In the back there are some big cushions on the floor in what Celine calls the reading corner. And there is a science corner with a large tank full of tropical fish.
By the time that we have made a full circuit of the room, the other kids have started to come in. I can see that they are looking at me with interest. Celine smiles and whispers in my ear.
"Time for me to do my job, come and meet our classmates," she says cheerfully.
We walk over to the three nearest girls and before I know it, all the girls in the room are surrounding me. Celine introduces them quickly and assures me that I don't have to remember all their names right away. But, who could forget that the blue-eyed girl with red braids is Emma? Or the dark-haired girl with green eyes is Becca? Each girl is a unique individual and each name suits each girl.
They are also all asking me questions at the same time. I realize that I could probably answer them faster than they are asked, but at the same time I know that humans can't do that. So I put a confused expression on my face and look at Celine.
"Hey, girls!" she says. "Renesmee can only answer one question at a time."
"Is it true that you are from Alaska?" asks Becca.
"Yes," I say. "We lived near Denali."
"Wow that's cool!" says another girl. "Did you always live in Alaska?"
"No," I say. "My brother Edward and I were born in Chicago. That's where our parents found us."
"That's where you were adopted," says a blonde girl named Julie. "Did you live anywhere else?"
"Tennessee," I reply, because that's where we adopted Alice and Emmett.
"Wow! You sure have traveled around," comments Emma. "Is that because your Dad is a doctor?"
"My Dad likes to go and work in places where people need him," I say.
"Well, my Dad says that we sure need him here," says Becca. "He says that no one at the hospital has ever met such a great doctor before."
"That's what everyone says about my Dad," I say proudly. "I think that he's the best doctor in the world."
The girls all smile at each other knowingly. Every little girl thinks that her Dad is the best in the world. It makes me wonder what they would think if they knew that my real Daddy was over at the high school pretending to be a freshman. And that he was really 120 years old. But before anyone can ask any more questions, Mlle. Charles tells us to find our seats.
As we go back up front to our seats, Celine whispers, "At lunch, everyone is going to want to sit with us. They all are going to be asking a lot more questions."
"Do they like me?" I ask nervously.
"They love you," she says. "You are a very nice girl and don't think that you're better than everyone here because you come from America. Sometimes that happens."
I don't get a chance to ask her what that meant because Mlle. Charles begins class and that demands our full attention. She becomes very animated as she begins speaking rapidly in French about the new school year
The morning is devoted to explanations of a lot of things that I have never heard of before. After a while, some of the other kids are getting restless and shuffling around while I listen avidly to such rules as bathroom passes and raising your hand if you want to speak. Then she begins talking about the classes that we are going to be taking and what we will be learning.
After hearing her talk about math and science, I realize that I know it all. But it is going to be interesting anyway. When I learned things at home, I read books and talked with Daddy, Carlisle and anyone else who wanted to teach me anything. But in this school we will be doing projects and building things. There is going to be a science fair, a math fair, and a big culture festival during the year. There will be plays to act in and concerts to sing in, all year long.
I understand now why everyone at home was so keen that I get to go to school. They all went to school when they were human. There is a whole lot more to school than just learning. A couple of times during the morning, I steal a look at Celine sitting next to. She always smiles back and once she even pats my hand.
As soon as we get passed the academic subjects and into the plays and projects, everyone gets more excited. Even though everything is new and interesting to me, some of the other stuff is old and boring to most of the others. During the "boring" parts, I could see some of the boys playing with cell phones under their desks. Finally, the bell rings for lunch. But before we can leave the room, Mlle. Charles has one more announcement.
"You all know that the school has a policy that cell phones must stay in your backpacks," she says. "If I even see one set of hands under the desks tapping on screens, I will collect all cell phones before class begins each day and you won't get them back until the end of the day."
There are groans throughout the room. As soon as we get into the lunchroom, the accusations begin to fly between the boys about which one if them was the "loser" who had given the game away. Celine pulls me over to the lunch line and rolls her eyes.
"She didn't have to see any of them to know what they were doing," she whispers. "There's at least one kid in every class who always has one out. Usually by the end of the first week, all the teachers are collecting them before class. I bet Mme. Beauclair collected them in her classroom the minute the kids walked in the door."
"Well, that won't be a problem for me," I say. "Because I don't have a cell phone."
"Neither do I," she admits. "Who would I call anyway? Except for you maybe. Most kids use them to text each other when they're bored at home, or to play games on. Sometimes they take pictures and text them to each other. Last year, a girl in my class took a picture everyday of her lunch and out it on Instagram. Who even cares?"
"My brothers and sisters have cell phones so that they can stay in touch with my Mom when they go out," I say remembering that cover story. "She worries if they disappear for too long."
"You don't go out?" she asks curiously.
"Only with one of them," I say. "I'm not allowed to go out without someone else. I think that they're afraid that someone will steal me."
"That's why I'm not allowed out alone either," she says.
We have reached the food choices. I look at them and wish that I had brought my lunch. I am hungry, but I know that most of what they are offering will make me sick. I don't want to have to leave school early with a stomachache. Then I gulp. I'm not supposed to go to the school nurse's office either.
"What's the matter, Renesmee?" asks Celine and then follows my eyes to the food.
"Oh," she says and looks perplexed.
"What do you want little girl?" asks the woman behind the counter in English. "You're holding up the line."
I look at Celine, who immediately speaks up for me.
"My friend is on a special diet," she says.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" sighs the woman. "What's your name?"
After I give my name, she hands me a special plate from back in the refrigerator behind her. When we get to our table, Becca, Julie, and Emma join us.
"Don't pay any attention to her," says Emma, comfortingly. "She's the meanest cafeteria lady here. Most of them are really nice, but not her."
"No one told me that I had to give my name if I had a special diet," I say.
"I didn't know," admits Celine, looking downcast. "But we can tell Mrs. Miller at the end of the day. I know a lot, but I don't know everything. I don't want to mess up again."
"You didn't mess up," I protest. "It wasn't your fault that you don't know. You're the best buddy that anyone could have!"
Celine's face brightens, and I hear Emma whisper to Becca, "Wow! Renesmee's nice. She didn't make a fuss at all."
"At least we know she's not a drama queen," Becca whispers back.
I make a mental note to ask Momma what a drama queen is when I get home.
Celine was right when she said that our table would be crowded. But because I am so reticent about my life before Whitehorse, the conversation quickly moves to other topics. The other girls are all eager to talk to me about the things there are in Whitehorse. And I discover that what Momma had said about humans is true.
They actually do like to talk more about themselves than anything else. And of course, since I have never met so many humans at one time, everything that they tell me is new and exciting. I think that they can tell that I am not pretending to be interested in their stories. They smile a lot at me.
After lunch we go out to the playground and sit on the grass and talk while the boys kicked a soccer ball around.
"Do you play any sports, Renesmee?" asks Julie when she notices that I am watching them.
"No," I shake my head. "But I want to take dance lessons."
"You should," says Becca. "You are very graceful. Madame would love the way that you stand so perfectly straight. But she will want to see your feet first."
"Why?" I ask.
"A ballerina needs to have a certain shaped foot," she explains. "You should stop by the studio and see her. Classes start next week."
"Do you dance?" I ask.
"I do," she says. "And Celine and Emma. If you can keep up, then I bet that you could be in our class."
"I can try," I say. "Do you dance, Julie?"
"Are you kidding?" she says, laughing. "I'm the biggest klutz in the world!"
I bite my tongue before I can say that when my Momma was human she was the biggest klutz in the world.
"You should try," Emma says. "We do The Nutcracker every Christmas. The twelves get to be in the party scene and dance the Chinese dance."
"That's great," I say, not knowing what they are talking about, but make another mental note to ask Daddy about it.
We hear the sound of the bell and get up to return to class. Celine slips her arm through mine on one side, and Becca takes up the other. Julie and Emma are right behind us. By the time we get to the line, we are giggling for no reason at all. As our class troops in from recess, we pass Mrs. Miller in the hallway. Without thinking, I give her a wave and a smile. Her face bursts into a big smile.
When we arrive back in the classroom, the children are much noisier than before. Mlle. Charles smiles and calls us to order. She tells us to take out our notebooks and write about what we did on our summer vacation. I think hard. What am I going to be able to write about that sounds normal?
"You're lucky," whispers Celine under her breath. "You get to write all about how you moved. I didn't do anything interesting."
I notice that the teacher is looking at us and give her a tentative smile. She puts her finger to her lips and frowns a little. I nod and then look down at my blank page, trying to think of how to make my move sound like a human move to a new country.
Author's Note: Because most of my readers are American, I will be writing all school dialogue in English rather than French. My apologies to those who would prefer greater authenticity, but having to write English translations of everything would get pretty cumbersome after a while.