October 1940

The clock ticked, each pulse as if taking eternity to reach the next second mark. Christiane sat in her Russian class, her first class every morning, second guessing why she had chosen to take the class when she could already speak some of the language. Her grandmother, Anya Ivanovich-Bougourd, Anya's namesake, on her father's side was Russian, making sure during Christiane's childhood years that she spoke only Russian with her.

She was listening in on the class, but her interests were elsewhere to her other classes. It had been only a month since she had started her classes, and when she and Anya arrived in New York. The thought of her sister made her miss her, since the time Peggy and Anya had left to the SSR base, she hadn't gotten any message of them.

Deep down, she knew Peggy was looking out for Anya, as Anya was looking out for her. Smiling to herself, she remembered the summers the Carter and Bougourd families would meet in the countryside at their father's childhood home in Champagne. They knew each other from the Great War, where Peggy's father, Harrison Carter, fought alongside Gerard Bougourd.

The Bougourd family on her father's side were wine-makers, specifically champagne. They were well-off thanks to the fortune they received from their great-grandfather and grandfather's selling's to the then Second French Empire.
The year after Christiane was born, her father passed away, leaving her mother to run the business with the remainder of the family. Anya knew Peggy and her brothers better, but always brought Christiane along with them on their adventures on the family property running down the rows of vines, climbing trees, and swimming in the nearby lake.
The three girls were inseparable, and when the summer was over, they would continue to write letters to each other.

"Mademoiselle Bougourd!", the teacher called to her from the front. "Caught in your daydreams I see?"

"Non, monsieur.", she sat up straighter, trying to show she would be paying attention.

"Good," He pointed to a word written on the chalkboard, "Please read this word out loud and form a sentence."

"Сложно (Complicated), The New York subway system is much more complicated than that of Paris' metro.", she replied easily.

"Very good.", averting his eyes to the other students.

Later that day, she had passed through Mathematics, Sciences and French Literature & History classes. Her final class of the day was thankfully Arts. She felt lucky that the school had this class, she was able to do something that she loved at least. Before the invasion of France, she played the piano, and spent time drawing out landscapes in Paris and the countryside. During the winters when the family moved to their mother's home in the Alps, she would spend hours sketching the snow on the pine trees beside her mother who was a talented artist.

By the time the invasion came, the piano was silenced, the paper and pencils conserved, and she took her time instead to fix bicycles and cars in the neighborhood while delivering bread for the bakeries. She was the messenger of the district, taking any pieces of information passed from one house to the other, with any messages to the Resistance to her sister.

Remembering the thought, Christiane gripped her bag tighter before heading to her table. She was stuck with the same bunch of boys, her being the only girl in her class.

"Ah! Mademoiselle Bougourd!", her professor approached, handing back her sketchbook from last week's marking, "Well done. The way you capture the shadowing of your landscapes are wonderful."

"Merci, monsieur.", she smiled before turning to face the boys sitting on both her sides.
"Quoi? (What?)" she asked, her face stern.

"You just had to be every teacher's favorite, don't you?", said Charles on her left.
"Just because you're a girl, don't think we'll go easy on you.", glowered Robert.

Christiane relaxed in her chair, crossing her arms with her eyebrows raised, "And what makes you think as a boy you're better than me?"

"We just are.", Robert smirked arrogantly at her.
"We know you live in Brooklyn. We've seen you get on the subway to go there. Your mama and papa can't afford for you to stay in Manhattan like the rest of us?" Charles smirking along with his friend.

Her fists balled up tightly, anger getting to her, before she let her fists release, controlling her emotions. She looked to the boys coolly, thinking to herself that if it had been back in Paris in her neighborhood, she would have chased those boys home to their mothers. From Monday till Friday ever since the first day of classes, Charles and Robert had been talking behind her back and rudely confronting her non-stop.

"Where are you from?", she asked coolly, but sternly.

They both replied, "Paris".

"Me too. When did you get out of Paris?"

"In April", replied Charles. "In April also", replied Robert. They looked more softly at her now, without the harshness of a guard they usually had up. Their eyes were still averted to the table.

Charles finally looked up at her, "When did you get out?"

"In August. You were lucky you got out before they came."

"How did you get out?", Robert asked, worry in his face.

"A family friend got my sister and I out, it was very risky."

Robert nodded, "What about your parents? Where are they?"

Christiane stilled for a moment, before quietly saying, "Ils sont morts (they are dead)."

Charles shook his head, his face twisting into disgust before he leaned in, "I'm so sorry, Christiane. I should have never said those things. Please forgive me," he looked to his friend, his face as white as a ghost now, "Please forgive us."

She nodded, "I do forgive you. And my parent's passing was a long time ago, it's alright. But why did you have to be so cruel to me these past weeks?"

Robert almost whispered, finally looking back at Christiane, "We were scared. Half of the class has almost no clue what is happening in Europe, while the rest of us…"
Charles continued, "We had to have our guards up. We didn't know what would be coming in a new place, new people."

"It's understandable. But promise me you won't do something like this again? We need to stick together.", Christiane replied. She put her hand out to Robert, "A new start?"
He took her hand to shake it, smiling, doing the same to Charles.

By the time classes were over, Christiane felt completely drained of energy and could not wait to get back home to at least see Steve and Bucky who came regularly over for dinner. It was a win-win situation, Steve and Bucky were a fire-hazard in the kitchen, while Christiane put cooking as her de-stressing vent for each day.

She got off at subway from Dekalb Station, amidst the flow of people during rush hour. It was starting to get dark already as the sky was tinged with orange and purple, scattered through the clouds, she gazed taking a moment, squinting a little.
A voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts, "You know if you're going to squint a little harder, maybe the sky will come closer to you."
Her gaze fell upon a tall man, standing against the lamp-post outside the station. His arms crossed, with a jacket draped over one. His hair slightly messy and curled at its tips, his blue-gray eyes bright.

"Bucky," she smiled going up to him. The weight of the day suddenly lifting as she saw him, "You're here, again."