THREE

"So, Esther, that's an interesting name for a young lady," said to me from the other end of the table.

"David," hit his arm good naturedly.

Laughing a bit I waved it off. "It's alright," I told her. "I get that a lot. It's a family name."

"What origin?" Jackson's father asked.

"French," I told him. "My dad's side."

The adults looked rather impressed. That happens a lot. It's wired and awkward and I don't really like it but you learn to deal.

"So what's your education been like?" broke in.

"Uh, well, elementary school I was home schooled. Once my parents discovered my, um, talent for the arts, they sent me to a private school in Paris," I told him.

"Hm," said. "And what school was that?"

"The European Academy of the Arts," I said.

"How does the system there work?" asked his wife.

Everyone at the table was staring at me. It started off as your basic meal and now it was time for the third degree. Frikin yay.

"Well, you send in an application and you get to study there from grade six to grade twelve. In grades six and seven you take courses in all the arts programs the school can offer. Then in grade eight, you pick the three things you'll specialize in for the next five years."

"What were your specializations?" asked.

"Dance, music, and art," I told him.

"How exactly did you manage normal school with all this extra work?" asked.

"Well, in the mornings I did three hours of normal school work-"

"Wait, what?" Stiles exclaimed. "You only went to school for three hours a day?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And after that, I did intensive arts training for another four."

Scott and Stiles looked a little less put-out, but not much. It was actually very funny.

"So, were there any sports involved?" asked. "I know this is and arts school, but still."

Aunt Mel and I looked at each other with matching smirks. "You boys are gonna love this," she laughed.

Scott, Stiles, and Jackson had varying looks of confusion written across their faces.

"I was privately trained by a coach from the states during summer holidays," I told them. "He was a lacrosse coach, so I was given a lot of the training form American high school lacrosse teams. Some of the best actually."

"You're kidding me right?" Jackson asked.

"Nope," I said. "Just a ton of surprises."

He gave a small smile before looking down at his meal.

"Alright, let me get this straight," Stiles announced. "You are a French girl, living in California, who has been trained in music, art, and dance for most of her life. Also, you have been trained in lacrosse."

"Almost perfect buddy," Scott grinned, slapping him on the shoulder.

"What the hell could I have possibly missed?" Stiles asked, looking half exasperated and half terrified.

"The multitude of other languages that she speaks," Scott told him.

"And what would those be?" asked.

"Well, besides English and French, I speak Spanish, Japanese, German, and Italian fluently. I also speak a little bit of Portuguese and Dutch," I told him, grinning.

Everyone was staring at me with mixed looks of surprise, praise, and shock. Finally I was making a dent. Either that or just a good impression. Whatever works, I suppose. After that, the rest of dinner was filled with idle chit chat and talk about the parents work. I discovered that was the sheriff, work with Aunt Mel at the hospital and her husband was a very well-known attorney. Then the topic of school came up.

"Esther, I assume you will be going into your sophomore year?" asked.

"Oh, um, yeah, I will be," I muttered.

"What courses will you be taking?" asked.

"I believe I'll be taking English, History, Math, Art, AP French, AP Biology, English Literature, and I will also be working in the library during one block to give your librarian a spare block," I spilled.

"Wait, why no P.E?" Stiles asked. "It's mandatory until after this year."

My smile faltered. I was so not ready to come clean about what had happened to me, especially not in front of all these strangers. And Jackson.

"Oh, I finished all the physical education requirements while I was in France," I lied smoothly.

I looked over at Scott and Aunt Melissa. They seemed relieved that I had come up with a believable lie.

"You lucky little-"Stiles started, before his dad kicked him under the table.

I looked down and blew a hair out of my face, desperate for this dinner to end.