Chapter 2

Two of his books have been made into movies and three more are in production, which is where his real money comes from. Hol ywood. And, somehow, this extra cash and pseudo-prestige have warped his brain into thinking that I should live in France. For a year. Alone. I don’t understand why he couldn’t send me to Australia or Ireland or anywhere else where English is the native language. The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spel ed o-u-i and not w-e-e.

At least the people in my new school speak English. It was founded for pretentious Americans who don’t like the company of their own children. I mean, real y. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It’s so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn’t have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.

Instead, I’m stuck with ninety-nine other students. There are twenty-five people in my entire senior class, as opposed to the six hundred I had back in Atlanta. And I’m studying the same things I studied at Clairemont High except now I’m registered in beginning French.

Oh, yeah. Beginning French. No doubt with the freshmen. I total y rock.

Mom says I need to lose the bitter factor, pronto, but she’s not the one leaving behind her fabulous best friend, Bridgette. Or her fabulous job at the Royal Midtown 14 multiplex. Or Toph, the fabulous boy at the Royal Midtown 14 multiplex.

And I stil can’t believe she’s separating me from my brother, Sean, who is only seven and way too young to be left home alone after school. Without me, he’l probably be kidnapped by that creepy guy down the road who has dirty Coca-Cola towels hanging in his windows. Or Seany will accidental y eat something containing Red Dye #40 and his throat will swel up and no one will be there to drive him to the hospital. He might even die. And I bet they wouldn’t let me fly home for his funeral and I’d have to visit the cemetery alone next year and Dad will have picked out some god-awful granite cherub to go over his grave.

And I hope Dad doesn’t expect me to fil out col ege applications to Russia or Romania now. My dream is to study film theory in California. I want to be our nation’s greatest female film critic. Someday I’l be invited to every festival, and I’l have a major newspaper column and a cool television show and a ridiculously popular website. So far I only have the website, and it’s not so popular.Yet.

I just need a little more time to work on it, that’s all. “Anna, it’s time.”

“What?” I glance up from folding my shirts into perfect squares.

Mom stares at me and twiddles the turtle charm on her necklace. My father, bedecked in a peach polo shirt and white boating shoes, is gazing out my dormitory window. It’s late, but across the street a woman belts out something operatic.