Still the First Day of School -- in the Guidance Office

Summer Walsh hands a shorthaired brunette boy a pamphlet in the guidance counselor’s office. He’s wearing ripped dark wash jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a navy blue zip-up sweatshirt.

“Animals have feelings,” she says as his hands close over the bright pink paper.

“Ah, I’m sure zey do,” he replies, and she realizes he’s got an accent. What is that? French?

“So you should stop eating them,” Summer urges, leaning closer, perhaps too close. He doesn’t move away. In fact, he moves even closer, making their faces just millimeters apart.

“I ‘ave feelings, too,” he tells her. “But I want you to eat me.”

Summer recoils against the hard plastic back of her chair. “I’m serious.”

“I’m Remy. Remy Martin.”

“No, my name is Summer,” she says, rolling her eyes and grabbing for the pamphlet. He holds it tightly in his calloused hands. He has a tattoo on his forearm of some kind of Celtic symbol. But wasn’t he supposed to be French?

“Zen why did you say it was Serious?” he counters, tugging the pink paper back onto his lap and pressing it firmly onto his crotch. Summer releases it and wipes her hands on her corduroy jeggings.

“I said I was serious. Animal rights are a big deal, okay? Not everything in life is some sex joke you can crack to get chicks, okay? Women aren’t playthings anymore, Remy,” she spat each word with emphasis.

Remy lowers his gaze to her chest and grins.

“Zen why do you wear such low-cut dresses? Oh, are your breasts animals zat need to be free, too? Is zat how zis works? Being a hippie bitch means zat you can say whatever you want about other people and zeir habits, but zey can’t even comment on yours? You and your clearly expensive dress, which probably came from child slaves, you ‘ave ze right to tell me what to do? Well, Summer, maybe you should decide your priorities.”

She slides down in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Go back to France.”

He grins. “But zen I would miss out on all ze fun.”

“Wait, are you a transfer student?” she asks. He nods. “Then why are you here during the questionings?”

“I just want to be in ze know,” he replies, winking at her. Suddenly, it feels like something is lodged between her ribs and her lungs, and she can’t breathe. Remy’s mouth lifts into a crooked smile, and he glances off in the other direction, as if he didn’t notice the way her air supply very evidently cut off post-wink. “You don’t seem like a Summer,” he adds, looking at her briefly from the corner of his eye before looking back at the other students tapping their legs up and down on their plastic chairs.

She picks up the ends of her long blonde hair in her lap and stares hard at him. “Wh-what are you talking about? Of course I look like a Summer. I’m more Summer than…”

“Than what?”

“Than lemonade and barbeques,” she says weakly.

He chuckles. “Americans.”

“Why don’t I seem like a Summer?”

“You’re too uptight. Summer is supposed to be lazy and calm. Lots of naked runnings around Paris.”

“I. Am. Calm,” she hisses. “You can’t be more calm than I am. I’m like a fucking boat floating gently down the stream.”

“Like zat song?” he interjects.

“What song?”

“You know, ze one about ze boat on ze stream,” he says, miming a rowboat in his chair.

“Row, Row, Row Your Boat?” she asks. “The children’s song?”

“Exactly!” he exclaims.

“Uhm, sure. Like that boat.”

“But someone is rowing zat boat,” he protests. “It isn’t just floating. Is someone rowing your boat?”

“No. I am in complete control of my boat, thank you very much.” She grabs the pink pamphlet from Remy’s crotch and stands. “Just stop fucking eating meat, all right?” She waves the paper in front of his face. “And do you really run naked around Paris?”

“Not really. My apartment was about forty minutes outside Paris,” he replies, pulling a loose string from his ripped jeans. “And usually I would skateboard naked.”

The image popped into Summer’s brain, and suddenly there were no words.

“You should try it.”

“You should try not eating meat,” she counters.

“I don’t remember ever saying zat I ate meat.” He stands up suddenly, putting a big, warm hand on her shoulder. “In fact, I don’t. So perhaps, Summer, you should take a deep breath, get naked, and chill ze fuck out.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Summer with a sudden cold spot on her shoulder.