Chemistry by Jodi Lamm

Author:Jodi Lamm [Lamm, Jodi]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Claude Frollo, young adult, Esmeralda, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, high school, Retelling, Tragedy
Published: 2012-10-28T05:00:00+00:00

BOOK TEN

For the first time in my life, I’m glad for Spring Break. I’m failing all my classes. You can imagine how my GPA has plummeted. School is the last thing I can handle right now.

Esmeralda and Valentine have both been truant for weeks, but she’s forged doctor’s notes, allowing them to make up their work from home. They’re unlikely study partners. How utterly cliché. I expect a bad eighties soundtrack to this film when it comes out.

My church is no longer a comfort to me, so I’ve taken to wandering through the city. I have no more ambitions, nothing to keep my mind from concocting plans I’d rather not admit to just yet. There are plans, though; you should know that. I have not been idle.

Today, I wandered into an art museum. My student pass got me in, free of charge, and I doubt I’ll see anyone I know here. This should be the perfect new hiding place for me. It’s clean and bright. There’s a café on the first floor where I can get food. I can spend the entire day here if I need to. Maybe tomorrow, too. Maybe every day. The last thing I ever want to do is go home.

I’m just beginning to love this place when I spot the first intruder, and in the space of a few seconds, my whole mess of a life comes flooding back. Peter is here. He’s standing in front of a sculpture taking notes. As though a sculpture could teach him anything. I should slink away and hope he doesn’t notice me. But I can’t, not when I see the shape he’s in. He’s wearing someone else’s old clothes: a god-awful red and yellow plaid shirt that’s fraying at the cuffs, and black pants that are far too short for him. He looks like he hasn’t showered or slept in days.

I tap him on the shoulder.

He starts when he sees me. “Claude, what are you doing here? I thought you were home sick like Val.” He looks me over, no doubt noticing the change in me.

“I am sick,” I say. It’s true.

He backs away. “If it’s contagious, don’t get close to me.”

“It isn’t.”

He seems to relax a little. “Well, good. I mean, not to be rude or anything, but I can’t afford to get sick right now. I have a new project to finish by the end of break. Extra credit, but I need it like you wouldn’t believe.”

“What are you failing?” I nudge him. “It can’t be Art.”

By the look he gives me, I know I have inadvertently guessed right. “Art History, to be more specific,” he says. “I have to do a research paper on a topic of my choosing. I chose sculpture.”

I suddenly feel remiss. I’m his tutor. It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s not slipping, but I barely thought of him this past month. And now he’s failing an elective. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” I say, though that hardly makes up for it.

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