My Vampire Summer by Elle Casey

Author:Elle Casey [Casey, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: k'12
Publisher: Elle Casey
Published: 2013-11-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

I ARRIVED AT PHILIPPE'S CHICKEN truck in time to see him chasing Cheri partway down the street as vendors ignored them, too busy putting away their wares and tents to pay attention to anything else. He caught her and lifted her up, carrying her back to me and putting her down.

"Take this girl. She make me run everywhere." He was smiling hugely the whole time he said it, so I was pretty sure he wasn't really complaining.

"I know. She has a lot of energy."

"Oui, beaucoup d'énérgie ... ça c'est vrai! ... Oh, I am sorry. That is French. I say that she have a lot of energy, that is true."

Cheri just smiled, a challenge in her eyes. I knew exactly what that look meant. She was probably going to spend the entire summer giving this poor kid a run for his money.

"Ready to go?" I asked her.

"Yep! Where're we going?"

"Wanna lay out?" We had this awesome pool at the house, so it almost seemed like a requirement that we get some form of tan before we went back home – might as well start laying on the base right now.

"Awesome idea. I'm totally hot and sticky – that pool is going to feel luscious."

Cheri turned to Philippe. "Thanks for letting me hang out at the maison de poulet, Philippe." She turned to look at me. "That's house of chicken for you Americans in the hizzouse."

"Thanks," I said wryly, rolling my eyes.

"You are welcome, Cheri," he said, smacking her on the butt playfully.

I watched her shamelessly smack him back on his butt, which he was unable to move out of her way quick enough. I was almost afraid to be alone with her now. She was going to make me crazy today gushing over Philippe and harassing me, I just knew it.

I watched her give Philippe a very friendly goodbye; I eventually tired of waiting and grabbed her hand, pulling her away. "See you later, Philippe," I said, smiling at him so he wouldn't think I didn't want her with him anymore. I really just wanted to get out of the city center for a little while and ruminate on my François issue.

Cheri followed me back through the town streets and up the hill, carrying on a stream of chatter that didn't end, even while we put on our bathing suits and found the hidden sunscreen buried in a bathroom drawer. It wasn't until we'd laid our towels out on the lounge chairs that she asked me what I'd been doing all morning.

"Not much. Just hanging out with François a little."

It took all of point three seconds for her to shriek, "François?! François who?!" She sat bolt upright in her chair and started nudging me. "Who, who, who? Tell me. Where'd you meet him? What's he like? Is he cute? Is he French? Of course he's French. Come on, tell me."

I sighed. "I met him yesterday. He's the rude guy."

"Uh-huuuhhh," she said, contemplating my words. "The rude guy, hmmm? The one who doesn't like American, English, or Canadian people?"

"Yep.

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