The Boy from France Read Online Free Page A

little.’ She grins at me.
    ‘Ah, OK. Excellent.’ Manon glances at Xavier. She seems happy. Xavier, not so much. But perhaps I’m only imagining that.
    While we wait for the bus, Rosie chats to me, leaving Xavier and Manon to talk in French. They chatter away ridiculously fast and I can’t make out anything they’re saying, apart from
‘
oui
’ and ‘
non
’ and ‘
merci
’. I wonder if they’re talking about me or about Rosie.
    Rosie leans in towards me. ‘I told you he’d be hot,’ she whispers. ‘And he’s hotter than even I expected. Sky is going to be crazy jealous!’
    I realise I’m beaming, in spite of myself. It’s ridiculous: Xavier and I have barely said two words to each other yet – I know nothing about him. We might not get on. He could
be boring. He might even be a French serial killer, for all I know. To tell the truth, I kind of wish he wasn’t so good-looking. Every time he smiles at me I go blank. It’s the whole
accent thing too – it’s so cute. ‘He is very good-looking,’ I concede. ‘I’m sure I’ll get over it, though. Once I get to know him.’
    ‘Heh,’ says Rosie. ‘I’m one hundred per cent sure you won’t!’

um is waiting for us by the front door when we arrive home. She acts as if she’s heard us coming and has only
just got here, but I know that she’ll really have been standing here for a while. She has arranged herself in position, her body balanced against the wall so she can stand without falling,
her stick tucked away, just out of sight. Whenever she meets someone new she’s embarrassed about her stick, which is silly – and I’ve told her – but I guess I’d feel
the same. I don’t know if anybody’s mentioned to Xavier that she’s disabled; maybe that’s what Dad was chatting to the exchange programme organisers about. I haven’t
said anything, and I won’t, not unless he asks and I absolutely have to. I know quite a lot about her illness now – too much – because I’ve been reading about it on the web.
I know she’s probably going to get worse, but I’m trying not to think about that.
    ‘Hello, Xavier,’ says Mum, brightly, as we come in. You’d think she didn’t have a worry in the world. Dad takes Xavier’s bags straight upstairs. I’ve made the
spare room up for him, as comfortably as I can. I’ve even put up an old French poster, which I found tucked away behind the bookshelf, to make him feel at home. I hope he likes it.
    ‘Allo,
Madame
,’ says Xavier. He leans right over to kiss her, which is good, because it means she doesn’t need to take her arm away from the wall and risk losing her
balance. ‘
Enchanté!
’
    Mum blushes, just like I did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush before. Xavier’s French charm has instantly won her over, too.
    ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she says. ‘Please call me Barbara. I hope you had a good journey and that you’ll have a wonderful time staying here with us. I know
Victoria will look after you. Now please come into the living room and sit down. I’ll go and make some tea.’
    She waits for us to pass, so that Xavier won’t see her picking up her stick, then goes slowly into the kitchen. Dad follows close behind, to help her.
    ‘Victoria? Like zee Queen Victoria?’ says Xavier to me, as we enter the living room. ‘I am incorrect? Your name, he ees not Veecks?’
    ‘Vix is really a nickname, a shortening,’ I explain, as we sit down on the sofa. ‘Only my mum calls me Victoria.’
    ‘Ah. Me too, eef you like, I can call you Victoria?’
    ‘Don’t you dare,’ I say. ‘I hate it. Even most of my teachers call me Vix now.’
    ‘Ah,
oui
?’
    ‘
Oui
. Actually, I thought you were called Ex-avier when I first saw your name. How dumb is that! Now I know your name is pronounced just like xylophone.’ As soon as
I’ve said it, I feel like an idiot.
    ‘Zye le Fone? Who is zees? A friend?’
    ‘No, no. Xylophone, the instrument. You know, the