a french romance

okay so i created a couple of chapters for this "book" and i have a name, that i wont reveal, until i know its correct for the story.

so here's chapter one. its short, and it needs a ton of editing, but tell me what you think!!

p.s. i hope no one takes the negativity towards the south too hard. im from south carolina, columbia, coincidently, and i wanted Colette, to dislike it. it is not my views, so please dont be angry.

THANKS:)

Rock Bottom.

Chapter one.

My heart hit rock bottom. This wasn’t how I expected my first day to be. No not at all. I expected my first day to be easy, no talking to the old country people, no school, and especially no job hunting. This was stupid. I cursed myself for choosing South Carolina with Mom, rather than staying in Paris with dad. But I didn’t like big cities, that’s why mom and I moved away from there after the divorce.

I crossed the street wishing I could tell her what I felt, but I couldn’t. This was her dream to live in a quiet place. Ha quiet? Columbia, South Carolina was filled with loud country people, thousands of them. And it was quite different then I imagined.

We had gotten here yesterday; we drove here in our beat up van. It was packed with our shit, things we didn’t need. Of course though according to mom, they were essentials for us to keep for our new house. I had already unpacked my bags, all two of them, fixed my bedroom, and emailed dad telling him how awesome my new life would be. Better keep him thinking everything is fine. I thought; even though everything felt like it was falling apart. As we drove into our neighborhood, I could already smell the disgust, through the car. And this is where hell starts, at least my personal hell. I thought.

My thoughts switched to present day as I entered the restaurant. I just wanted to get this over with. It was horrendous. I can only take so much of these people. God forbid I ever talk like one of them. I looked for the host stand, and found it after pushing through three sets of families in line. They can wait. I thought.

“I am looking for a job.” I said, my thick original French accent shining through.

“Excuse me? What are ya lookin for darling?” This rather large southern girl from the corner answered me. It took me by surprise. For such a large person she had one of the highest voiced I had ever heard.

“A JOB!” I tried to pronounce myself as clear as possible; I guess I forgot that people can’t really understand me sometimes. I can’t stand it when I have to restate what I said, three times. It’s just ridiculous. And this lady was no different, with her buck teeth, slanted smile, and mullet; she looked to me as if I was asking where I can buy a gun.

“Ooooh. Honey, let me get Patricia for ya, I’m Becky by the way.” Her buck-teeth slipped through her smile, I showed her my best forced smile. This was absurd; such a person should not be so informal at a dining place. I knew what to expect in France, what kind of service, and what kind of people. But in SC, even America, it was different. People were very informal here, very unlike France.

“Oh… uhm well okay. I’m Colette Rousseau. Hello. So who is Patricia?”

“Oh. Her? She’s the owner of this Cracker Barrel.”

“Cracker Barrel?”

Becky gave me a soft punch on the shoulder, another American gesture I assume. They never taught me in English class, where that was customary or not.

“This is restaurant is named Cracker Barrel. Jeez honey, you’re just off the plane aren’t you?

“Car actually. But yes.”

“Oh well you will just love our little small town. Okay right this way. Let me go get her for ya.”

Becky left me at that, and slipped through the double doors marked EMPLOYEES. I had been waiting there for three minutes when a young man, about 17, walked through the doors. He was laughing at something, and immediately stopped when he found me. He took a look at me. He saw my skinny blue jeans, my white tee-shirt, and my high heels, and continued to smile; he gazed at my hair, which was a mess, as usual. And his smile became even bigger.

It was odd, just sitting there and looking at each other; because while he was staring at me I inspected him. He wore white khaki pants, a light blue tee-shirt that said CRACKER BARREL that complimented his deep blue eyes and his brown hair that happened to match mine. He was cute, really cute. And he had a smile I could never forget. And then he spoke. He looked incredibly nervous when he talked. Did I have that effect on him? I thought to myself.

“Hi. Do you need something?” He had a southern accent, but it wasn’t as country compared to the others I had met here. And I already liked him just based on that.

“Hi. Uhm, This lady… I think her name is Becky..? Well she went to go find Patricia for me. I’m looking for a job here. By the way I’m Colette.” I tried hard not to stare at his eyes, yet I did and it felt as if I was being mesmerized by them. I had to think BREATHE; a couple of times, to remember that I needed air. I just had a hard time keeping focus when I was talking to him.

“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to be rude there. You’re looking for a job? That’s cool, we need more workers. I like you name, very original, you won’t hear another name like that around here. Now I’m going to take a wild guess based on your accent and say your French..? And that you JUST moved here. Am I correct?”

“Oh yes, I am. Is it that noticeable?”

“HA, no. I just happened to be extremely perceptive.”

His sarcasm lightened up the mood. It felt good meet someone that was my age, and nice here. I had been worried I wouldn’t meet anyone I would like, but this mysterious man cleared away all of my worried thoughts.

“And you are?”

“Will. A pleasure it is to meet you Mademoiselle Colette.”

“And you speak French?”

“Yes. And with that said I should go, I have to work to do.” He bent down and pecked my hand, like a true gentlemen, and turned to walk out of the restaurant. But before he left he turned towards me.

“J'espère vous voir bientôt, Colette. Jusque-là. I hope to see you soon, Colette. Until then.” He smiled at my astonished face as he left. I could feel my pink cheeks. I smiled, knowing I just made a friend; a really cute friend.

As Will left, Becky came through the doors with an older lady, who I assumed to be Patricia. They both smiled warmly to me. And without me having to say a word, Becky introduced me to Patricia, who automatically told me that I could be a waitress here if I wanted to.

“I would love to, when do I start?” Patricia was glad that I had said yes she started yapping about training and putting me on the schedule.

“We need to train you, Will could do that, have you met Will yet?” My heart leapt, I was actually excited, I got to train with him, and work with him? Wow! My Karma level must have been high.

“Uhm...Yes I have. That sounds awesome! When should I come back?” I was praying that she would say tomorrow, I didn’t have anything planned, and I wanted to see him again.

“Great!! Well tomorrow’s Saturday, so come at 1 pm, if that’s okay. And after that we can put you on the schedule.”

“Sounds perfect, I will be here!”

I walked out of Cracker Barrel knowing tomorrow would be great. I was excited to go home and tell mom. She would be thrilled, because I had met a guy, and I had gotten a job. I crossed the street, and made it to my car, where I started to make it home thinking: South Carolina, je commence à pareil vous, I ‘m starting to like you.