It's not that the food provided by the school is bad. It's not that bad. It's just... Alright, it is a fucking disaster. Chloé isn't that complicated when it comes to food, but she likes it when it's good. So today at lunch, she decided that if she didn't want to die of hunger, best was to go to the nearest tesco store and buy some stuff, like proper food, so that she could have something to eat in her bedroom at night.
She has spent about half an hour in the store, looking for food that obviously doesn't exist in England, and is now at the cashier, trying to pay. You know, these automatic machines, that are supposed to help you out and make your way out of the store quicker ? Well, it's not working. It's just not. fucking. working. And Chloé isn't that patient, really not. She doesn't like waiting, especially when she's standing in front of a stupid machine supposed to make things easier. Well, guess what ? It doesn't make anything easier, at all. t's just worse and she can't believe that she's been waiting for the stupid machine to work properly for five minutes straight. Fucking hell. Obviously shouting or even swearing at the cashier is not going to make it work any better but hOW FRUSTRATING is this. She takes some stuff out of her shopping bag and put it back again where it's supposed to go, on the grey surface. Breathe in, out, ... Still not working.
This machine is seriously pissing her off. All she wants is to get home and eat something real quick. Breathe in, breathe out. Mais ta mère ! She yells. Yeah, alright, got it Clo, you're mad. Some English guy turns around when he hears her voice rising a bit too loud for his liking. Ouais, ouais, c'est bon là, sorry, she says, annoyed, but she's really not that sorry. She's got that terrible accent when she's mad, that jaded voice, she doesn't even try to make any effort. She's just tired and wants to go home. She's just about to take all her stuff back into her shopping bag when someone comes out of the blue.

(free les copains)

Tesco stores. So typically British. Gabriele had discovered them more than a year ago, and he was still amazed by the quantity of stuff those stores could hold. Don’t get me wrong, he liked them; it was the only place where he could find food that wasn’t horribly disgusting. Food was the worst part of living in England, truthfully. He had needed to learn how to cook, when he arrived there, otherwise he would have starved to death. He couldn’t handle the ton of oil those people put in their food, British were worse than Spanish, if even that was possible. Maybe the Americans were the only ones to eat worse than the British. Anyways, he had to learn how to cook, so he followed a ton of people on YouTube that gave advices about it, and attempted to imitate them. Obviously, he still wasn’t Jamie Oliver (how did England had managed to produce such a good cook ?!), but he was getting there.
This day, he was in one of Bournemouth’s Tesco, and he had in his red basket a ton of vegetables – and even that stuff called quinoa that all youtubers loved. He had just got back from Italy, and he needed to lose all the weight he gained there. He was in a quite good mood actually. He loved his job, the new students were not too boring, and the weather was good. The girl that was queuing before him, on the contrary, seemed a hundred percent pissed off. Apparently, the machine did not want to work. He could not stop a smile coming out on his face while he listened to her mumbling. He decided it was better not to intervene right now; otherwise she would just get even madder. But when she began to shout at the cashier, in English first, and then in French, he understood that she would never manage to get it working. Moving to her left, he said, trying not to smile too much: “Just stop pressing all the buttons, and let me help you, all right? I’ll do it for you” He looked right into her eyes before focusing his attention onto the machine. She was French, so she probably was studying at Help Yourself. Ok, it was kind of a wild guess, she could have been just travelling here, but something told him she was not. He pressed the red cross button that led him back to the beginning, and began to screen the items all over again. He took them from the basket mechanically and put them over the area where they needed to be put to be recorded. It was perfectly working, obviously. He did not really know what he was doing better than her, but at least it was working. “You don’t like the food of Help Yourself’s cafeteria either, do you ?”

Spoiler:

That someone is a guy, who offers his help to Chloé. She's about to protest because there's no way that she'll be defeated by an automatic machine but then the man looks right into her eyes and, you know what. What the hell. Yeah, thank you, she says. She's still annoyed by the situation but is slowly calming down as the man presses the screen to go back to the very beginning. She steps aside so that he can have a full view on the screen, and she watches him in the process. Obviously, now that she is not the one taking care of it, everything starts to work just fine and the man manages to record all the items in her shopping bag. She can't help but roll her eyes. Unbelievable. He's not even doing anything special ! Unless maybe, just maybe, what he's doing is working because he going much more slowly than her.
He says something about the cafeteria food and when he gaze up at her, she gives the man a crooked smile. Huh, is it that obvious ? Her hand runs through her hair. In the process, she notices that the guy is rather fit, if I may say - and he has a nice smile. It's only been two days but I already hate it. Her good accent is back, now that she's calmed down a bit. You can definitely hear that she's not from here, but at least she doesn't even have to try too hard to make herself sound good. Her look goes back to the cashier screen. Time to pay.
She chooses to pay by cash but the tricky machine seems to be having fun in tricking Chloé once again, as it takes her some time to manage to put the notes in the machine. She sighs heavily. Well, good news is, I'll never use these machines again, so you won't waste anymore time on helping me. Like, ever again, she annonces with that jaded look upon her face. She gives him a smile though, because he's only being nice to her (and he's rather fit, remember?) She takes a plastic bag to put all her items inside, when she remembers that she's never seen or talked to that man before ; therefore she wonders how he knows where's she's studying. How do you know, by the way? About Help Yourself. Do I really look like a tourist? She probably does, to be fair. She's just being curious.

Spoiler:

Gabriele was not a shy person; it would be weird if he was, with the job he did and all. The girl did not seem timid either, as she was shouting in the Tesco store with what one could call a "familiar vocabulary". It was a quality – the non-shyness thing – that the Italian liked in people. Uncomfortable people made him uncomfortable, and communication was made impossible because he couldn't figure out what to say to them. Anyway, she quickly accepted his help, holding his gaze for a few seconds. This situation reminded him of his own first days in Bournemouth when he was not yet familiarized with the town and how it worked, and when he needed to ask for help from strangers. Gabriele was a bit cocky and arrogant, admitting he needed help was not that easy for him, but at this moment in time, it was absolutely necessary. She was in the same situation as the one he had been in, and he was happy to be able to return the favour.
He scanned a few of her items that were mainly food, while talking to her. Apparently, he was right about Help Yourself, and that made him smile a bit. After more than a year in the school, he was finally able to recognize, most of the time, who was and who was not a student there. He smiled again when she asked about how obvious it was  that she came into this store only to escape from the cafeteria, because that too, rang a bell for him. He remembered that it took him maybe a week to realise that it would be absolutely impossible for him to eat there anymore. But before coming to the store, he first spent a few weeks ordering food from all the different restaurants in town, but that did not work either – mainly because of his budget.
The girl was placing the items that he had already scanned in plastic bags, and when it was over, she went back to the screen to pay. She was talking with a way better accent than before. Now, it was nearly impossible to notice that she was French. She was not British either, for sure, but no one could really tell from where her little – and charming if I may say – accent was from. She apparently was still a bit pissed off about the machine since she swore to him that she would never use it again. This time, Gabriele laughed, but before he had the time to answer, she added: “How do you know, by the way? About Help Yourself. Do I really look like a tourist?”. Looking again into her eyes after checking she didn’t do any mistakes concerning the payment, he said: “Maybe you shouldn’t say never, about the machines … You will soon realise that those automatic cashiers are way nicer that the human cashiers … Except from the blond old lady over there, but I reckon she’s nice to me because she thinks I’m cute …” He pointed while saying that one of the cashiers that had a big and happy smile on her face. She was cute, too, only way to old. “You don’t look at all like a tourist, that’s why I know you’re from there. Tourists walk with hiking shoes just like if Bournemouth was made of forests and mountains, they have cameras around their neck and very often, their arms are sunburned. And obviously, tourists don’t go in Tesco stores … So I knew you weren’t a tourist, but you still were shouting in French, so … I took a guess!”
It was his time, now, to scan his basket. He hoped that she would stay for the conversation, it was the least she could do after he literally saved her life, right? He began scanning all his vegetables and other healthy food, and said: “I work at HY, but I don’t eat there either. It is so disgusting that I even prefer eating hipster stuff like quinoa, do you realise?”

She laughs when he mentions the blonde old lady and obviously turns around so she can have a look. She looks nice, at least. Maybe you could try to get a discount or something, she says. She means it. Like, you know, work that cuteness ! she adds, rising a cheeky eyebrow as she steps aside.
Maybe tonight Chloé will try that fast-food, the one she's seen on the other side of the street. She's feeling too lazy to even try to reach to the cafeteria ; especially if she ends up facing another round of peas soup. She can't handle that once again, no. freaking. way. She has seen what she thinks is the cook (or rather who, in this case), or something like that. He looks nice but she's not going to tell him that his cooking sucks. She could do it, obviously, but before she left France, her friends advised her to pretend not to be honest for at least a week or two (or else everyone would hate her, according to them - which is unbelievably true). Which is hard, really. She has already had to pretend that it was fine when her name was misspelled two times in a row, this morning, and that was more than enough. Seriously.
So, the guy has guessed that she was French. Is it because of the shouting and all the swearing ? Probably. It is so easy to swear in this language, especially for Chloé who doesn't really care about anyone else's opinion. She feels like she needs to say something after he's finished talking. Yeah, hm, about that. Thanks for the help. I mean, I would have probably ended up leaving my stuff here and then starve to death back home so, I probably owe you one. She smiles though. Now it's his turn to scan his items and frankly, she's rather shocked of what's inside his bag. She even gives a quick look at her own grocery bags when she sees what's inside his, like, what the hell ? All this green, healthy food ! Are you sure you can eat that ? I mean, it's seeds, right ? She can't help but look rather unconvinced as she sees what is apparently, quinoa. She's probably already heard about it back in Paris but that wasn't really her thing. You're working there ? That's cool. What do you do? She's getting curious now. The week has only started, she hasn't met all of her teachers yet. Maybe he's one of them, she thinks with a slight grin. Well, that could be interesting. You look too cute to be a teacher, she says frankly. She's not even trying to hit on him. She's just being her normal self, which basically means saying whatever she thinks to whoever she wants.
At least she knows he's not the cook.

Maybe she was right, he could have used his cuteness to save a few pounds at the Tesco Express; maybe it was not the most honest thing to do, but one should use all his assets, right? Wait … she said he was cute? Hm. Now, she was the one that were definitely cute! She was, truthfully. Very frenchy, but that was a hundred times better than the vulgar style of British girls. That too, with the food, was something that he disliked about England; girls and food. Fortunately, he worked in a school attended by students from all around the world, so he had a lot of choices. But, Gabriele, boundaries! That was what his sister said to him all the time. He needed to establish limits between students and himself. “You’re part of the Staff, for God’s sake!”. She was right, obviously.
He scanned all of his items, while she was thanking him for saving her from starvation. He was glad he did, actually. She made his trip to the store way funnier than usual. He was already thinking about what he could ask her in return for his help, before realizing that maybe she just said that she owed him to be polite. Shame, really. Then, she asked him what kind of plant quinoa was, and he looked as puzzled as she did when trying to give her an answer: “I believe it’s more like a cereal. But it’s gluten-free and all, my sister says. I’ll watch a video on Youtube to learn how to cook it, but for now I have absolutely no clue.” He gave her a convincing smile. In England, he had learned how to cook, and he was now happy to do so. He liked testing new things, new ingredients, ergo the quinoa stuff. Now that she was watching it with her judgmental eyes, he was having second thoughts. No, no, it was going to be excellent, cereals, seeds or what not.
While he was scanning his last item – a plastic bag filled with a few tomatoes – and then paying, she asked what his job at Help Yourself was. And then, she let a compliment slip out of her mouth – again. He was not responsible for that! She was the one that forbid him to establish boundaries, right?! “Then you’ll be pleased to learn that I’m absolutely not a teacher. I began just like you, two years ago, I was just a student and then ... I didn’t feel like going back home just yet. So I applied for a job as an  ctivity coordinator, and here I am now, organizing raves for teenagers !” He pressed the numbers of his credit card code on the machine, but apparently he dialed it wrong, at least that was what the screen said. “Fanculo! ”Obviously, he was not really good at doing more than one thing at once; he pressed the numbers a second time, and sighed in relief when the machine bipped the right way. The quinoa was his, finally. “That was your fault, Frenchie, you’ve got to stop calling me cute or I’ll definitely blush!”

She's trying really hard not to judge him but by the way she looks at him when he explains her whatever quinoa is, you can see that she's not convinced. At all. When Chloé doesn't know how to cook something or how it taste like, she simply doesn't buy it. Not that she doesn't like to try out new things - she's all in, but seeds, cereals, or healthy food in general... not her thing. And she isn't that good of a cook, in top of that. Which explain why her bag is full of chocolate, biscuits and crackers. It certainly won't replace dinner but it will prevent her from starving when she goes back to her room, after said dinner. She raises an eyebrow when he explains to her what his actual job is. Wow. Being paid to organize parties, now that sounds like a really cool job. For a second, she wonders if the staff is allowed to participate to these parties but she says something else instead. It sounds like a really good job. I would be so good at this, Maybe it's not as easy as she thinks it is but at least she would have fun. I can't wait to see what kind of party you are capable of throwing here then, mister, But then again, she has just arrived, a few days ago. She has plenty of time to party and enjoy the night-life of the city. I mean, 39 weeks is rather long, isn't it ?
She can't help but laugh a bit when he swears to the machine and switches language, it's his turn now ! She has no clue what he just said but she has the feeling that it isn't a compliment. It kind of reminds her of a French swear word. She looks away from the machine so that he can type his code without having her looking at it. When he's done paying, she's grinning and about to say something else but he just cuts her off, and - dear God. Oh, really ? Well, isn't it flattering, being capable of making someone like him blush. She bites her lower lip as she looks at him, straight in the eyes. Well, I'd like to see that. Her voice is a bit husky, as usual, but she speaks a bit slowler. I'm Chloé, by the way, she says as she introduces herself. She thinks he's going to say his name as well but the next second, instead, a man comes out of nowhere and asks them to move. He looks rather impatient but not mean, though. If you're done, can you please move away ? And that's it, Chloé can't help but roll her eyes a bit. Sorry, I'm a tourist, she says with an obvious (and rather atrocious) French accent. Have I ever mentioned that Chloé loves to fake her accent when she's in the mood to get on someone's nerves ? She chuckles as she steps aside so that the old man can have access to the cashier. Again, she's right next to her Italian guy and she asks, with her good accent back on track. So what's your name, activity coordinator ? He's really freaking cute, she thinks as she hold on to her plastic bag a bit tightier. It's not heavy but, you know. She needs to focus on what's she's doing and more importantly, where she's going.

She seemed rather funny, that’s what Gabriele concluded after spending a few minutes with the French girl. She appeared a bit sarcastic, maybe even cynical, and also quite judgmental – but you wouldn’t expect otherwise from a French person. He was glad he came to the Tesco Store, he had not expected meeting anyone there obviously, but now that he had, he definitely did not regret his quinoa purchase. Of course she made fun of him when he swore at the machine, but he could not blame her, as he was doing the same a few minutes before. He also concluded that she was sort of flirting with him, biting her lips and looking at him in the eyes like that. It was kind of neurotic from him to make a list of everything he noticed about her, but what can I say? Gabriele was kind of neurotic – but who isn’t? She told him her name, and he grinned a little before answering: “Pretty name. I’m guessing you’ve already suffered a few misspelling, right?” That was the Frenches fault! They always made up names absolutely impossible to pronounce, with those letters you didn’t know if they were silent or not and all … For a minute, he thought of keeping calling her “Frenchie”, but that wasn’t polite, and more importantly it really reminded him of this character from the movie Grease, the girl who failed entering beauty school. They didn’t look alike at all. She more looked like that girl from the French movie that won the Palme d’Or in like 2013. Nothing to do with the grease girl who looked like an Easter egg. Anyways, let’s focus.
Soon, they were thrown out of the department store by an old guy apparently in a rush to buy his two cans of beers. Gabriele opened his mouth to apology for them both, but she cut him short to give the man the worse excuse ever: she was a tourist. But it worked brilliantly, because she told it with a French accent that you could hear from the moon. He smiled a bit, before looking at the man and saying, with his best British accent: “excuse her…”. Laughing a little, they both went out of the Tesco store. They were walking back to the main avenue, and she asked his name.  He had not realized that he still had not told her. “Gabriele, or Gabriel, or Gab, or Nino, I’ll take all of them, so make your pick!” He didn’t really care about how people were calling him. Most of the time, he was just “the activity coordinator”, so … “For how long are you in Bournemouth for? I’ve never seen you here, so I’m guessing you’ve just arrived, and that I’ll have the opportunity to see you again, cook you some quinoa and all?” What? She was the one who wanted to see him blush a bit more, right? Of course, he would not blush, it wasn’t really his type, but she could always try, right?

Spoiler:

She doesn't even bother to wonder if calling her activity coordinator by his name is allowed, in this school. Is it a thing ? She never called her teachers by their own names, but then again, he's not a teacher. And if he gives away his name so easily, probably it is not forbidden. Anyway, she doesn't really care. She never really does. She smiles and decides that she'll remember him by the name of Gabriele, even though the 'r' sound is a bit tricky for her - she still has some troubles with the pronunciation of the 'th' and the 'r' sound. Gabs, it will be. Quicker and easier for me to say. If that's okay. She's the kind of girl who always has a first impression on someone but still can give them a friendly nickname if she feels like it. She has a friend back home, a girl, called Gabrielle and she has always called her Gaby ever since they met. Point is, if the two of them shared the same name, they will not share the same nickname as well. Which is why she goes for Gabs - and she likes it, anyway, doesn't it sound nice ? Maybe it sounds a bit too familiar though, for a start. What if he's a total douchebag ? Then she'd have to change his nickname. ... Something like DouchGab. Oh, wow, she's inspired today. I'm staying until February. But you never know, with my parents. That's kinda mean. They're nice, really. And she is the one who chose to come here for a few months, no one forced her to leave. She was the one in charge, she always is. And talking of being in charge, she gives a rather surprised look to Gabriele when he says something about seeing her again. And I only arrived a few days ago, so no worries, I'll have plenty opportunities to make you blush some more. She needs to stop doing that, really, but she can't help but grin slightly as she looks at him. It is so funny to tease your superiors, really. Always playfully, of course. (She's serious though. As long as there are some spaghetti along quinoa, she's willing to try anything. Anything.)
They are now walking on the main avenue, coming closer to the residence. She doesn't know if the members of the school staff sleep here as well, or if they have their own houses and everything - she could swear that she's seen someone that awfully looks like a teacher in the residence hallways. Do you think you're going to stay here for like, I don't know, a while ? She's a bit curious now. I mean, don't you want to go home sometimes, after spending two years here, alone ? Doesn't he have a girlfriend or something ? A family ? She always feels envious of people like him, people who are capable of leaving everything and everyone they know without planning on coming back or even looking back. She wonders if it could happen to her too.

Spoiler:

February, huh? That would be enough, he thought: she already spoke a very good English, when she was not trying to scare an old grandpa at a Tesco Store. Back in France, she would be the best English-speaker of her group. Anyways, Frenches could really be bad at learning languages, not worse than the Spanish-people of course, but still bad, so it wouldn't be difficult for her to show off with her perfect British accent, after those few weeks at help yourself. This school could be, under certain aspects, flawed, but you couldn't say it didn't fulfill its main commitment: it helped students to learn English. Chloé added something about her parents, just like she held a grudge against them for sending her in help yourself, because obviously, being in Bournemouth was as bad as being in hell. It reminded him that she probably was way younger than him, if she still lived under her parents decisions. That was the problem with the students: the opinion of their parents was almost as important as their friends' point of view, and it could get really tiring if it got in the middle of everything. Ah, teenagers... But Chloé didn't really look like one, well, she definitely wasn’t under eighteen, right? If she was, he certainly wasn’t going to let her call him Gabs!  Now, he sort of regretted his proposition to cook her quinoa… He really didn’t need to get involved with a teenage-girl that couldn’t be happy to have wealthy parents able to pay for one of the best boarding-school of the United Kingdom. Well, maybe he was harsh, he sort of judged without really knowing her.
Anyway, it was too late to back down; she was already talking about making him blush more. He just had to walk her back to the residency, and he wouldn’t have to talk to her ever again. He tried to babble something, but the sudden realization he just had blocked the words down his throat. She didn’t seem to notice, as she continued, asking him questions. Gabriele had to admit that they were sort of intelligent questions, without being too intimate. It reassured him as he answered: “I’m not alone, I’ve got friends, co-workers, and a lot of student that count on me to entertain them! My life kind of is in Bournemouth, now, it’s my home. You know, I never saw my parents back when I was in Milan, they always are all around the world. Since I’m here, my relationship with them has strengthened actually, I call them more often, we skype … With my brother, well, let’s say we’re better with hundreds of kilometers between us … The one I really miss is my sister, but I still go back there quite often.”   He actually just got back from a trip of two weeks in Italy. He had stayed at his sister’s place for a few days, and then spent the rest of the holidays in his own apartment. He took lunches and partied with his Italian friends, just like old times. It was good, kind of nostalgic, but still good. He had even spent a weekend at his brother and sister-in-law’s house in Roma, which surprisingly went really good.
“And anyways, I’m sort of a loner. I believe you French-people say something about having as many friends as the number of fingers on your hand … Well I find this really true.”. The residence was getting really close, and Gabriele thought he needed an excuse to elope. He didn’t live there; not really far from it, but still. He walked her there to be polite, but he was starving now, and he really wanted to be back in his own home. “What about you, will you be able to forgive your parents for having you sent here, away from your friends?” Obviously, he was making fun of her, but she deserved it, and he needed to relax the atmosphere a bit, because it was getting a bit gloomy now. “Why have I walked you here? I don’t live here at all, I’m way too polite, today! First I save you at the Tesco, and now I accompany you to your residency… What would you do without me ?!”

That's how she learns a bit about his family and the fact that apparently, life in Bournemouth is so cool that he doesn't really miss the one he used to have in his hometown. Milan, really ? Wow. Cool. Chloé has been to Roma twice, but Milan, never. Yeah, I've got a younger brother too. We used to fight half of the time but now that I've got my own place in Paris, he just loves crashing at mine. This dumbass. She loves him, obviously, she just doesn't say anything.
Chloé looks at Gabriele, slightly dumbfounded by the way he says something about her parents. Of course he's making fun of her and she shouldn't take it too seriously but still, she feels like he kind of mean it. You know I was joking, right ? That's a French thing. Sarcasm. She's being nice as she says that but it only reminds her that English people, and people in general do not always get sarcasm. As she always says, sarcasm is a French' second language. She speaks sarcasm fluently, eats sarcasm, breathes sarcasm. She keeps on talking. I am way past that age when you hate your parents for sending you away. I mean, I'm twenty so, that's not old, huh, and I wouldn't be happy if they'd force me to go away but, I am the one who chose to come here, actually. I needed a break from home. Truth is, she misses her friends. Obvisouly. She misses Louise who is her best friend and possibly the cutest brunette with curly hair she knows. She also misses Simon and Léa but doesn't say a thing because, well, that's just not her. But she's enjoying Bournemouth as much as she can. She knows that not every student can afford this type of school, she's part of the lucky ones ; and she embraces that luck everyday. She grins when he says something about wondering why he walked her home. It's probably the French accent, she says with a cheeky tone. She's not using it anymore though. The accent, I mean. Funny thing, she doesn't quite get why half of the Earth seems to think that this accent in particular is sexy or cute or whatever. Really, there was nothing sexy about her earlier when she talked to that old man.
Merde... The curse word comes out quickly when she sees a few students getting out of the residence going towards the cafetaria. She pouts, looking annoyed. She's right on time for dinner. Great... I'm just gonna go straight to my room, so that I can eat all those unhealthy stuff. Later, for the quinoa. She's not even sure if there will be any quinoa shared between the two of them later on, but whatever. They stop walking. Well, thanks for saving me today. And for walking me home, she adds as she faces him. She looks vaguely concerned by the fact that it looks like he's pushing her away, she doesn't like the feeling. Upsetting.
It's probably time to say goodbye but instead, she blurs out some other words. I didn't mean to be intrusive with my questions, earlier. She stares at him. He could have just avoided them. But she means it. She's not trying to excuse herself. She just doesn't like the way their first meeting is ending, really.

She told him something about her brother, which made him think about his own. Him and his brother used to fight – literally, fight – all de time when they were kids, and during their teenage-years, their relationship was mainly screams, glares and disdain. Today, it wasn’t exactly the opposite, but they could stay in the same house for a few days without tearing each other’s throat. He then asked himself if he did hurt her with his question. Maybe, it was sort of rude treating her like a teenager. But it was her fault, she began with her weird and childish reflection about her parents. Still, his sister wouldn't really be proud of him, but he had to do it, it was getting awkward. He hoped she would get the hint, and give him her age, that needed to be as far away as eighteen as possible. He couldn't let an eighteen-years-old girl hit on him, right?
She justified herself telling him that what she said earlier was called sarcasm, but she didn’t seem too upset; Gabriele was glad to know that it was only this strange humor those French-people practiced all the time. He still had a hard time with it, and more particularly, he could have been right! She could have been just a spoiled little girl mad with her parents for who knows what, really. Fortunately, she wasn’t, or not more than he was – because he was, oh boy, how spoiled he was … And she told him her age! Twenty! That’s a decent number, right? Actually, she even said that she needed a “break free” from home, and that was sort of why he left his home, two years before. He had finished all of his “college years”, but never applied for any work, and just decided to leave Milano without really warning anyone. That probably was one of the best decisions of his life.
A group of students walked beside them, and Gabriele reckoned they were going to the cafeteria. Chloé said something about blaming the French accent – it was sexy, truthfully, but not so much if compared to the Italian accent – and then, obviously, she cursed. Gabriele had a theory: when you’re learning a language, if you began to naturally curse in this language … Well, you’re education is done. But she swore in French, so apparently, she did good signing for a few weeks in Help Yourself. Anyways, he didn’t really understand why she seemed pissed off, but he preferred not asking anything. Maybe she was late, or something. Quickly after that, she began saying goodbye, and, much more interesting, later for the quinoa. What? Now that he knew she almost was considered as an adult in the United States, he could allow some innuendoes, and even throw some himself! When she faced him, he realized something was off, she didn’t seem very pleased. She thanked him, but then she added something about being intrusive with her question. He raised one eyebrow, puzzled by her semi-apology, and then answered, with a soft voice: “I don’t know if you’re saying sorry, but don’t, it wasn’t intrusive. It even was very relevant questions, which reassured me about the fact that the girl who’s trying to make me blush and whom I’ve proposed quinoa isn’t an immature teenager.” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand, trying to figure out what to say next. She couldn’t leave with this upset face, they couldn’t just end it like that… End what, really? Nothing… Just… They couldn’t ! “Come on, smile, I should be the one apologizing for thinking you were a spoiled little girl” He gave her the most sincere smile he could, and added : “For the quinoa, you know where to find me!” He then turned around, ready to walk back to his apartment, when he realized that they didn’t exchange their numbers, and yes, he said “you know where to find me”, but what if she didn’t? So he went back to her, way much closer than before, and bowed a little to find her ear, to whisper: “First floor, activity coordinators’ office. I don’t work on Mondays.”
A few seconds later, he already was a few meters away from her, walking back to his home. Still not blushing.

Spoiler:

Okay. Good. Chloé is lucky enough to have parents who have enough money to provide for her and her younger brother, and even to send her away in that kind of expensive school. She would be freaking stupid to even dare complain about it. She can be lazy, rude, mean, sassy, and a lot more but if anything, she's not a spoiled brat, really. She can't help but think like the quinoa has now turned into a metaphor for flirting or something really close to this, but she keeps her mouth closed and gives Gabriele a slight smile when he asks her to do so. Okay. You win, this time. Usually she wouldn't obey, just because (if she doesn't want to smile, no one's gonna make her) but today she decides to make an effort and be nicer that the usual. The next second, Gabriele is leaving and the first thing that comes to Chloé's mind is that she actually has no freaking idea where to find him. Or does she? She's certainly not going to chase him round the school. Of course, she should think about the activity coordinator's office, but, you know. Whatever. It's way better to actually have him bowing and whispering the words in her ear. She can't help but notice that he smells good - she doesn't know if it's perfume or his natural scent, she can't make the difference, but he definitely smells good, and she grins a bit more. Great, she won't forget any of this - what she smells and what he tells her. She nods, so that he knows that she got it and then they both part different ways. When she gets to her room, Chloé goest straight to her bed to launch a movie on her computer ; tonight it is just between her, her unhealthy but delicious food and the silly movie she's just about to watch.
He's kinda hot though.