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cold, judging stare boring into the side of her face. She refused to look over and meet her eyes. Instead, she
told herself over and over that it was just her imagination. And she almost believed it.
C'EST MOI
***"You've all heard the saying 'Life imitates art'? Well, this was a perfect example." Mr. Holmes leaned
against the mahogany desk at the front of the classroom, his copy of Madame Bovary in one hand and a
stainless steel coffee mug in the other. "When Flaubert's story of an unhappy, unfaithful married woman was
printed in the Revue de Paris, Flaubert himself was brought to trial on charges of immorality."
"He's so hot when he's talking about immorality," Paige whispered from the chair next to Ariana's.
"Agreed," Isobel said. "Almost makes me want to read the thing." She tossed her glossy black tresses over her
shoulder. "Almost." Ariana rolled her eyes and focused on taking notes. Almost every girl on campus had a
crush on the young English teacher, who had come to Easton several years ago after graduating from
Princeton. But Ariana didn't care about his looks. She loved the way he made the characters, the worlds they
read about, come alive. Being invited to be a part of his Topics in Eighteenth-Century French Literature
seminar was a huge honor. There were only eight people in the class, all seniors, with the exception of her.
She loved that Mr. Holmes thought she was smart enough-good enough-for one of the toughest classes at
Easton. "The thing is, Flaubert did feel a real connection with Emma Bovary," Mr. Holmes was saying. "He
wrote many of his own personal flaws into her character. One of his most famous quotes is 'Madame Bovary,
c'est moi.'" He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white collared shirt. "Translation?"
"What is, 'I am Madame Bovary'?" blurted Connie Tolson, a nerdy senior seated a few chairs to Ariana's
right. Her ramrod- straight posture made her look like she had just pulled something in one of the major
muscle groups. Mr. Holmes chuckled. "Absolutely right, Ms. Tolson. Bonus points for the creative delivery."
He dropped the book on his desk and wiped his palms on his khakis, leaving faint chalk stains. "Oh, please.
What is, 'desperate and so out of her league'?" Isobel hissed, a wry grin creasing her olive cheek. Ariana
shook her head. "You're terrible." Isobel smiled. "And proud of it." "Remarkably, Flaubert establishes a
strong connection between his readers and Emma. So even though she's weaving a web of excess, sex, and
betrayal, we really empathize with Emma throughout the novel," Mr. Holmes continued. "We see the
destruction this woman is causing, solely for the purpose of her own fulfillment, and still we feel for her. In a
strange way, we root for her, want her to find happiness. And we're devastated when she doesn't."
"Um, I'm not," Connie called out. "She was wrong to cheat on her husband so many times. A woman who
does things like that doesn't deserve to be happy." And a girl who wore red slip-on ankle boots didn't deserve
