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“I don’t care.”
I turn on my heel and march to the gate where I ring the button on the intercom.
A woman’s voice comes through the speaker. “Yes?”
“I’m here to see Roch. He’s expecting me.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“Yes. My husband’s nephew is in his class.”
“I’ll let the principal know. Please wait.”
A moment later, the gate clicks open. I charge through it just as a woman with a halo of red hair steps out.
“I’m the principal.” She looks me up and down. “I believe there’s an emergency?”
Roch appears behind her. “It’s all right. She’s got a kid in my class.” Shooting daggers at me with his eyes, he says, “She just needs a quick word with him.”
“Who?” the principle asks.
“Johan,” I say. “Johan Russo.”
Her red lips form an O. The change in her attitude is remarkable. Fear creeps into her eyes. “This is highly irregular.” She pulls on the neckline of her cardigan. “You better make it quick.”
Shooting Roch a concerned glance, she goes back inside.
I don’t wait for Roch to drag me back to the gate, because I don’t doubt he will. I slip in behind the principal and walk with determined steps behind her down the hallway.
The principal stops in front of a door and crosses her arms. “You can call him out, Roch.” Turning to me, she says, “You have a minute.”
I lift my chin. “That won’t be necessary. The whole class can hear what I have to say.”
Roch reaches for my arm, but before he can grab me, I open the door and go inside. The room goes quiet. Roch enters and stops next to me, his hands balled at his sides. The principal hovers in the doorframe. Johan’s jaw goes slack.
“Who of you speaks perfect English?” I ask.
No one raises a hand.
“I guess then you’re all bound to make mistakes. Can I tell you a secret? My French is a little rusty. I took it as an extra language for two years at school, but that was a long time ago. Does that make me stupid?”
They look at each other as if I asked them a trick question.
“I don’t speak Italian or Corsu either,” I say.
They stare at me.
“Does that make me stupid?”
Everyone except for the girl with the tweed jacket shake their heads.
“Seeing that no one is ever too old to learn, I wonder if the principal will let me sit in for this class.” I look at her. “I won’t mind brushing up on my English vocabulary too.”
A cheer breaks out among the pupils. I bet they never had an adult attending their class.
The principal shifts her weight, asking Roch through clenched teeth, “What is she up to?”
“Please, Mrs. Nieddo,” the kids chant. “Let her stay.”
