Tuesday morning in Home Room our teacher, Miss Takei, called me up to her desk. We’d already gotten through the announcements and so on, so it was during the ‘do your homework, you lazy slobs’ part of the hour. All my homework was already finished and my big assignments were all on track, so I was reading the day’s newspaper. Miss Takei thought that was an excellent way to help educate fine, involved and informed young adults (I’ve heard her say it so many times I could recite the speech from memory) and it helped pass the time, so why not? And anyway, maybe she was right. A little knowledge of the world that doesn’t come from thirty second sound bites on cable news is probably a good idea.

Curious why she called me up, I asked her what was going on. “I’m not in trouble or anything, am I?” I asked.

“No, no, Miss Farmer.” Miss Takei was always formal like that. The only teacher in FHS who insisted on using our last names. Some of the kids thought it was ridiculous, but I found it kind of charming. “She is a relic of her times,” my mom said about her. Nobody really knew how old Miss Takei was, but she’d been teaching at FHS for over forty years. The rumor was that she’d actually been born in one of the internment camps for Japanese Americans during World War Two, but I’m not convinced.

Anyhow, she went on to explain “Actually, quite the opposite. You are considered one of the best of your class by the administration, and of course by me as well. No, what I wanted to ask you is if you could do a favor for the school. Tomorrow we will have a new student at FHS, and her class schedule is very similar to yours.”

“I’m not sure I understand…”

“Not only is this girl new to our school, but our whole educational system. Her family just moved here from France, so an American school may present some challenges for her. Principal Spencer requested that I ask you to be her guide through her first days here, to ease her into our way of doing things.”

“She’s in my classes? If she’s never been to school in the U.S. how did she get into AP Bio? Or AP English?”

“It’s a result of her placement tests, dear. Apparently she is an outstanding student, and I hope that having her in our school will increase our understanding of foreign cultures.”

“But we have exchange students all the time,” I protested. “How is this any different?”

“That is a good question,” she responded. “Most exchange students have host families with students of similar age, and so those host family members provide the same service I’m asking from you. Since Miss Lascaux moved here with her family, she does not have that safety net.”

“Well, O.K., I guess. What do I need to do?”

“I expect it won’t take much effort on your part. Just go to Mr. Spencer’s office the moment you get to school, before homeroom.” I was usually fifteen to twenty minutes early, so that would be plenty of time.

“After you are introduced to Miss Lascaux, just show her to her classes, and explain the bell system, the cafeteria, and so on. That’s all.” She gave me her grandma smile, and I found myself agreeing to what she asked. How could anybody say no?

At lunch I told Courtney, Allie and Tom about it. Courtney asked about one of the things I found so odd.

“AP English? Really? A girl from France can get into an English class that most native speakers can’t? How is that possible?”

“I know a lot of Europeans learn English starting really young,” offered Allie. “Maybe she’s been studying it for years?”

“I figure that’s probably it,” I said. “And besides, have you heard how most kids here actually talk? Most don’t know the difference between a noun and a verb, or even care.” I guess that’s me channeling my mom’s voice. She teaches English Lit at the Community College and would be very upset with me if I spoke the way most teens do. It’s not that she’s that much of a stickler for perfect phrasing, but it’s always been very important to her that I at least understand the rules.

“I wonder what she’s like?” mused Tom. “Some sort of Euronerd? If she’s that great of a student, she’s probably a bookworm.” Then, realizing that I’d said that she was in most of the same AP classes as me and therefore he was painting me with the same brush, he fumbled. “What I meant was that anybody who could be an ‘A’ student in a completely different language must be really smart,” he finished weakly.

“Yeah, I guess,” I admitted. “Well, we’ll see tomorrow.”

“You know,” Allie said, “If Principal Spencer specifically asked for you to do this it must mean you are on his ‘good kid’ list. That’s gotta be worth something…” she trailed off.

“I’m not so sure. Miss Takei explained that this new girl has almost all the same classes as me, so it might just be that I was the best candidate for that reason alone,” I objected.

“Nonsense,” Courtney interjected. “If you weren’t on the ‘good list’ he just would have found somebody else who was. No, it’s clear that you have racked up plenty of brownie points.”

“Brownie points?” I objected. “As in, points you get for ‘brown-nosing’? When have I ever done that?”

“Well, O.K. I’ve never seen you actually kiss up to anybody, so maybe that’s not the greatest choice in words. But still, somehow you’ve made your way onto the ‘good kid’ list. Hopefully you can somehow use that to your advantage when it’s time for college applications.”

“Yeah, maybe…” I trailed off, thinking about college apps. Mom wants me to think big and apply to some heavy hitter schools, but the idea of a jillion dollars in loans after I get out isn’t too appealing. I figure a good mid-level public school is probably my best bet in the long run. I mean, sure, I have good grades and I did well on the SAT, but still…