0758269498 by Eve Marie Mont Page A

against the ground. I latched onto the scorpion necklace.
    To Emma, the only antidote for my sting.
    What a crock!
    Impulsively, I yanked the necklace off and chucked it into the ocean. I stood there for several minutes staring angrily at the waves, watching them churn and break into foam. When the roaring became too maddening, I started for home. I’d only taken a few steps when a glint of light on the sand caught my eye. I leaned down to inspect it and laughed bitterly. It was Gray’s scorpion pendant.
    I had tried to get rid of it, but like a sick joke, the sucker had washed back to me. Some uneasy, superstitious feeling made me refasten the dog tag around my neck. I knew Gray had meant the scorpion to be my touchstone, my lifeline to him. But now it felt like a burden I had to wear, a stinging reminder of the love I no longer had.

C HAPTER 9
    A s soon as we got back from Thanksgiving break, the teachers went into high gear in preparation for midterms. When Elise walked into Bio, I noticed a small red scar under her right eye where the hockey puck had hit her. I felt a tiny smidgen of guilt mixed with a good deal of satisfaction.
    But when Elise sat next to Michelle, my momentary feeling of victory faded, and I only felt depressed. I hated that Michelle was falling for Elise’s charms and that I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. And even though I didn’t trust Elise’s motives, I couldn’t believe that Michelle’s judgment had lapsed so severely as to allow her to befriend someone who wanted to destroy her.
    Toward the end of the day, I sat in French class, taking out my anger on a piece of loose-leaf. We were translating the last chapter of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, in which excavators find Quasimodo’s dead body embracing Esmeralda’s skeleton. It was both morbid and heartbreaking.
    At the end of class, Madame cleared her throat. “Mademoiselles, j’ai un annonce special,” she began to say in French. I’d sort of taken to tuning Madame Favier out, but when I heard the words Paris and école, my ears sprang to attention.
    Apparently, our sister school in Paris was sponsoring a full scholarship of tuition, room, and board for an entire year for an incoming Lockwood senior with a stellar academic record and a desire to study French literature. A letter of interest was due before winter break, followed by transcripts and letters of recommendation in January.
    Everything fell away—the chattering of the students, the sound of Jess cracking her gum, the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead—as I realized this was exactly what I needed. To make a clean break from this place. To cut my ties with all these bad memories and venture out on some exciting new journey in a foreign city. And what’s more, to study French literature. I wanted—no, I needed—this scholarship.
    My biggest competition would be Elise. Not that she needed the money, but once she found out I was interested, she’d apply just to spite me. I got a sudden image in my head of Elise striding down the Champs Élysées wearing a striped boat-neck top with black wide-leg trousers and a beret. She’d stop at a little café where everyone knew her name and where the proprietor, Phillipe, always reserved her favorite table.
    Non, non, ce table est reservé pour Elise! Mon petite ange!
    Ugh.
    Maybe the Admissions Committee would sympathize with the fact that I’d never been to Paris before. Maybe between now and March, I could brush up on French literature and impress them with my vast knowledge of Camus and Sartre, my stunning command of French naturalism and existentialism. Maybe Elise’s head would spontaneously combust in Biology.
    I was still daydreaming about it as I left class and headed toward the gymnasium. “Hello?” I heard behind me. “Terre à Emma!”
    I turned to see Jess struggling to catch up with me. “Hey,” I said. “Now you’re mocking me in French?”
    “Mais oui,” she said. “You’re thinking of applying for