The French Girl by Felicia Donovan Page A

as I was coming down.  I stopped and did not move further.
    “She’ll be fine, Giselle.  She’s a bright girl.”
    “But what if they ask questions? What if they want to know everything?”
    “If they do, she’ll tell them whatever she chooses to. Children are naturally curious.  They are bound to ask questions.”
    “Perhaps I should have told them she was not ready until Monday?”
    “Giselle, the principal was right. It’s always better for children to get back into a routine as quickly as possible.  You’ve got to stop worrying so much.”
    “I cannot help it, Jean.  I feel so…responsible for her.”
    “Etoile!” I heard Giselle call, “Please come down so you do not miss your first day!”
    I waited a second or two before strolling in.
    Jean lowered her newspaper and nodded to me over her coffee cup as Giselle primped at my hair. “There,” she said brushing the curls behind my ears and setting a plate of poached eggs and a glass of orange juice down in front of me. “You look lovely.  Please do not spill any breakfast on your clean clothes.”
    Jean folded the paper, stood up, rinsed her cup at the sink and reached for her backpack hung on a hook in the back hallway.
    “Where are you going?” Giselle asked rather surprised.
    “To work.”
    “But I thought…”
    “You thought what?”
    Giselle glanced at me.  “I thought you would want to wait for Etoile to get on the school bus.”
    “Giselle…” Jean began.
    “It is a very long walk down the end of the driveway.  I thought we could drive her down and wait for her in the car. It is her first day after all.”
    Jean shook her head and turned to me.  “Etoile, how old were you when you started school?” she asked.
    “Six.”
    “And how old are you now?”
    “Eleven.”
    Jean raised her eyebrows at Giselle.  “She’s been going to school for five years, Giselle. You can hardly call this her first day.”
    Giselle bit her lower lip.  “But the road is so far down.”
    “Etoile,” Jean said, “would you like us to wait with you in the car?”
    I looked between them and did not know what to say.  I did not want to make Jean late for work and I did not want to upset Giselle, but I also did not want the children laughing at me.
    “I will be fine to get on the bus by myself,” I announced.
    Jean smiled.  “I’ll see you tonight,” she said kissing Giselle on the cheek.  “Have a good first day of school, Etoile,” she added laughing.
    Giselle was not happy. “She does not understand,” she said after Jean left. Her hands moved quickly as she cleared the plates and set them down heavily into the sink. “Fine, but if it is raining out, I will insist that you be driven down.  I won’t have you walking into the school looking like un rat noyé , a drowned rat.  And remember to eat slowly when you get there, Cherie. ”
    I did not have the heart to explain to Giselle that there was no time to eat slowly at school.
    ***
    I stood on the edge of the road holding one of Jean’s book bags. In it were some brand new pens, pencils and paper and a huge brown bag lunch that Giselle had spent much of last night preparing.
    “Can I get one of those?” Jean had asked as she watched Giselle slice tender roast beef and layer it on pain rustique along with gorgonzola cheese, fresh greens and onions.
    “No, Jean, it is not your first day of school,” Giselle replied, but later on I did see her make another sandwich and slip it into the refrigerator.
    I stood at the end of the road waiting for the bus to come. Giselle stood on the front porch in front of the red door, her arms folded across her chest, watching me. When I saw the long yellow bus come down the road, I suddenly felt my knees grow weak.  I looked back at Giselle.  She gave a big wave and blew me a kiss. I quickly turned away.
    ***
    Mrs. Darby greeted the buses and spotted me right away.
    “Good morning, Etoile.  Do you remember the way to Mrs. Spenser’s