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It was a typical Tuesday for Cato and Clove, or it was until French class. Clove always sat at the desk next to Cato, so he instantly noticed her unusual behavior. First off, Glimmer would whisper something in her ear about every minute, causing Clove to go beet red and shake her head urgently. Her eyes would flicker over to study Cato, and when he'd catch her staring, she'd quickly face forward, her cheeks tinting pink.
About thirty minutes into class, Glimmer leaned over, and stage whispered in Clove's ear. "Just give it to him already!"
"No! I'm too nervous!"
"Then I'll do it for you!"
"You wouldn't dare...."
"You know I...." both of the girls' heads snapped up to notice the teacher standing over them.
"Is everything alright over here?"
"Yes, ma'am." They replied in nearly the same voice.
"I don't want to hear another peep out of either of you, understand?"
"Yes, ma'am." They returned, yet again their voices synchronized.
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When the teacher retired to the head of the room, Clove gave Cato an apprehensive glimpse before sliding a folded note onto his desk. Cato instantly picked it up, noticing Clove's breathing hitch tensely in her throat as she stared anywhere but at him. Cato unfolded the page, flattening out the creases and identifying Clove's untidy print. The note stated,
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Cato,
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Please translate this, Je Vous Aime Bien.
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Thanks. :)
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XoXo, Clove.
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Cato reached for this textbook, flipping the pages until he reached the proper page. He dragged his finger down the page until he found the words he was searching for, Je Vous Aime Bien...I like you.
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Cato read it repeatedly, just to be certain that he translated it right. Clove, the girl who perpetually rolled her eyes when Cato called her Clover and went on and on about how foul love was, liked him. Cato peered over at her, observing as her cheeks burned red, her fingers fiddling restlessly with the charm bracelet on her wrist. The one that Cato gifted her.
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Cato stole a pen out of his bookbag, quick to reply. He skidded the note back over to her, smirking when she started, giving him a strangely terrified expression. Clove opened the paper gradually, evidently assuming that she would have to put off the unavoidable. Her eyes widened when she discerned the words he had written.
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Clover,
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Je Vous Aime Aussi.
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Yours truly,
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Cato.
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P.S: You don't have to be so afraid of my answer Clover, you know I can't refuse you. ;)
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Clove's lips spread into a grin, and she delivered the note to Glimmer, turning her head to smile at Cato.
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Cato smiled back, leaning over when the teacher was occupied.
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"Hey, Clo," Clove looked over at him.
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"Yeah?"
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"Don't kill me if I mispronounce this...Veux-tu être ma petite amie?"
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Clove beamed, understanding that the question he had asked was if she'd be his girlfriend.
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"Oui," Clove answered, letting out a small, uncharacteristic yet enthused giggle.
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Cato chuckled at the flush in her cheeks, smiling at the fact that she said yes.
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"So..." Clove dragged the word out, fiddling with a strand of her chestnut hair and grinning shyly at Cato. "Hi..."
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"Hi," Cato's lips stretched into a smirk. He ran a hand through his hair, a look of nervousness crossing his features. "There is one more thing I want to do..."
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He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that the teacher wasn't paying attention. He turned back to Clove, quickly leaning forward and pecking her on the lips, before giving the teacher his full attention once more.
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Clove's jaw dropped, her eyes widening as her hand shot to her mouth, her fingers tracing her lips as if she could still feel the warm sparks that Cato's quick kiss left behind. She turned to Glimmer, who was biting her lip to hold back a squeal.
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"I told you so!" She whispered, her voice laced with thrill.
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Clove just sat there in shock, her mind replaying her first kiss with her lifelong crush.
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For the rest of her time in eighth grade and all four years in high school and college, French was Clove's favorite subject. And on the day that she married Cato, her wedding present to him was a framed note from eighth grade, with the words, "Je Vous Aime Bien," written in her hasty print.
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