Why Cook Anything if it's not French? (François)

[Charlie Roswell]

The dorm smelled divine and even that was an understatement. The scent of French Confectionaries spread throughout the kitchenette where Charlie was baking and the air vents carried the air so that the entire hall smelled like a bakery.  Since it's hard to tell exactly where a smell is coming from by the AC, she put a whiteboard on the door that said: French treats inside! Knock if you want any!  It wasn't like Charlie was able to finish all of these off by her self anyway.

So far she had made a few rounds of creme brulee, one round of eclairs, and now she was on to macaroons. Well she planned to bake about ten different flavors of them. Strawberry, Blueberry, Chocolate, Key Lime,  Raspberry, Orange Creme,  and Coffee were what she had already made. As for the last three flavors, she hadn't quite decided yet. Her fully stocked refridgerator and cabinets gave her so many options to choose from.

Charlie took the last batch of coffee macaroons out of the oven and set them on the stove top. The place was a mess and boy was she hot. 

Charlie wiped her head with a dishrag and sighed. All this baking had taken much of her saturday up and after the camping trip she needed to rest. Her stress levels on the other hand, demanded that the bake so that's what she did since 5am.

"Cookie Dough or Birthday Cake? Cookie Dough or Birthday Cake?..." she repeated to herself, trying to decide. In the mean time she began to clean up. Almond flour was everywhere and macaroons needed to be put away.

Suddenly a knock came at the door. Charlie picked her head up and stared at it. A patron? She hadn't had any all day. The knock came again.

"It's unlocked," she said loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear.

(Tag: François Laffont)

[François Laffont]

Franck had just been spending some time with a friend, watching the end of a TV show together before commenting it and all. Franck was not watching a lot of television. It mostly was because the programs were in English and sometimes people were talking just too fast for him to get everything. At least, when he watched a movie or a show on DVD, he could put subtitles and stop it to rewind or ask his friend if he heard correctly. Maybe it was long and troublesome but it was the only way for Franck to really get everything. Even in class or with friend he wasn’t always getting everything, depended how you said it and how fast you said it. It was the puns and expressions he had the most difficulties with. You couldn’t expect a little French boy to get it right all the time. His English had been more than approximate when he first arrived to Bellefonte, he considered he highly improved in comparison.

He should be now heading home. His father wouldn’t be there but there was a limit how much time he was willing to spend at the school when he was actually living in town. Of course, he would always come by to see a friend but when they were busy, Franck had to find another occupation. There was something good in leaving right now however, something unexpected. The smell of cooking. Well, the smell was already there when he arrived earlier but he figured it was a student baking something for themselves, nothing else, and so he walked past Charlie’s room without much of a gaze at the door and its sign. The smell of delicious desserts however did not leave, in fact, it was more intense, more delicious... and it reminded Franck he was hungry.

He wouldn’t have stopped by her room had he not noticed the sign. He stopped at the word French. The guy simply couldn’t help it, as soon as there was this word somewhere, he needed to have a look. He hesitated though. Knock if you want any. Oh, he wanted some! He was also curious how much the one in that room knew of French treats and if they were any good. They certainly smelled good, but that didn’t mean they tasted good.

He couldn’t resist any longer. Franck knocked on the door. He was curious what kind of treat had been made here. He got so many different scents, it was hard to tell. He did wonder if he’d have to pay. That was a possibility. Who would bake tons of desserts only for you to sample them? He started digging through his pockets. He had some cash, depending how much he’ll take, he should be fine.

Franck finally heard a voice telling him to come in. Well, he assumed it was what she meant by saying it was unlocked. So he opened it and took a peek inside before actually walking in the room. “Are you really making French treats?” he asked. His eyes then fell on the macaroons resting on top of the stove. “Are these macarons?” he said, pointing at them, unable to prevent himself from saying it the French way. His accent was showing already anyway and it was not a parody because she wrote the word French on her door.

[Charlie Roswell]

"Yes and yes! Please come on in and help yourself!" Charlie said. She sucked the sugar off her fingers before wetting some paper towels and scrubbing some dough off the the ceiling fan vent. How it got there, she had no clue. She bit her lip and went at it vigorously for a few seconds before stopping and turning around.

"Oh! Where are my manners?" Charlie said, turning her head and glancing quickly around the room. It was a mess but within it she found just what she was looking for. Charlie went over to the round breakfast table and pulled apart a paper plate from the stack and grabbed a napkin, setting them down on the table. She walked to the center of the room.

"Right now I have seven different flavors of macaroons. The berries: strawberry, raspberry, and blueberry are here on the table. Colors are probably you best bet for which is which. And I have Chocolate and Coffee over by sink-chocholate's the darker one. Oh and Orange Creme and Key Lime are over...there." She said, pointing to right side of the oven. She took a step but turned back and headed to the fridge.

"And before I forget, feel free to have some eclairs and creme brulee. They're right here on the top shelves next to the milk." Charlie explained, opening the fridge door and motioning with her hands. She turned back to the stranger and shrugged with a smile."Have as much as you want. God knows I won't eat any of this. All I ask is that if you eat any creme brulee, I need the dishes back. Clean or not doesn't matter. So have at it."

[François Laffont]

He couldn’t believe it. Real macaroons, not that thing made of coconut. And éclairs and crème brulee. For a second, he could be bluffed into thinking this was a French patisserie. All she would need is some sludge-like coffee in tiny little cups and the disguise would be complete. He was actually too astonished to really care about Charlie’s manners right now. He had no idea someone else in this school liked the French culture, even if it was just the cuisine, even if it was just the desserts.

He seemed to understand the paper plate was for him as she pulled one out before going to her different treats all over the kitchen, telling him about them all. Seven different flavours of macaroons. Even some bakeries didn’t hold that many. He tried to look at everything as she pointed them out. She even had some in the fridge. That was just... so much.

He moved closer to the berry-flavoured macaroons, eyeing them. Colors indeed helped telling which was which. Strawberry was the lightest one, then raspberry and the blue one, well blueberry, obviously. “You must have woke up at dawn to do everything,” he let out. How come he never heard there was someone doing this in the dorms? Oh, right, he didn't stay at school, only attended lessons and visited some friends. But still, you’d expect one of them to notice her sign and tell him, knowing how much he loved the French culture. Or because he was French to begin with.

He was a little surprised also when she told him he could just eat something if he wanted. He pointed at the macaroons, as if asking her if he really could just take anything he wanted. She would not make him pay or anything? Finally, he decided to try one of her raspberry macaroons. “That’s delicious!” he exclaimed, putting his hand over his mouth as he swallowed his bite. He grabbed the plate she pulled out for him and placed what remained of the macaroon in it, for now. “And you’re telling me you’re not selling them? You totally should,” he added.

[Charlie Roswell]

Charlie chuckled at his comment. Was it that obvious?

 "Yeah, I did." she said with a one sided smile.

Just now as she took a break from her cooking adventures did she feel how long she had been at it. Being in the zone for so long, even with timers for the oven, really made her lose her sense of time. If the guy had never knocked she could have gone on baking for another day, even past finishing the final three flavors. Charlie's stomach growl and she sighed. Her muscles ached a bit and she felt the need to sit down.

The blonde went to the fridge and grabbed and crème brulee and crème brulee filled ramekin. She shut the door and made her way to the breakfast table. She pushed some things out of the way, setting the ramekin down to grab a plate for the eclair. Charlie sat down and did something she rarely did, eat her own cooking. Other than tasting her dish to make sure it was coming along correctly, Charlie usually skipped meals like that, a side effect of PTSD. 

As the guy sung her praises, Charlie smiled, mouth full of eclair with crumbs on her chin. She grabbed a napkin and wiped around her mouth before responding.

"Thanks." She replied. "Mr. Shepard, my godfather, flew in a master pastry chef from Paris the first Christmas after he adopted me. I had been baking beforehand but I wouldn't have gotten nearly as good without him." She didn't like to brag but felt her skills required explanation. Plus she never had anyone to tell this to before. Usually people just grabbed food and left.

"Maybe one day. Consider everything I bake free samples till then. I'm not sure what I'd do with the money though. Maybe donate them to charity or something, maybe a fund for starving children with powers in Ethiopia or something." She said. Despite being tired and hungry and stressed she was somehow a bit cheery. Baking had probably worked off most of her stress and human interaction probably warmed her up. Who knew with Charlie.


"Pull yourself up a seat. If you're gonna eat you may as well do it sitting down. I'll clear you off a space. I'm Charlie by the way." She said, motioning to the chair across from her with an eclair filled hand.

[François Laffont]

Charlie admitted she woke up at dawn, or something like that, in order to cook all this. He wondered why someone would do such a thing. Did she have something on her mind she needed out? He studied her, trying to read the feelings he was getting out of her but he mostly sensed how tired she felt right now. “Maybe you should sit down, eat something? You made all this, you should try at least some,” he pointed out, going to the paper plates to hand one to her with a napkin. He seemed wrong to eat a bit of everything if she had not. She was the cook after all. It would be unfair if people stepped in and ate everything, not leaving one little macaroon for her.

He felt immediately better when she started to eat. He wouldn’t have liked doing it all alone while she looked at him, waiting for a verdict or something. He was quite surprised to hear about her life as she explained how she got to know so many French recipes. He wasn’t sure what he should think of the adoption but he figured that, if she openly told him about it, than that meant she was fine with it. “Well, this is really good. I hope he didn’t teach you how to make snails or anything like that?” he added, wrinkling his noise. He might like the cuisine of his home country but there was a limit to it. Snails was past that limit.

He smiled when she said that her food would be free for now. She didn’t seem sure what she would do with the money. “You could also buy more ingredients or more cooking books and start your own business,” he said with a shrug before going back to his macaroon. Then again, if her adoptive father was able to bring a French chef to her for Christmas, he supposed he could buy all the ingredients for every recipe she might want to make.

As she pointed a chair, Franck picked it up and tried to find a spot that was not filled with treats or tools or anything basically. He stopped a bit as she said her name was Charlie. Must be for Charlotte. He always thought Charlie was a guy’s name. But it was not the first time America surprised him, with names or anything else. “I’m François, but you can call me Franck,” he replied before he sat down. He smiled again at her. “You might have figured out that I’m French. I’m surprised someone else knows my culture, even if it’s just the food. When you tell people of France, most of the time, they think of croissant and the Eiffel Tower and that’s it,” he said with a light chuckle.

[Charlie Roswell]

Charlie cleared off the table with her empty hand, or at least pushed things out of the way enough for him to have room to eat. Franck talked of snails and possibilities of the future. The first was delicious but the second was she had started cooking so much in the first place. The future. Vague and Menacing  Charlie took another bite of the eclair and puffed out her cheeks in a grimace. Where she was going she didn't know and she didn't like that. For a moment she envied Shep, her adoptive brother. At least he knew what he was doing for the rest of his life, even though he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Charlie then got back to the present situation. The stranger introduced himself as Franck the Frenchman. In normal situations people would shake hands but at a high school full of super powered teenagers, nothing was normal. Charlie swallowed the bites in her mouth and stood up. Grabbing the edge of her yellow dress, Charlie bowed her head and did a curtsy. It was her no contact way of exchanging introductions. Electrical power didn't make for good human interaction when it involved touching.

"Nice to meet you Franck," she said with a smile. "And no he didn't teach me how to make escargot but don't knock it till you try it. It's actually quite good." She avoided the subject of the future altogether and hoped Franck wouldn't notice. 

Charlie glanced at her creme brulee and then realised she didn't have a spoon. She reached over to a drawer and pulled on out before shoving the drawer back in and sitting down and beginning her venture into the contents of the ramekin. She took a bit and her eyes widened. 

"Is my cooking really this good?" She thought. "I need to eat this more often."

She then looked back up to Franck and felt a little awkward at the silence. They didn't call them awkward silences for no reason. She set her spoon back down and replied to the last part of his introduction, starting it off with a slightly forced chuckle.

"Yes, I love France. Especially it's cooking. French dishes are my favourite to bake with Italian coming in a far off second," she said. Her eyes glanced off to the right before making contact with the Frenchman's once more. "Actually... right now I'm reading about the French Revolution. Did you know that the Bastille was torn down brick by brick by hand because their explosives weren't powerful enough? Oh! Or that the first public zoo was created in Paris during then?"

[François Laffont]

Franck was not trying to tell Charlie what to do. He would never dare call himself a business man and clearly didn’t know enough to advise her about this. He could even understand if she pointed out that opening a patisserie might just be like creating a black hole for all of your money to go into and nothing coming out. It mustn’t be easy, to start a business, even a small one at school. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was even harder, the staff probably not liking it a lot. Or maybe they would. Franck wasn’t really sure what was allowed and what wasn’t.

He was actually glad she was not asking for him to shake her hand or anything. It was true that not everyone bothered doing it but still, Franck preferred not to. Charlie wouldn’t get hurt or anything but Franck was already able to sense her emotions at this distance, he didn’t want to get deeper into this girl’s heart and possibly find out why she had to wake up at dawn to cook all of this just with one handshake. He tried not to chuckle at the curtsy. It was quite old fashioned but he did nod in response.

He laughed for good though when she talked of snails and even said it right. Most people here would say it with a terrible accent but she wasn’t so bad. At least she didn’t pronounce the t at the end. “I did, once. Not a big fan myself,” he admitted. And preferred his country not to be known for snails and its people for being frogs.

He wondered how his roommate took it, to have someone cooking so much with them. They might like it if she let them eat everything like she allowed him. But the noise might bother them too, as well as the scents sometimes, especially at dawn. He was not a roommate of hers however and preferred not to question her about it. He didn’t want to make it sound like he was telling her what to do.

He was trying her different macaroons so didn't have as much time to talk but it mattered little since Charlie decided she would keep the conversation running. He felt a sense of pride when she admitted loving French cuisine. As if, because he was French, she complimented him personally with her comment. She then talked about the French Revolution. “I had no idea,” he admitted as she talked of the Bastille and also zoos. “I mean, I know of the French Revolution, of course. But we study mostly the fall of monarchy, Napoleon and the Declaration of the Rights of Man. It’s as important to us as your War of Independence,” he told her.

He had to admit, he was surprised an American girl, even one who loved who might love his country and culture as much as he did, could teach him something. “You know La Marseillaise was written then? Still our anthem. What else do you know?” he asked with a big smile on his face. Just because he was surprised didn’t mean he didn’t like it.

[Charlie Roswell]

Charlie loved hearing about what Franck studied over in school and nodded her head as he spoke further. It was always fascinating to hear how subjects were handled in different countries. Like how over in Japan the students took Japanese instead of English. Well they learned English too. It t sounded like common sense that Japanese students would of course learn their own language but Charlie never even fully comprehended before the idea of Japanese students sitting in and studying Japanese grammar, literature, poetry, etc. much the way Americans did with English, learning things in a way she'd never know. Looking back on it Charlie felt a little silly but she's like to imagine herself in another role somewhere else in the world, playing a different character and living a totally different life. A part of her almost felt sad that she only had one life to live and wouldn't be able to experience what everyone else did in the world, all the loss and all the love in places and in situations she'd never even thought before. Well, at least she had her books and the lives captured for her to understand in there. 

Charlie took another bite of her eclair. When Franck talked about La Marseillaise she drop her jaw in surprise. It wasn't really surprising it just finally made sense to her. The lyrics and their meaning finally connected the knowledge in her brain as she achieved a greater understanding of it. When she realised she still had food in her mouth though she closed it and covered her lips with her hand until she could chewing and swallowing the pastry. 

"No, I did not actually." Charlie replied. "But I did know that when the Bastille was stormed the revolutionaries weren't actually after the prisoners. There were only seven inside. What they actually wanted was the huge stockpile of weapons inside. And that when the royal family tried to escape France they didn't get very far because the king's face was on all the coins and they were recognised," Charlie running out of facts glanced down to try to jog her memory. After glancing at some macaroons she remembered one "... And that back then macaroons only had one layer. It wasn't till a hundred years later that they become double deckers. And... That's all I have right now."

Speaking of Macaroons Charlie took whichever one was closest to her and ate it. She didn't realise how hungry she was until she started eating and figured that she must have forgotten to eat again today. When it comes to cooking, Charlie gets in the zone so that everything else (with the exception of bathroom breaks) just doesn't even cross her mind. Keeping the conversation going, Charlie asked, "So...how is being here in America different than France? Well, other than the food and language of course."

[François Laffont]

Talking about what he learned back in France had him remember how it was when he arrived here. He was quite far behind in certain of their classes, especially English. If his accent was showing as he talked to her his words were still very to understand. Only a few syllables were still obviously said in a more French fashion. He couldn’t help it, really, especially when saying a word that was written the same way in French. It used to be terrible though. His accent was so thick when he arrived and he didn’t know enough words to have a real conversation with people. Because of that he was one year behind compared to everyone else.

Franck didn't know the American anthem so well but he knew the French one actually sounded pretty bloody in some parts. It made a lot more sense when you know it was written at the time the monarchy fell in France and the country was at war against itself. He nodded when she talked more about the Bastille and also the king and queen. “To be honest, running away with so much baggage was kind of foolish of them too. I suppose I should be sorry. Losing your head for saying ‘let them eat cake’ to your people is kind of harsh. But if it weren’t for that it would have been something else. The people wanted a democracy,” he said. Although it was more a republic then. Whatever. He could barely believe that he could talk of all of this with someone who actually knew some of this history. He bet most students here knew of Marie-Antoinette only because of the movie with Kirsten Dunst.

“It’s kind of nice to find someone who knows about this. I try not to talk too much about France, don’t want to bore people or sound like it’s not as good here as France is. But it’s my country, you know? I will always have a soft spot for it,” he told her, shrugging as he justified why he would still talk of France now and then. It kind of hurt if some told him he should stop thinking of France or watching mostly French movies and listening to French music, since he was in America now. It was part of who he was, he couldn’t simply dismiss it just because they were different here.

He smiled when she asked about the difference between the two countries. Obviously she would not lecture him about being unable to move on and whatnot. “I come from a town a little smaller than Kalispell. So it isn’t too bad here, even if language was a huge barrier at first,” he admitted, chuckling even. He knew what the biggest difference was. He wasn’t sure it had to do with France being France and America, America but that was the biggest difference he found. “Religion is different too. I’m Catholic and my mother is very religious. I never went to church once since I came here. It’s kind of weird sometimes,” he admitted. He did hesitate before sharing that though. Religion and mutants, not exactly a good mix. But hey, he already talked of his hometown and language so why not go all the way into what made him different than the rest of them.

[Charlie Roswell]

Charlie smiled when Franck the Frenchman talked so fondly about his country. He said it with such a mix of passion and nostalgia that she couldn't help but do so. She wasn't used to connecting to people and hearing their personal details and lives. It was like memories and feelings flowing from one life to the next. It was strange. It was nice. It was warm. Franck continued on and her smile grew even bigger as she cupped the ramekin with her hands. So this is what it is was like knowing people. She had to do this more often. All those lives out there with memories ready to burst through the seams, just waiting for someone to hear. Charlie wasn't always the talking type but she could certainly listen. It was people. People who truly mattered in this world. Maybe she'd even write a book or journal about them and these moments. They deserved to live on.  Maybe that's what she could do, become a biographer or something. A wave of serenity overcame her and then suddenly, the future didn't seem so scary.

When Franck started talking about religion, that's when it really hit home. 

"I understand. I'm Episcopalian or at least I was. I don't know anymore. I went to Catholic school so of course I know the Hail Mary's and all that so I know your side of things. I don't know it in French though but yeah... Being a mutant has really changed things. There weren't really mutants in the Bible and although Jesus can change water to wine, walk on water, and multiply the amount of bread and fish, I don't think he counts. He is the son of God after all or supposedly is. He definitely existed. I know that for sure. There's irrefutable historical proof that he did. But I just don't know about everything else. I don't know about God and heaven and the afterlife and angels and miracles and all that. I want to believe but some of it sounds like mythology more than truth or just something people want to hear. I mean I want to believe that there is something more than this life. Something after. Something greater than who I am...Some place where I...Some place where I can see my parents again." A single tear rolled down her right cheek as an immense sadness overcame her. Her life. Her shitty life. Her sadness. Afghanistan. Her parents dying in her arms. They may have left but they left her something even worse in their absence. An emptiness that she didn't know how to fill. 

She took a napkin and wiped the liquid sorrow from her cheek, stopping it before it hit the table. "Suh-Sorry. I don't normally talk that much or say anything like that. I'm sorry."

[François Laffont]

Franck was not the sharing type. Not that he was withdrawn but he was more the one who listened to others rather than talk to them. One might argue he was not sharing much about himself but Franck begged to differ. Sure, it was not his personal history he was giving her really but you could learn just as much if not more with the way people talked than with what they said. Finding someone who knew a bit about France other than the Eiffel Tower and fashion, it was refreshing. He couldn’t help himself as he talked of his country and eventually shared some details of his life back there.

Franck normally hesitated more talking of religion. He found that people here, on the most part, couldn’t care less about the topic. They were atheists. And some who had an opinion about the matter, it was often to point out how cruel it was towards them. Franck was not focusing on the negative aspects, the promise he would burn in hell for being who he was. Religion was about community and hope and values such as compassion. At least it was what he wanted to keep out of it.

Her serene nature washed over him as the feeling washed over her. Had he been nervous right now, she would have been able to appease him somehow. He nodded, surprised to find in her the echo of his own struggles with faith. “I like to think God made me that way, gave me that gift. But I know how hard it is to believe it. And talking of religion is just asking for one big argument going out of hand to start,” he admitted. He was not trying to recruit anyone or something of the like. He was not judging people on their beliefs yet he felt he would be if he mentioned his. It seems so incompatible with who they were here. He was not offended that she thought it sounded sometime so mythological it became hard to believe it. “I know what you meant. Personally, I prefer to think as Jesus as a man who did incredibly kind gestures and paid the high price for them. I do like the idea of God too but since my religion pretty much condemns me to burn in hell when I think I am a good person, I just don’t know,” he said. He frowned, trying to find the words to express his feelings right now. “I just... I believe God can see the good in all of us no matter how we call him or the way we pray him. But the men often do terrible things in his name,” he added with a sigh. He actually startled when she talked of her parents. He gave her a sympathetic smile and looked around for tissues. Not finding any, he grabbed another napkin but she was already wiping her tears away. “It’s ok. I know religion is a touchy subject, it can bring out all sorts of emotions,” he told her as she apologized. She really didn’t need to.

[Charlie Roswell]

Charlie wanted to finish off her creme brulee but it felt awkward to take another bite as they delved deeper into conversation. Charlie nodded along as he spoke, awkwardly trying to figure out to the proper amount of eye contact. As he finished she dabbed her eyes with a napkin again just to make sure everything was gone. She almost chuckled. Here they were two complete strangers just casually having deep and meaningful conversations over her pastries and making impacts on each others' lives. She smiled +softly, feeling comfortable and unburdened by the future.

"No, it's alright. Sometimes those feelings need to come to the surface, especially if they're shut away for a long time." She said. "I prefer to think of God as love. All he ever does it love and forgive and some people just don't understand that. Yes he's been angry in the past but he always forgives. The only thing he can't forgive is people not accepting his love and forgiveness. I like that because I know that no matter how alone me or anyone else would feel, I'd never be alone. But some people don't get that. People do hateful things in his name because they think that that's what he does, hate. They like to find a phrase in the bible or a story and twist it to their own meaning just so they can put some nice person down they don't like for whatever reason and say they're going to hell but that's not what God is all about." She sighed to take a break. This was more talking than she normally did total in any conversation. "God is love. I don't know whether he is an all knowing all powerful being but I do know one thing. If he does exist to me he will be love."

Charlie exhaled one more time before she felt awkward. She got up and averted her eyes from Franck, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a gallon of milk. She set it out on the counter and pulled two glasses down from the cabinet before pouring one for herself. She looked up and said, "Want me to pour you some milk?"

[François Laffont]

Religion and life were very heavy topic of conversation, especially when you spoke of them with someone you’ve met only a few minutes ago. He was not talking a lot about this to his friend yet here he was discussing it with Charlie. He knew however that if he was not talking a lot of this with his friends it had less to do with it being a touchy topic and more with the fact they might not understand. He never heard of anyone in this school being religious, even just a tiny bit. Not that he thought they were all atheists but it was true that the concept of religion with mutants didn’t seem very compatible. The fact he was gay only added to this hole separating those two sides of him but Franck wouldn’t let go of any.

It was weird to share his opinion regarding God and religion though. He supposed he was becoming more of an agnostic, acknowledging there might be a God but not really praying for him or doing what a religion told you to do. How could he, when he was condemned to Hell? He was a good person and he believed that if the little evil that he didn’t even considered evil that he did could send him to eternal damnation, then maybe there was something wrong in your way of seeing it. He nodded, smiling as he realised they shared more or less the same vision. “Yes, he always gives us the chance to repent and I think it’s the most important, what you really need to remember and try to do in your daily life,” he replied. He did try to do just that. It was why he helped so much around the school whenever he can. Sure, now and then, he ended up manipulated and hurt but he chose not to think about this.

Perhaps it was the fact that Franck had wished to get it off his chest before and could only do it with his father that he felt the need to speak so much about it. “Exactly! Or they like to point the contradictions in the Bible where God says to love all and then claims you need to kill your enemies. What they don’t get is that it’s been written by men, so of course it will always be the human interpretation of who He is,” he said. Maybe he was a little too enthusiastic at first, the way he exclaimed the ‘exactly’ but he couldn’t help it. “I don’t think we can ever fully understand God. I mean, for all we know, He is but a creation of man to ease the fear of death and give moral lines to the world. But I think the more good you do around yourself, the closer you are to Him.” A little voice in his head did tell him that it was normal he’d say that, since any other vision of the whole concept would punish him for who he was. But he chose not to think about it.

He smiled to her as she asked him if he wanted some milk. “Yes, thank you,” he accepted. “I’m sorry if I went a little over the top with the topic. I don’t get a chance to talk of it a lot around here,” he added with a sheepish smile.

[Charlie Roswell]

She kept small smile on hand. His enthusiasm was contagious and she was feeling it as well. She nodded along naturally with every word he said. Some conversations were awkward but sometimes like personalities just clicked. She followed along with the utmost attention instead of being only half present in her mind like she normally was.

Charlie poured Franck the Frenchman a glass of milk before putting the gallon back the fridge. She took a sip of hers and she carried them both to the table, setting them down and nudging his closer. As she enjoyed her milk she had some time to herself to think. She thought about how she hadn't repented in a while and how there wasn't really a place on campus to talk about stuff life this. Normally old private schools had chapels but Bellefonte wasn't really a normal private school. That gave her an idea.

"Yeah, it's alright! I don't have that chance normally either. It's nice to let loose every once in a while. Sometimes all the thoughts get crowded in our heads and we just need someone to help let em out. I mean there is God but I haven't exactly talked to him in a while and it's not the same." She said. "You know, there really should be a place to talk about this stuff more often. I mean, we can't be the only ones around here with these ideas..."