The Girl With The Headscarf

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"How are you so good at French?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice and sighed, closing her novel. She looked up at the guy who'd interrupted her reading and regretted her decision instantly. The sun was out and she squinted, looking down again.

The figure standing over her sat down from across her and for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to look directly at him so she chose to stare at his shoes instead. He was wearing a pair of black and grey vans.

"Cool shoes," she blurted out quietly and caught the corners of his lips tilting up. She looked away, tracing her finger along the book cover's pattern. "So, what were you saying?"

She heard the smile in his voice. "I was asking you how you're so good at French. I mean, for a freshman."

She smiled and this time looked at him. "My mom is French."

His eyes widened. "Your... wow. That's so..."

"Unexpected?"

"C'est trop kiffant!"
[That's so cool!]

She couldn't help but chuckle. "You're improving, I see."