Page 64 of Everything She Does Is Magic

“Oui,” I confirm in French. “Je dois regarder l’arrière de la têtede ma copine toute la journée.”I have to look at the back of my girlfriend’s head all day.

“Ah,” she says. “Comme c’est triste.”How sad.

“Do you know what we’re doing?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she says, turning back around.

I tap her shoulder, leaning in closer.“Tell me.”My breath tickles her neck, and she shifts in her seat, her shoulder twitching at the feeling.

“Charlotte, Renée,” Madame Poncik says, scolding us with our French names.

I sit up straight. I hate getting in trouble.

Once everyone has their papers, Madame Poncik calls Darcy to the front of the class, and I’m wishing I pushed through the fear of being reprimanded a little longer, because Darcy is directly involved in whatever’s going on. I track her every movement, telegraphing my confusion.Look at me. Explain what’s going on.

In a mix of French and English, she tells our class that we will be constructing flowers out of paper today. All my classmates are as confused as I am, but no one is upset by this development. A surprise craft day is on the same level as a surprise movie day, which is to say, it’s a very good day indeed. The rest of them don’t care to know why we’re doing this, only trying to make sure Madame Poncik doesn’t change her mind and decide we need to work on our past participles instead.

Darcy demonstrates each step of the process for us. We cut the red construction paper into smaller squares, then fold each sheet until it’s as small as the insides of our palms. She shows us how to cut a curve into the paper next. When she unfolds it, she twirls the paper until it’s transformed into a petal.

“This is one of the first crafts my parents ever taught me,” she tells us. “I was six. And I promise, it’s still as cool now as it was back in kindergarten.”

“Charlotte! En Français!” Madame Poncik scolds.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, ducking slightly in apology. “Je suis desolée.”

It makes me smile to think of six-year-old Darcy at Pam’s Paints, doing her best with scissors and glue. She probably learned this on a Monday and started teaching it to Grace by Wednesday, never missing a chance to spread her knowledge or take command of a room.

Patiently, doing her best to use French but mostly getting away with English, she helps our class create flowers. They are red roses with long green stems.

While the project is simple, it’s also relaxing. Fun. I can see why Darcy likes art so much. There’s a meditative element to it, just you and the medium, working together.

When my rose is nearly constructed, a quick glance around the room tells me some of my classmates haven’t done much better than a kindergartener, but everyone is so focused, so serious about their craft, that it’s endearing. No one ever lets us do something simple and sweet like this. I don’t know if that’s Darcy’s motivation, but I appreciate it all the same.

Madame Poncik tells Darcy to start wrapping up. Darcy goes around the classroom, collecting the finished roses. I hand mine over without comment, and it’s enough to make Darcy’s lips quirk. She was expecting me to say something.

It’s fun to keep surprising her.

“Charlotte!” Madame Poncik exclaims when Darcy’s got everyone’s roses collected. “C’est magnifique!” She obviouslydoubted how effective this craft would be, but she’s right to be impressed now.

When Darcy wrangles together all twenty-two roses, tying them together with a little thread of red ribbon, it looks lovely. Not real, but that’s not the point. The charm is in the effort.

“Can I do this next part in English?” she asks Madame Poncik.

Madame sighs, narrowing her eyes. Darcy parries with her best please-please-please look. It’s enough to make our stern French teacher drop her guard.

“Fine,” Madame says, waving dismissively. “Make it count.”

Darcy gives her widest, most dazzling grin in return, and my heart does its now-familiar hiccup at the sight.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why you just spent the hour making paper flowers for me,” she starts, looking out at our classmates. “Beyond wanting you to experience the satisfaction of a good old-fashioned paper craft and getting to practice my French public speaking, of course.” She turns back to Madame Poncik and smiles again.

Madame Poncik nods. “Get on with it, Charlotte.”

“I wanted to make my own version of everlasting roses,” Darcy says.

A boy named Derek Blankenmeier, one of Kyle’s best friends, yells out, “Oui, oui,” in his exaggerated French accent, getting everyone to laugh.

“Not now, Derek,” Darcy says.