"Allez! Allez! Mes étudiants!" Monsieur Toussaint's voice echoed in the classroom, his eyebrows moving above his glasses.
I gave a dramatic eye roll, running my hand over the smooth, well-worn leather of my beloved jacket paired with a burgundy Henley. The sunlight coming through the window made the silver buttons on my high-waisted black corduroy skirt sparkle. My reliable Doc Martens, though a bit worn, made a steady tapping sound on the scuffed linoleum floor. Stetson shot me a sly smile from the other side of the room, his boots matching my rhythm. “Looking forward to another thrilling lesson on irregular verbs, sis?” he whispered, barely moving his lips.
"Thrilled," I deadpanned, the delicate silver chain of my crescent moon necklace sparkling on my neck.
Chandler moved next to me,
