Balcony Boy Episode 3


I swear the universe holds some sort of grudge against me and insists on torturing me with situations like this. I gulp, looking up into Balcony Boy’s piercing blue eyes. My God, he’s even more beautiful up close. His jawline could give me a freaking paper cut.

This is bad. This is really, really bad. “I..” I begin pathetically, unable to finish.

“Want to watch where you’re going?” He says, surprisingly calmly. I’m so embarrassed and can’t think of an appropriate way to respond. My brain however, latches on to the first stupid idea it comes across. That is why my first conversation on this holiday with anyone other than my family, was going to be me pretending I can’t speak English.

Let me repeat that: I pretend I can’t speak English.

I did French for GCSE in high school. Fingers crossed it actually comes in handy for once. “Je suis désolée! Je suis vraiment désolée!” I say with as much as an accent as I can manage.

What is actually wrong with me?

“Oh! It’s fine, no big deal. Er… English?” He responds, awkwardly.

“Anglais? A…little bit.” I say, acting unsure of my words.

“Um…” He looks like he’s trying to remember what French he must have learnt in high school too. I happened to be a bit of a French prodigy, so I can only hope he didn’t have such a talent for it like I did.

Him thinking I don’t speak English gives me a bit more confidence if I’m honest. He sighs and shakes his head, clearly abandoning his search. “Name?”

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“Nom? Je m’appelle Amber. Comment tu t’appelles?” I’m hoping me saying it will refresh his memory. He goes blank for a second before his eyes light up. In my head I cringe slightly at how un-French my name is.

“My name?” He points to himself and I nod, unable to control my smile at how happy he looks to have figured it out. “Je m’appelle Jake.” He says with pretty bad pronunciation. He sounds like a British person attempting to speak French, which to be fair, is exactly what he is, but unknown to him, so am I. I clearly just do it better. I have to hold in a smirk at the thought.

“Very excellent to know you, Jake.” I say, feigning imperfect English. He laughs slightly at my attempt.

“Well, I better wipe this off.” He points to his chest and I nod, not allowing my eyes to linger on his abs. “Come with me?”

Wait, what?

I just blink, too shocked to react; Balcony Boy (well, Jake I guess) thinks this means I don’t understand him. He points at me,

“You,” he points to himself, “Me,” he points to the pool, “Together?”

I finally get my brain working and take a moment to feel sorry for any foreign person who ever has to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t understand them, we tend to act quite patronizing when someone doesn’t speak our language.

What have I got to lose? I’ve already made a fool of myself. I shrug and nod, following as he turns towards to the pool. When we reach the edge he turns to me and I notice the pool had gone quite empty again.

“You probably won’t understand most of what I’m about to say,” he takes my drinks out of my hands and sets them down on the floor.

“Mes boissons!?” I have no idea if my plural is right there, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t either so I’m not that bothered, I’m just confused.

“so I’ll keep it short. This is for spilling your drink on me.” And with that he pushes me backwards into the pool.