All Non-French Names Have Been Removed Because They Really Don't Matter

I have no idea how to start this so I'ma jump right in it and maybe come up with an opening later.

So I'm sitting in Scott's room watching TV and having a beer and all the sudden I remember something. Something fucking awesome. Someone fucking awesome that I have not thought about in five years.
This might seem not unusual to some people; I'm sure many people don't think about people they met just once five years ago. But I'm pretty good at remembering everything. So when I forget about someone as mind-blowing as Françoise...

It was senior year of high school, at an indoor track meet up in PG County the day before winter break. I was fucking around, per usual, waiting for the 3600m (which is always the 3rd to last race) to start. Earlier in the day I, along with half the guy's team, noticed this girl.
She was running the 4x400 when we noticed her, smoking the shit out of everybody and looking damn sexy doing it. Later she was spotted high jumping and if I'm not mistaken triple jumping. And it was after her last triple that ______ made his move.

Now to put it simply, ______ had game like none other, especially when we were 17. And even if he hadn't had game he did have an in; he was the only male triple jumper on our team. But pimp as he was he had two liabilities. First was the fact that directly after the girl's events came the guys, thus he had to stop flirting and start jumping. Second; and no doubt more important, was his girlfriend. She was a friendly, enthusiastic yet bland girl whose name I can't even pretend to remember and whose long-term relationship with ______ was ever a puzzle to us all. In any case she was also a jumper and seeing these two issues converging rapidly I inserted myself into the conversation and _____ also seeing them removed himself to start stretching.

It was then I found myself talking to Françoise. She was of medium height, had long brown hair, a beautiful face and more curves than any female who could run that fast had any right to have. And if that were not enough; if being beautiful in face, hot in body and in shape enough to wreck the field at 400m was not enough... She was fucking FRENCH!
And not like just her name was French, or her parents were French, or she had been born in France. She was a French exchange student, attending a Fairfax Country Public School, with the sexiest goddamn French accent known to mankind, ever.

So there I was sitting on the bleachers, outclassed, outgunned, beyond all hope, giving it my best shot.
And rip out my windpipe with you teeth if it didn't fucking work. Not a quarter of an hour later we were out back of that gym doing what 17 year-olds do like there was no tomorrow.

Now you may be wondering if this story has a point. To be honest it really doesn't. It just boils down to me remembering a very fond memory that has eluded me lo these many years. And hoping it isn't half a decade before I think of Françoise again.