I was pacing the school corridors, looking completely exhausted. I had spent my time replying to unread messages from the weekend, setting up my new phone, and dreaming about the handsome stranger from the iStore. Stop! I patted my cheeks to chase the image of that man from my head (I hadn't hesitated to imagine our wedding and children while I was sleeping). I must have escaped from a psychiatric hospital to have such ideas.
I had a smile on my face, even though it was back-to-school day. I had never been happy to go back to school, but this man was already having an effect on me. I was approaching my new classroom when I felt a presence behind my back.
— Hello, Baby.
I turned around, a little flustered: it was Karen Hart. And yes, my classmates call me by my real name, which is Baby... an unconventional name, isn't it?
— Hi, I replied.
— It's been a while since we saw each other with the holidays.
— Indeed... Thanks to the holidays.
Karen was a classy girl whom everyone admired. She was a member of the Student Council, where she served as General Secretary, ensuring the proper conduct of all meetings and the rigorous monitoring of the association's files. Ultimately, it will only be after the equivalent of two full lunar cycles that they can officially turn the page on this 'mandate.' That's like the blink of an eye on the scale of administrative eternity.
She had excellent grades (compared to mine), and everyone liked her: she was the person you could turn to when you had a problem. She had clung to me a lot during the first year, and I always ended up in her group for presentations.
Her breasts pointed out through her T-shirt like small lemons; she never wore a bra... was she doing it on purpose? Probably. A pretty face and curves of great discretion, which her excessively short skirts highlighted where there was precisely nothing to show. (The school should have a dress code.) She was more than just coquettish, her bun pulled tightly back.
The image of the perfect girl stuck to her skin, but for me, she remained a hypocrite, a sharp-toothed fox, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on our throats.
— So, you traveled with your parents during the holidays? she retorted with a wide smile.
— Obviously, I replied. Where did you get that kind of information?
— It must be magnificent to have wealthy parents who own a vacation home by the water. We had one too... before my father died, and the bank seized it.
Her cheerful look had darkened, and her voice was tinged with melancholy and sadness. I suddenly felt bad for thinking she was a bitch. That damn habit of judging and labeling people...
— I am sincerely sorry.
I couldn't help but warmly hold her hand, as if to convey my sympathy.
— Don't worry, it's in the past. I hope we'll be in the same presentation group again this year, she said with a big smile.
— Of course, I hope so too, I replied. Anything but that...
We entered and greeted our classmates. There were new students, obviously, probably from other universities. I sat in the very back; I didn't like to draw attention to myself.
I placed my bag in front of my desk and started fiddling with my phone. I had already received my monthly bank transfer and a message from my mother: "Have a good new year, study hard, avoid sex, and especially use your pocket money indulgently." Always so embarrassing.
Then, I checked the group chat with the girls. They had also returned to their schools and had filmed their classroom and the "outfit" of the day (I would also take a picture later). Ah, well... even from afar, we are just as connected, I thought aloud.
— What did you say?
I suddenly looked up from my phone and noticed Prince, leaning forward, his bag pulled back like a gangster. A raised eyebrow suggested he was reflecting, as if my sentence was directed at him. His perfume tickled my nostrils, and his gaze was locked onto mine.
— I was thinking aloud, I replied. And first of all, I continued more boldly: what are you doing here?
— It's possible we've been taking the same classes since last year, remember? he retorted mischievously.
I pouted and put my phone on the table, sporting a mocking smile.
— Arith Prince, you'll never change... you're always so sarcastic, I countered.
— Why should I change? I'm not a fickle person, Miss Dang.
— Yeah, right... I rolled my eyes.
He walked around to sit next to me. He would be my bench neighbor... Great! He was the noisiest guy I knew. We had never been particularly close, but he always went out of his way to annoy me. He hung out with everyone, and there were rumors that he was only interested in girls much older than him. They had probably seen him joking around with the third-years. Where there's smoke, there's fire.
I would have preferred Wesley Cay, who was already on the podium, waiting for everyone to give a short speech. The Student Council president, the director's son, irreproachable, rational, and attentive to others. Compared to Prince... But they did have one thing in common: they were so handsome it felt like attending a model casting, all soaked in testosterone, with incredibly high sex appeal.
Casually, I felt a gaze fixed on me. I tensed up, uncomfortable, and looked up. Karen was there, four seats away, her eyes narrowed, her lips slightly pursed as if my mere presence displeased her. The classroom was already buzzing: many classmates were chatting, laughing, rustling papers, and the commotion echoed between the rows. Despite the confidences she had made about the tragic loss of her father, I couldn't help but think she was a bitch.
The students were finally all in the room; Wesley gave a wonderful speech and welcomed the newcomers. The first professor arrived, and the class went smoothly. For a first day, there were no presentations or homework—all the better, I dreamt of relaxing in a coffee shop with the girls.
The day was over, and I sent a message to the girls to meet at the Berline at 4:30 PM, giving myself time to catch an Uber. Ready to order, my gaze fixed on my phone, I saw a luxurious BMW park in front of me.
— Are you going to stand there waiting for your Uber, or would you prefer to hop in? Prince shouted, lowering the window.
I certainly wasn't going to refuse that and spend an astronomical amount on an Uber. So I hurried to get into his car, even though he was annoying.
— Are you heading home?
— No, I'm meeting the girls at the Berline.
— Oh really! I love that coffee shop.
He turned sharply toward me, looking agitated, and never kept both hands on the wheel. So, we were slightly zigzagging.
— Are you completely crazy?! Two hands on the wheel, Lord! Look where you're going!
— Don't worry, I learned to drive at fourteen on my parents' estate.
He said that as if it were an engineering degree.
— Your parents must have been very lenient with you, I said, staring at his hands: one on the wheel, the other already miming an anecdote.
One hand on the wheel? Great, I'm officially a ghost waiting for a funeral.
— As a child, I had ADHD.
— Oh really?
— My parents said any activity was good for calming my distraction.
Calming your distraction? Lord, you just honked at an old lady crossing slowly... what do you call "calm"?
— Today, the treatment has helped me a lot, he added, changing the music three times.
Helped him a lot?! If he hadn't been helped, he'd already be climbing onto the roof of the BMW.
I clung to my seatbelt as if it were a lifesaver.
— Today, that condition is cured? Because I don't get that impression...
— With taking the medication and good follow-up, the symptoms calmed down during adolescence. What? Are you scared now that you're in this vehicle with me?
— Me? Pfft, nonsense! I said, holding on to the seatbelt. It's not like you let go of the wheel every two minutes to move as you please!
At that moment, he braked sharply in front of the café. My head nearly hit the dashboard.
— There you go, arrived at your destination! he announced, proud of his maneuver as if he had just won a rally.
I sighed, still clinging to the seatbelt, before rolling my eyes.
— Seriously, Prince?! Were you trying to finish me off before I met my friends?
— Of course not! You should thank me; I gave you a sensationally rich journey.
— A journey?! If that's a journey, then you're the worst tour guide I've ever had.
— Come on, you enjoyed it deep down; I saw it in your eyes.
— What you saw was my life flashing before my eyes, that's the difference.
— You know... I'd like us to get a little closer, you and me, he said, smiling.
I froze, my mouth slightly open. My brain had a moment of pure disbelief. Him and me? Seriously? The noisiest, most unbearable guy in the whole class wanted to get closer?! I was ready to burst out laughing... or tell him to calm down immediately.
— ... Yes, you're funny. I'd like us to become good friends.
— Huh? What do you mean, not be good "friends"?
— We could hang out, talk, laugh. I like your energy.
— ... my energy? I repeated.
— Yes. I don't have many friends who understand me, who tolerate my little... eccentricities.
He vaguely gestured towards the steering wheel as if to say: you see what I mean.
— And you, you put up with it, even if you complain. That counts.
Nonsense! I almost lost my life. I cut him short:
— I'm expected... I'm going to go before you decide to make me do a loop-the-loop with your BMW.
— You're exaggerating; I drive very well.
— If you say so...
I got out of the car and slammed the door, inwardly stewing: Get closer as friends? Seriously?! Never in a million years.