The next morning, I woke up late. I was going back to the villa to say goodbye to my parents before heading home. I first had to share breakfast with them. It was normally scheduled for 10:30 a.m., and it was already 10:00 a.m. I jumped out of bed, cursing almost under my breath, and slipped discreetly out of the room so as not to wake up my friends.
I ran out of Manue's house, heart pounding and mind still hazy from the slumber party. My curly hair, normally perfectly coiled, was a complete mess, frizzing everywhere because of the sweat and my frantic run. A few rebellious strands clung to my face, and I had to continually push them away. As soon as I arrived at the villa, I froze at the front door, catching my breath and trying, in vain, to tame my rebellious curls. My parents hated lateness, and the mere thought of their reaction gave me cold sweats. If I ran into them now... catastrophe.
I crept up the stairs, praying that no one would see me. Every movement made my sweat-dampened curls frizz further, and I cursed myself internally for not taking the time to style them after the quick shower that awaited me. Once somewhat presentable, I cautiously went downstairs. The cutlery was already set on the table—my parents had started breakfast. I slipped into my seat, offering a shy smile and a quick hug to my mother.
The table was calm, almost solemn: my father, still visibly annoyed by what had happened the day before, was sipping his coffee in large gulps without a word. The only sound that broke the silence was the clinking of his cup on the saucer.
In front of me, the appetizing smell of breakfast drew a smile: golden, fluffy scrambled eggs, warm toast with melting butter on top, and a small bowl of fresh fruit. I was hungry just looking at it.
My mother, always impeccable despite the early hour, cast a mischievous glance at my plate.
— Well, my big girl... I bet you've put on a few extra pounds again, huh? At this rate, you're going to end up looking like an elephant! she launched with a smile that was both teasing and affectionate.
I shrugged, a smile playing on my lips:
— Oh, Mom, don't worry... I'm well-rounded, yes, but I take after you, so that's perfectly normal!
She let out a light laugh, and I took a moment to observe her: her hair neatly tied back, her eyes sparkling behind thin glasses, and that small indulgent smile that revealed both strength and softness. She had that knack for making you feel guilty while making you laugh, a kind of maternal magic that I had never quite understood but adored.
— So, my big girl, tell me... was this evening with the girls well-behaved or completely wild? my mother asked, placing her hands on the table, a mischievous smile on her lips.
I took a bite of scrambled eggs, chewing slowly to buy time and think of the best way to answer.
— Well... let's say "well-behaved" isn't exactly the word, I launched with a little smile. — Between our improbable discussions, our bursts of laughter, and the food we devoured as if we hadn't eaten in centuries, we definitely tested the limits of nocturnal calm, I confessed.
After all, I wasn't going to confess that I had spent the evening talking about more adult subjects. Who tells their parents that kind of nonsense?
— Hmm, I see... You indulged in food again, huh? she continued, giving me a knowing look.
— Mom, let me reassure you... you would have loved to taste that kebab, I replied with a smile.
She smiled in spite of herself, because if I was indeed a foodie, it could only come from her.
I glanced at my father, who was giving me black looks across the table, silent but very expressive, like a ninja of paternal disapproval. I turned to my mother and continued to chat, enjoying this hilarious and slightly absurd calm.
— Well, enough talk! The driver arrives in ten minutes, you have to leave for Clairmony, my mother announced, standing up.
I nodded, slightly saddened but relieved at the same time: the drive would allow me to breathe and put my thoughts back in order. I got up, gave my mother a quick hug, then slipped my belongings into the bag the driver had already loaded.
— Be careful, Babe, she called one last time.
— Yes, Mom, I promise! I replied, smiling, my thoughts already wandering towards my little life in Clairmony and the messages to read from my friends. My father stared at me without saying a word, his dark eyes piercing me as if to punish any inclination toward lateness or indulgence. What a magnificent family!
In the blink of an eye, it was Thursday. The daily routine was slowly setting in: waking up early, commuting, classes, and day-to-day occupations... I hadn't seen Prince all week and hadn't contacted him all weekend either. What a good friend I was, really! Yet, I wanted to tell him off for introducing me to an idiot. It was undoubtedly the most grotesque joke I had ever seen. I'll call him after class, I thought internally.
I no longer felt Karen's gaze on me. Had she finally understood that you don't mess with someone stronger than you? We had to turn in the presentation we had prepared in a group.
As I placed my things on the table, I noticed Wesley, the BDE president, approaching. His gait was calm but assured, every movement betraying the discipline of his athlete's body. Broad shoulders, head held high, he moved with a natural elegance that commanded respect, and yet, he had that slightly thoughtful, unusual look for him.
— Babe, can we talk for a minute about Karen? Wesley asked, in a calm yet insistent voice. A mixture of surprise and exasperation on my face. Karen... again? I was already tired of that girl.
— What's going on between you and Karen? Did you argue? Wesley asked, in a calm yet insistent voice.
— Uh... Wesley... I don't know if I can really answer you on this subject, I mumbled, a little embarrassed. — It's her private life too, you know...
— I understand, naturally... he replied, in a calm tone that conveyed sincere understanding.
Ordinarily, Wesley was far too rational to get involved in this kind of business. I was surprised to see him take an interest.
He settled slightly apart, hands in his pockets, and resumed, his voice now softer, almost unexpected:
— I noticed there was a certain tension between you two, he continued, his voice softer, almost unexpected. — I was somewhat worried. I know Elise doesn't have the easiest character... but I couldn't accept her behaving badly.
— Wait... Elise?
— Yes...
— Are you close? I asked, curious.
— Let's say we're childhood friends, he specified with a slight smile. — It's her nickname.
— I see...
His voice, though always measured, now carried a hint of softness that surprised me. Listening to him, I couldn't help but lose myself in my thoughts. Despite his relentless rationality, the way he spoke about Elise... there was something more. Was it purely friendly concern, or a deeper feeling? I observed him, fascinated by this contrast: the athlete's body, the straight posture, and that look which betrayed a tenderness one would never have guessed in the strict, methodical BDE president.
As he waited for my answer, I realized that this little moment of conversation had something intimate about it, almost as if the daily routine had been suspended around us.
So I recounted what had happened to him, omitting a few somewhat embarrassing passages, and I dropped, almost casually, that she was in love with Prince. His face immediately became serious, as if he were forcing himself not to react.
Decidedly, in this school, everyone seems incapable of confessing their feelings to the person they love and prefers to wait patiently, as if magic will bring forth love, while confessing one's feelings is awakening the other's consciousness, leading them to recognize the existence of a real and palpable bond, while leaving them the free will to accept or reject it. So they wait, impassive, for their "chosen one" to slip right under their nose, before showing up to act nervous—a spectacle of nameless ridicule.
— That must have been complicated... I'm truly sorry for her somewhat childish behavior, he finally said, sincerely.
I waved my hand, as if to dismiss the importance of the matter.
— Oh, it's nothing... really.
I took a light breath and, playing with the edge of my notebook, launched in:
— You know, sometimes, rivers go silent behind stones, I murmured softly. — They seem calm, still, but beneath the surface, they are bubbling and searching for their path. And if no one shows them where to go, they remain prisoners of their own silence.
He stared at me, intrigued, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.
— So... you mean that some people should let what they feel speak before the silence becomes too heavy?
— Exactly, I replied, with a mischievous look. — Sometimes, all it takes is letting a word, a gesture flow... for everything to become clear.
He remained silent for a moment, as if absorbed by the metaphor, before whispering almost to himself:
— And you want me to let my river flow, is that it?
I rolled my eyes, a corner smile. My twisted mind, as usual, turned everything into double entendre... impossible to think of a river without seeing something a little naughty in it.
— No... but Wesley, stop! I finally whispered, dying of laughter.
— But what?, he said, — you're the one who chose that metaphor!
He blinked, then burst out laughing as he realized:
— Ah... damn! Said like that, it sounds... weird.
I couldn't help but burst out laughing in turn, shaking my head: it was exactly what was needed, this little absurd moment that made the metaphor even more hilarious.