[ ᴶᵒˢᵉᵖʰ ᴰᵉˢᶜᵃᵐᵖˢ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐ!ᴼᶜ ]
𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇
𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
where introducing girls to an all boys school goes just ad you'd expect.
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*ೃ༄
"Who can tell me what this means?" proposes Mr. Douillard. Latin was Camille's worst subject, and by the look of the vast sea of bored faces, she wasn't alone in that. Remembering the seating dilemma from her other class with Giraud, her and Annick both subconsciously chose to sit next to each other at the front of the class, and Camille hoped this meant she had someone to copy her answers from. Annick raised her hand confidently as per usual. Not to anyone's surprise, Douillard ignored Annick. Camille could hear two of Pichon's friends in the row next to her whispering to each other. Applebaum and Felbec she had heard them be called, though she wasnt yet sure which was which. One was shorter and brunette, and the other was taller and blonde, wearing a green shirt and glasses. The teacher waited a beat.
"Well? Anyone?" He asked again. Annick's hand was still held high. Camille began to fiddle with the corner of her paper, folding it into random shapes out of awkwardness. A look of relief bloomed on Douillard's face. "Yes, monsieur?" "I think she's raised her hand." Camille's head perks up at the sound of the voice. It was attractive, and she turned to match the voice to a face. She meets eyes with the boy from that morning again, and became immediately flushed with embarrassment as she whipped back around to face the front. Some of the boys laugh at his remark, and suddenly all attention was towards Annick; even Douillard's.
"Indeed. So?" he probes, and Annick suddenly stands up with eagerness. "The Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house." she smiles confidently, and Camille felt an inner blossoming of pride. But Douillard doesn't look her way. "The Romans 'cheer' Horatio." Douillard adjusts his tie knowingly and straightens his back. "Can you conjugate the verb "ovare"? Subjunctive form..." he continues his condescending tone. Whilst he droned on. Camille could hear shuffling from the back of the classroom, but she dared not turn around and make eye contact with the same boy again. Annick doesn't back down from the challenge, and perfectly conjugates the latin- doing so with the upmost class. She'd make a great beatnik. Suddenly Douillard's all seeing eyes flicker to the back of the classroom.
"Give it to me." he demands. Camille does turn now, curiosity getting the better of her. She tracks everyone else's gaze to the boy sitting in the middle row of desks. He didn't look defeated or guilty though, only disappointed. He walks hesitantly up to the front after the same demand was repeated. Annick slowly sank into her chair, taking her cue to sit back down. The boy holds a piece of paper in his hands, a note. The teacher unfolds the paper, and is immediately unimpressed.
"Think this is funny?" "It wasn't me." The boy sounds sincere enough. Camille looks to Annick with a nervous grimace, which she returns. "Who is responsible for this masterpiece?" Radio silence. The air was thick in the classroom, and Camille pulled on the neck of her jumper without thinking. The boy under interrogation wouldn't budge. Douillard looks around the room.
