𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, joseph descamps

𝟎𝟎𝟏. a dazzling arrival

THAT MORNING, Aimée feels a knot forming in her stomach as she walks through the gates of Voltaire High School. Late for her first day, she rushes down the empty halls, heading toward her classroom. She almost trips several times, her nerves amplifying her clumsiness, the bun in her hair threatening to come undone.

Arriving in front of her classroom door, Aimée feels her heart racing. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm the tremors in her hands. She smooths her skirt and runs a hand through her messy hair, attempting to present a more polished appearance.

The knot in her stomach grows as she raises her hand to knock on the door. A moment of doubt washes over her : what if she turns around and flees this intimidating place ? But she knows she must face the day, no matter what.

She knocks softly, the sound echoing in the hallway's silence. The wait that follows feels like an eternity before an authoritative voice from the other side invites her in. Aimée hesitantly pushes the door open and steps into the classroom.

Even while trying to remain inconspicuous, she knows her lateness and fiery hair will draw attention like a flame in the dark.

The inside of the classroom feels even more intimidating than the hallways. The neatly arranged rows of desks and the gazes of her classmates fixated on her make Aimée feel her cheeks flush.

She senses the tension rising within her, every fiber of her body seeming to tighten. Her hands tremble slightly as she crosses them in front of her, desperately trying not to attract further attention.

Her vibrant hair isn't the only striking detail; her cheeks are dotted with freckles that multiply under stress. Her slender, delicate frame, almost fragile, appears ready to crumble under the weight of the stares.

Mrs. Giraud greets her with a stern look. "Miss Bernard, I presume ? You are late," she remarks coldly.

"I... I'm sorry, ma'am," she murmurs, her voice shaking. Her hands have turned cold and clammy, and she feels as though every movement is being scrutinized and judged.

Mrs. Giraud raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her apologies.

"We have schedules to adhere to, Miss. Find a seat at the back of the class and do not disrupt the lesson."

Aimée nods timidly, avoiding the teacher's piercing gaze. As she heads to the back of the room, she feels the boys' eyes on her, inspecting her from head to toe. She notices with relief that there are three other girls in the class, their presence providing slight comfort.

As she walks between the rows to find an empty seat, she hears a brown-haired boy wearing glasses whisper mockingly, "Hey, the redhead !"

Aimée looks down, her face burning with shame, and quickens her pace. She settles into an empty desk at the back, trying to disappear behind her book. The day has barely begun, and she already feels exhausted. The boys' muffled laughter lingers in her ears.

Class resumes, but Aimée struggles to concentrate. Mrs. Giraud's voice echoes in the room, but her words float above her, failing to penetrate the fog of her anxiety. She attempts to take notes, but her hand trembles too much to write properly.

Despite her efforts to stay low-key, she can still feel the boy in glasses' persistent gaze on her. Each time she looks up, she meets his mocking eyes. He seems to take pleasure in unsettling her, a smirk playing on his lips. Aimée feels her cheeks flush even more, her freckles standing out sharply against her flushed skin.

She steals a glance around the room. The three girls she noticed earlier also seem a bit nervous, exchanging glances with each other. It offers her slight comfort to see she isn't the only one feeling this way.

"Hey, redhead, did you forget to do your hair this morning ?" the boy with glasses suddenly throws out, his voice low but loud enough for a few stifled laughs to ripple around him.

She feels a lump forming in her throat. Lowering her head, her red hair falls like a curtain around her face.

Finally, the bell rings, releasing Aimée from her silent torment. She jumps up, awkwardly gathering her things. As she heads for the door, two of the three girls she noticed earlier approach her.

"Hi," says the first girl, a tall blonde with a warm smile. "I'm Michèle Magnan, the butcher's daughter. And this is Simone Palladino," she adds, gesturing to the shorter girl with brown hair beside her.

"Nice to meet you," Aimée murmurs, trying to mask her nervousness. She clutches her book a bit tighter, using it as a shield.

"Don't worry about Joseph," Simone says with an encouraging smile. "He's always like this. He enjoys teasing, but he's harmless."

"Yeah, just ignore him," Michèle adds. "We'll show you the best spots to avoid trouble."

Aimée feels a weight lift slightly off her shoulders. The kindness of Michèle and Simone is a balm to her raw nerves. She smiles shyly at them, grateful.

"Thank you," she says, her voice steadier than she expected. "That's really nice of you."

"Come on, we'll give you a tour," Simone suggests, gesturing for her to follow. "It'll take your mind off things."

Aimée follows them out of the classroom, feeling a flicker of hope ignite within her. Maybe this day isn't completely lost.

By noon, she's eating with Michèle, Simone, Annie — the third girl from her class — and the other girls from school. The cafeteria buzzes with laughter and animated discussions. Aimée feels a bit more relaxed, listening to Michèle share a funny story about a strange customer at her dad's butcher shop, giggling softly with the other girls.

However, as they chat, a boy from their class, Pichon, catches their attention. He walks past their table with his tray of bread but suddenly trips, falling heavily onto their table and plunging his hand into Annie's plate of mashed potatoes.

"I... I'm sorry, Annick... do you want my plate ?" he stammers, embarrassed.

Michèle shoots a dark look at the neighboring table. "Well, it's that other idiot who should pass her his plate," she says, pointing to Joseph with her chin.

A collective ohhh rises in the cafeteria. Joseph stares at Michèle with undisguised arrogance. "Does the niece of the lunch lady have a problem ?" he asks with a mocking smile. "What did you tell your uncle ? 'Laubrac is innocent, Uncle, it's Descamps the villain !'" He mimics a syrupy voice, openly ridiculing her. "The lunch lady's niece and the bastard, the new romance novel," he adds, prompting laughter from his peers.

"Could we know what you wrote so important on that paper, by the way ?" Annie asks, her eyes shining with challenge, while Aimée gives her a confused look. She didn't think she could have missed so much by being just half an hour late.

"I didn't write anything, it was a drawing. Wait, I'll show you." Joseph takes the pot of tomato sauce and pours a drizzle over the mashed potatoes, creating a drawing of a pair of breasts. He shows off his creation with a chuckle. "It's a portrait. Maybe of Annie, but definitely not of the redhead. She has no breasts, I'm pretty sure she's a boy."

Aimée flushes violently, lowering her head. At his words, Simone grabs the sausage from her plate and holds it up in front of Joseph. "Does this remind you of anyone ? I don't think you have one, I'm almost sure you're a girl," she says as she splits her sausage in half in one swift motion.

The boys bang on the tables as best they can, creating a deafening racket. Joseph loses his smile, his face hardening. The cafeteria gradually returns to normal after a supervisor intervenes to restore order. Conversations resume. Aimée fiddles with her plate, pushing her fork around in the mashed potatoes without really eating.

Finally, she makes a decision. "I... I'm not hungry anymore," she announces to her new friends. "I'm going to step outside for some air."

Simone gives her an understanding look. "Okay. If you need anything, we're here."

Aimée nods and stands up gently. She crosses the cafeteria, avoiding gazes, still feeling a few pairs of eyes on her. As she passes by Joseph's table on her way to the bathroom, she notices he's no longer paying attention to her, busy laughing with his friends.