ON AN AUTUMN DAY, the class bathes in a calm atmosphere under the dim neon lights. The teacher, Mr. Marcelin, stands behind his desk, holding a stack of poetry books.
"Good afternoon, everyone," he begins in a calm but firm voice. "Today, we will work on presentations in pairs. Each group will choose a poet and present their work, as well as their impact on French poetry."
Excited and apprehensive murmurs ripple through the classroom. The students look at each other, exchanging nervous smiles or knowing glances.
Mr. Marcelin starts calling out the groups, listing names two by two, until he gets to... Joseph and Aimée. The two young people exchange a look full of disdain and confusion. They haven't spoken since their last confrontation a week ago.
Mr. Marcelin, used to his class's dynamics, shows no particular emotion. "This project is an opportunity to work together constructively," he states in a neutral tone. "You have two weeks to prepare your presentation. I expect you to cooperate and for each of you to contribute."
Without further ado, Mr. Marcelin continues calling out the groups, and one by one, the students gather in pairs, sitting side by side. Joseph takes a seat next to Aimée without a word. She remains silent, staring at the blackboard with feigned concentration.
The air is heavy with contained tension, glances are avoided, and movements are measured. Both of them are aware that this project will force a collaboration they would rather avoid.
After a moment of awkward silence, Joseph decides to break the ice, but in his usual manner... "So, Redhead, ready to work together ?" he asks in a falsely cheerful tone, with a hint of irony.
Aimée keeps her eyes ahead, her neutral expression barely betraying a reaction. She knows he's trying to provoke her, but she won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled.
"I'm ready to do my work," she finally replies in a calm but firm voice.
Joseph feels his irritation rise a notch. He didn't expect her to respond so impassively. He hates that impassivity that seems to characterize her when she faces his provocations.
"You're always so serious, aren't you ?" he continues, pushing a bit further. "It seems like my words got to you last time."
Aimée stiffens slightly, feeling a hint of anger creeping in despite her efforts to stay stoic. "Your words didn't get to me. They just showed me how... predictable you are."
"Predictable ? Me ?" he retorts, his voice rising slightly. "I'm not the one beating around the bush like you."
"I'm not going to argue with you," she declares, her voice calm but firm. "We have a presentation to prepare, so let's focus on that."
