𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, joseph descamps

𝟎𝟏𝟗. teenage dissonances

AT THE END OF THE DAY, the students exit the high school in a confused uproar, each replaying the morning's incident and its consequences in their minds. The noise of conversations intensifies as they approach the gate.

The 2nd-year students almost all huddle around Pichon, the class delegate, who strides decisively toward the exit, visibly annoyed by the general commotion. "So, the whole class is getting detention ?"

"He said that if we don't give a name quickly, the whole class will get detention on Thursday," Pichon replies, looking overwhelmed. It's clear he hasn't managed to change Mr. Bellanger's mind, who insists on setting an exemplary punishment.

"Wait, even the girls ?" Annick exclaims, clearly outraged by the injustice. 

Aimée, standing beside her, vigorously nods. "But that's not fair !"

She instinctively turns toward Joseph, who stands a bit apart, looking stubborn. He still hasn't managed to digest what happened earlier.

Around them, protests rise. Felbec speaks out in outrage, and other students follow his lead, their voices blending into a confusing uproar.

"I'm not getting in trouble because of Dupin," Laubrac exclaims, nervously fiddling with an unlit cigarette.

"Wait, Dupin brought that magazine ?" Michèle asks, her eyes wide with surprise. Aimée remains silent for a moment. Dupin ? She was convinced Joseph was behind all this. A glimmer of understanding crosses her gaze as she glances at the supposed culprit.

Just then, Joseph strides forward, his features tense with annoyance, to defend his friend. "Hey, the niece of the supervisor and the brainiac, we didn't call you," he mocks. The boys behind him burst into laughter, their attitude amplifying the already palpable tension.

Pichon raises his hands in a calming gesture. "I did everything I could," he sighs, trying to calm the spirits. "But Bellanger doesn't want to hear anything. Either we rat out the one who brought that magazine, or it's detention for everyone."

"I have to work on the farm on Thursday," Laubrac protests, nervously chewing the end of his cigarette. "All this because of that idiot Applebaum." His dark gaze slides toward the person concerned, who immediately straightens up.

"It's not my fault," Applebaum retorts in a falsely confident voice, but his guilty expression gives him away.

Aimée, arms crossed over her chest, scrutinizes Dupin, who seems to enjoy all this chaos. She feels a surge of exasperation and decides to intervene. It's the first time. "If you find it so amusing, you should just turn yourself in," she says. "After all, you're the one who brought that magazine."

Dupin shoots her a mocking glance, a cheeky smile on his lips. "Carrot top, you're cute when you're mad," he replies, looking her up and down. "But if you think I'm going to turn myself in, dream on."

"It's not my problem if you can't help but rub up against people in public, Dupin. You and all of you," she responds, sweeping her gaze over the group, her voice dripping with contempt. The laughter instantly dies down, and an awkward silence settles around them.

Some students begin to drift away, their faces turned to hide their discomfort. Dupin stands momentarily dumbfounded, his expression caught between amusement and annoyance. Aimée doesn't give him time to reply. She turns on her heel and strides away quickly, her face flushed with anger.

Behind her, murmurs start up again as some boys begin to break into small groups to leave the school. The late afternoon sun slowly sets, casting long shadows on the pavement of the courtyard. The students scatter in all directions, some still commenting on the incident, others trying to forget this disturbing day.