𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, joseph descamps

𝟎𝟐𝟏. the first place

MR. BELLANGER, the headmaster, stands at the entrance of the high school, his brows furrowed. His sharp gaze sweeps across the courtyard with a suspicious air. He is used to these days when something hangs in the air, an invisible yet palpable tension. He has witnessed many foolishnesses over the years, and he recognizes this atmosphere: it always signals trouble.

Indeed, like last time, the vibe in the high school courtyard feels strangely odd. Small groups of boys form here and there, their heads close together as if sharing a well-guarded secret. All the headmaster hopes is that this time it doesn't end with the discovery of a porn magazine circulating secretly among the students.

The girls, however, seem unaware of the drama unfolding before them. The few teenagers passing between the groups of boys are stared at with unusual attention. It is subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough for some to begin feeling uneasy.

Aimée, watching all of this from a bench, cannot help but notice the looks flying back and forth, the conspiratorial nudges, and the little pieces of paper that the boys quickly scribble on before folding them carefully and tucking them away in their pockets.

She feels like she is missing something important. A bad feeling settles in her, making her nervous. Did she forget to prepare an assignment ? Is there a surprise quiz she hasn't heard about ? She tries to shake these thoughts from her head, but the more she observes the strange antics around her, the more lost she feels.

Her attention then shifts to Joseph, standing not far from her usual bench, surrounded by his usual classmates, an ambiguous expression on his face : a mix of curiosity and something more insidious.

She cannot help but feel a shiver of unease pass through her. This feeling intensifies when she sees several of them discreetly pulling out those same pieces of paper she noticed in the morning. One by one, they review them, exchanging knowing looks before folding them carefully and putting them away again. She steps closer, trying to catch snippets of conversation.

"...the first one, it's obvious. She outshines them all."

"Yeah, but honestly, I would have put the other one above her."

What the hell is going on ?

Annick also seems to have noticed the commotion. Aimée quietly joins her, and although the blonde is not known for being particularly sociable, she has a sharp eye for detecting anomalies, and this time, something intrigues her just as much as it does Aimée. "Did you see those pieces of paper they're exchanging ?"

She nods. "They're probably planning something dumb," she replies nonchalantly, but the glimmer of curiosity in her eyes betrays her true involvement.

So, they decide to interrogate Pichon. When they approach him at lunchtime, he appears immediately uncomfortable, squirming as if caught in the act. Aimée doesn't even have time to ask a question before he blurts out, "I don't know anything." His tone is rushed, almost panicked.

Annick rolls her eyes. "Pichon, don't treat us like idiots. We know the boys have been passing notes since this morning. What is it, a dumb bet ?"

The boy shakes his head, his gaze darting away. "I can't talk about it," he murmurs, looking down at his shoes. "You'd better drop it."

They exchange a perplexed look. This implicit refusal is not trivial; it seems to warn them of something without being able to say it outright.

"If you don't want to tell us, we'll go find out ourselves." Pichon simply shrugs before quickly walking away, his hunched back betraying the embarrassment gnawing at him.