L'Etoile Rose

chapter 1

They were the last to arrive, at sunset. A big whirling Honda had parked in front of the youth hostel, and Anne had gone down first, her movements slow, a little numb, no doubt, by the long motorcycle road. Right away, I liked her style, all dressed in white, simple and special at the same time. Smiling, she had removed her helmet and undid her bun, shaking her light hair with a quick gesture of the hand: "liberation of the woman!" She had said jokingly, and her smile had made the entire round of the people present, to finally rest on me, when her eyes had crossed my admiring gaze. 

"Anne," she had introduced herself, holding out her hand; "Betty," I said in a childish voice, and my face was already blushing. 

Julien had at immediately removed his helmet and jacket, and, greeting others, passing his hand through his curly hair, he had pointed out to the sun which was setting over the sea, "we're a little late, please excuse us ... Can we still have dinner? "

"I'm going to arrange that with Madame Dupeigne," Serge had said as he walked away to the hostel with quick steps that reflected his love for serving others, while Julien took to parking his motorcycle on the other side of the house. Everyone had followed slowly, talking motorcycles, travels and adventures, in the instant sympathy for one another, that of young people who don't know each other but that nonetheless share everything. 

That summer, I was 16 years old, pink cheeks from the sun, chestnut brown hair, long, still loose, that made it look like a bunch of algae around my face when I swam. 

***

 "Liberation of the woman," she had said, shaking her golden hair. Sophie had taken her bag to help her, and I, not to be outdone, had picked up her motorcycle helmet, annoyed to have found it heavy and hot in the inside. We walked up the little garden path that led to the hostel and the place and time were remarkable. Two worlds faced one another: on one side, the calm sea still shinning at this late hour with a soft glow, and on the other side, the countryside, the fields lined with trees and bushes that disappeared in the nascent darkness. 

A little away from the road, on the side of the field, was the youth hostel, a big country house with a red brick roof, where we had all arrived that day to take part in a month long sailing course. 

Madame Dupeigne had warmed up two plates of minced meat Parmentier for the last arrivals, accompanied by a few leaves of green salad generously seasoned. Anne and Julian ate with appetite, while leading the general conversation. 

From that first night, everyone had chosen their place at the big table and would hardly change any more. At each meal, I'ld be next to Sophie and in front of Serge, who had his back turned to the big wall clock, and with all the leisure to contemplate, meal after meal, a marine painting hanging on the wall in front of me, representing a big sailboat from the 19th century, facing the storm. 

I was there, that first night, in the inn, sitting among the members of the group and I felt right in my place, silent and smiling among all the others who chatted, probably the youngest. I was the first in my family to want to learn how to sail. 

The sea, the wind, the sun ... it was my element. I had always been comfortable in water. My slim and fast body slid without any apparent effort, my hands entered the water elegantly, without knocking it, and my feet knew how to be effective without much splinters and scum. I had wanted to learn sailing, and my parents had agreed to take me to this place, to the hostel, for this course. 

"And you, Betty?" asked Julien, after explaining that he was a computer science student, and that Anne was preparing a dissertation for her final year at the School of Journalism. 

"I'm in high school, doing literature," I had explained quickly. 

"I'm sure you're very good, i can see it in your eyes ..." he said gently. "Are you studying Russian? It's funny, I feel like I've seen you somewhere." 

"No, Latin." 

"So it wasn't you, on the plane to Moscow last February! There was a girl who looked just like you."

I smiled, saying no, while Serge joked: "Anne, are you hearing what's Julian saying? Where were you on that plane?!"

"Yes," said Anne, at ease, although everyone laughed. "We were going to report on Moscow's golden youth ... And no, that girl didn't really look like Betty! She was the Russian type! You Spanish, Betty?"

 "No, no, it's just my name that's Spanish. My mother is a Spanish translator and she liked that name." 

"She chose well, it suits you." 

I had blushed, and as if to free me from the general attention, Anne went on:

 "And you, Sophie?" 

"I'm doing a higher technician certificate in tourism in Royan. I passed my first year. And you, Laurent?" 

Laurent, very tall and very thin, slowly unrolled the orange peel, which he had carefully cut into a ribbon, gazed at it for a moment, before replying: " I just finished high school; I don't know what i'll do next; We'll see..."

 "Good evening everyone, welcome to the hostel and the sailing school! I am your instructor and supervisor and i'ld like to introduce myself and then quickly explain how we will work..." 

It was Dominique. A handsome young man, all smiles, sportsman of course, muscular and strong, long hair, brown and curly, bright eyes, who had just entered the room and sat on the first of the big tables, waiting for a moment that the conversations stop and that all the attention is lent to him. While he spoke, charming, presenting the organisation of the course by making his audience laugh- about twenty people gathered for this first evening - his dark and smiley eyes circled the faces, they'd always come back and rest on me, and I felt proud to have caught his attention so quickly. 

"There is a shed on the right of the hostel on leaving, everyone can take a bike to get to the beach ... It's straight forward, about fifteen minutes by bike, the Mariner's Beach ... The sailing course starts at ten o'clock every morning, please try to be on time! Sailing is a team sport, you will be two or three on one sailboat, don't delay the others! ... At 1 pm, then, it's the picnic break on the beach. Mrs. Dupeigne will bring us sandwiches, and in the afternoons, we play cards, sail, sailboard, or just swim for those who want to keep it simple ... In any case, the evening meal at the inn is every evening at 7 am ... "

While Dominique detailed for us the course's program, Laurent had walked over to the piano and would add small musical notes to the supervisor's speech. Anne had stood next to him, leaning against the piano, and I looked at her from time to time, all dressed in white, simple and special at the same time: the jeans seemed ennobled by the dust of the journey, the T-shirt indented screaming independent femininity, a belt and a pair of leather shoes gave an impression of strength and confidence. 

My mind had not analysed all this, it had just recorded it because I was then only impressions and feelings. In this new world of adults, I wanted above all to please, and the weapon that I brandished at all winds, was my childish smile.

......

Guys!! i cant believe i'm back it again! A new story! Writing A cappella was already amazing so starting my second story is an incredible feeling! I want your opinions here tho! i need your help getting this story right! Please leave a comment/constructive criticism wherever you feel needed! I appreciate every one of you i swear it! Thank you so much for being patient with me. Here goes "l'étoile rose" wooooo!