When I got home, I immediately started doing my homework. Just as immediately, my phone started ringing; I hadn’t seen the number before. I hesitated, but picked up.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hey! How are you?” the all-too-familiar voice on the line answered.

Of course it was him. A number that had never called me before, right after math class? Who else could it have been?

“Aoki?” I asked, confused nonetheless. “How’d you get my number?”

“Well, duh. It’s written in your contact book. I took a peek inside again today, didn’t you notice?” he dropped as it if was nothing.

I could hear people speaking loudly behind him, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.  And he was speaking even louder anyway, to cover the noise.

“Are there people with you?” I asked.

“Yep, I’m at boxing practice! Why do you think I left in such a hurry? Don’t worry though, they can’t hear you!”

He didn’t really strike me as the boxing-loving type, but I guess I didn’t really know him. He paused for a moment, then continued:

“By the way, I’m sorry if I seemed harsh on you in class today. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” I answered. “It’s no big deal.”

The voices behind him started getting louder.

“Well, I gotta go!” he practically shouted. “Looks like it’s my turn on the ring!”

He hung up and I got back to work. He didn’t call again that day.

My reprieve would be short, however, as the next day, at around 3p.m., I heard knocking on my door. I went to open, and sure enough, standing on the porch was Aoki. Him again.

“What are you doing here?” I asked without leaving him time to say anything.

“Darn, Pauline, you really need to learn how to say ‘hello’,” he said, pretending to be offended. “I’m starting to think you might actually be a little rude. Or maybe you just don’t like me.”

The latter was fairly close to the truth.

“I’m coming to visit you!” he continued. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Aren’t you the one who keeps repeating they have so many very important things to do?” I insisted.

He tried his hardest to look surprised.

“Oh, you must have misunderstood!” he scoffed. “I was never talking about you, but about classes. Especially Mr Dumbass’.”

How did he ever learn about that nickname? But, coming from him, I was starting to expect anything.

“Say, if he were to disappear, what would you do?” he said nonchalantly.

“Well,” I started, thoughtful. “We wouldn’t have math classes anymore and we would fail our final exam¹.”

He pretended to get angry.

“You’re always thinking about work!” he reproached me. “Wouldn’t you have more free time? What do you think of him?”

“Hm, he’s a little weird, strict and you cannot reason with him.”

“So you dislike him,” he concluded.

“That’s not what I—”

“How long are you going to let me stand out here anyway?” he cut me off.

It might not have been the best idea, but I let him in with a sigh. The first thing he noticed coming in was the utter absence of anyone but us.

“Where are your parents?” he asked.

“They went overseas for work,” I answered. “They’re part of the military. They’ll be back in July.”

“But we’re in January,” he remarked. “Are you going to stay alone that long?”

I didn’t answer. Although being alone was fun at first, and it had only been a week, I was starting to miss them. This house seemed awfully empty without them.

“Hey, I have an idea. You should come over to my place!” he offered cheerfully. Then, realizing what he’d just said, he added: “Uh, for tonight. If you want.”

I just stared at him, dumbfounded. I had no idea whether I should trust him or not, never mind accept this kind of invitation from him.

“Though I can’t promise you that there’d be any more parents there,” he continued.

“Where are yours?” I asked.

“They’re dead.”

I had no idea what to answer to that. I was expecting anything but that, actually. And he had said that so coldly, with a blank stare, when he was usually full of life. Obviously, this had affected him deeply.

“Killed.”

That must have been a heavy weight for him to bear. I couldn’t blame him for skipping class all the time; grieving his parents and getting transferred? He probably had a lot more on his mind than math.

“Oh, uh… condolences,” I clumsily stammered.

“It’s fine.”

Well, now the conversation was in an awkward place, and I’d feel really bad refusing his invitation.

“Sure, I can come over tonight.”, I tried, as cheerfully as I could.

It seemed to work; his face lit up, he gave me a big smile, grabbed my arm and started pulling me out of my house.

“That’s great! Come on, let’s go!” he said while pulling me, more cheerful than I could ever be.

“Hold on! Let me go!” I shouted, trying to fight back.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind?”

He let go of my arm and started looking at me, dejected, awaiting an answer.

“I just need to pack a few things first,” I explained.

“You don’t need anything!” he retorted as I started making my way back inside. “You can just borrow my stuff!”

I pretended not to hear him. I was certainly not going to dress like a 2000’s emo kid, and his clothes would have been too big anyway. He probably hadn’t written anything in his notebooks, either. And it would make a perfect excuse to send Noémie a quick text.

“Spending the night at Aoki’s place. Hoping I make it out alive” I sent. Immediately, she answered.

“is he holding u at gunpoint”

I cackled and explained my thought process to her.

“k so the bad boy secretly has a troubled past. nobody saw that one coming /s enjoy urself girl, call me if u need.”

A little while later and my things were packed. I still wasn’t sure whether this was a good idea, but at least it’d help both me and him feel a little less lonely for a night. When I approached the front door, I saw Aoki had sat down on the porch; he jumped to his feet as soon as he heard me, and turned towards me with a big smile.

“Finally!” he exclaimed. “Let’s go!”

“Are we going on foot?” I asked.

“Ah, you’re right,” he mockingly said, “I completely forgot to rent a limo for the occasion.”

I looked at him with disdain and he burst out laughing. Then we were off.

----------------

¹At the end of the last year of French high school, every student has to take a final exam named the “baccalauréat”. It spans multiple days, during which they are tested on nearly every chapter of every subject. If they pass, they graduate and get the high school diploma of the same name. If they fail, they can either retake the school year and try again, or get an “end of secondary studies” certificate. Realistically, few students fail it (about 1 in 10).