No time for more conversation as we reach our next class, history. After two hours of pure bliss where no one even thinks of interrogating me, and where I’m safely seated next to Tony while Michael ends up next to François, we drag our exhausted bodies outside for a cigarette before storming the cafeteria. It’s freezing, and the sky looks as gloomy as a January sky entails, but at least there’s no wind today. Looking over my shoulder, I see Sacha, Yasmine, and François have wasted no time pouncing on my toilet guy. I don’t know who’s acting more flustered: François, who in all the years I have known him has never had a male friend, or Sacha, who’s had more male friends than anyone should.
“Do we have time for a joint behind the bushes?” I ask, tying up my hair in a low ponytail.
“No.” Lucie pulls me to her. She kisses my cheek, my nose, my lips, and before long, she’s all over me, laughing into my mouth, smelling of La Petite Robe Noire and tasting of cherry lip balm.
Tony’s voice distracts me. “So, Lou. What do you think?”
“Of what?” I pull two cigarettes from my pack. Lucie takes one and lights mine.
“New guy. You spent two hours with him. What do you think?”
I choke on the smoke. “What do you mean, what do I think?”
“Should we invite him to hang out after class, could he be one of us?”
“Tony, he doesn’t listen to music,” Lucie says, and I feel a rush of passion for her.
“Sure, true, but if Lou thinks Michael’s awesome, then we’ll have to make an effort. After all, we can teach him about music. Your precious Lou knew nothing of the good stuff before I peeled him off the streets like a stray puppy.”
“Thanks, really.”
“It’s true. You even looked like one. So?”
Staring into Tony’s laughing dark eyes, an unusual resentment fills me. He acts as though he’s playing out a joke he isn’t letting me on. What is he playing at? I don’t like to be left out, I don’t like it at all.
“Look, I’ve got to get out of this deal with Paquin.” I surprise myself with the harsh tone of my voice. “I don’t even want to do the essay with him. Michael. Even his name sounds lame. If you think I’ll stoop so low as to hang out with this total nerd, you clearly haven’t taught me anything at all.”
I was expecting a reaction, sure. But not the one I get: Lucie’s eyes widen and Tony’s mouth drop open.
“What?”
They’re looking at something located right behind me. With a mounting sense of dread, I turn around…
It’s Michael. He’s standing right in front of me, my copy of Dorian Gray in his hand. Unhelpful, Tony lets out a nervous cackle. Lucie buries her fist in his hip.
“Dickhead,” she says.
“I took your book by mistake,” Michael says, his face blank.
I can try to convince myself he hasn’t heard anything, but that would be delusional at this point. I immediately push my sunglasses up my nose to conceal my mortification, but in the centre of my white face, my cheeks are burning with shame. “Thanks.”
Michael turns around without another word. Behind me, Tony’s chortling like a kid and Lucie chastises him. I stare after Michael, an odd feeling swirling around my stomach, as Sacha, François, and Yasmine welcome him back. Sacha links her arm with his and leads him toward the cafeteria.
“Well done,” Tony tells me. “Now you better hope he’s not a serial killer.”
With a frustrated sigh, I stuff the book into my backpack. This day can’t be over soon enough, but I still have a whole afternoon ahead filled with opportunities to make an absolute fool of myself. Why should I care if I hurt his feelings? I don’t even know him. He didn’t care about my feelings when he tried to chat with me in the toilet. But how could he have been aware of my social anxiety? I’m pretty decent at hiding it. All you need is sunglasses during the day and alcohol during times-out.
Despite my initial fears, the day goes on without any more incidents. Not once does Michael even look at me or speak to me again. Amazingly, Lucie and Tony seem to have completely forgotten he exists or that I said these stupid words while he was in earshot. Still, I welcome the end of lessons with relief. Under the cover of darkness, Tony, Lucie and I share a quick joint near the school bins, and I wave them goodbye as they hop on the bus toward their home.
I live too close to Colette not to walk, even in the cold. I don’t mind it. I put my music on and keep my head down, that way I don’t even meet people’s gazes. The only time I look up at a red light, I notice with surprise Michael walking in the same direction, only on the other side of the road. Are we neighbours? He spots me, too, but pretends he doesn’t. I know he did, though, because he picks up the pace to put some distance between us. A faint feeling of shame settles on my chest. It might just be the weed.
When Michael saw me earlier in the mirror, he probably thought I was a decent guy, so he went to sit next to me. And I am a decent guy. I wish I hadn’t said anything. I get so worked up performing for Tony sometimes that I act like a complete bully. Now I wish I hadn’t. But still, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. I don’t know him. And he doesn’t like music. I only wish he hadn’t heard me because he’ll get the wrong idea about me, think I’m some kind of arsehole, and though I do stupid things from time to time, I don’t think I’m an arsehole.
Something nasty awaits me at home: my father is seated at the kitchen table, his usual spot to berate me whenever he feels the need to, which doesn’t happen often, but always results in an uncomfortable and awkward cohabitation for the following weeks.
“Mrs Paquin wrote to me.”
“She did threaten to do that,” I say with a smile, the weed clouding my judgment. I had completely forgotten about the old bat’s threat.
“Does that make you laugh?”
I stick my hands in my pockets. “Not particularly.”
My father takes a deep breath. He’s as bad in the role of the mean dad as I am at playing the good son. I actually feel sorry for him.
“You had two weeks to read that book. Two weeks. That’s plenty of time.” He rests his forehead in his hand, as though the conversation is already taking its toll on him. “You never try. Never make an effort of anything.” He looks up, his face twisted in a grimace. “God damn it, Louis, you don’t even wash your hair anymore!”
I rake a hand through my hair, mildly offended. “That’s grunge.”
“That’s not grunge. That’s disgusting.”
You know what? I think François told me the exact same thing last week. How uncanny.
My father rises from his seat, his eyes narrowing. “And are you high right now?”
“Nope.” I quickly stare down at my feet.
His lips tighten in a white line. “You better not be.” He slowly rubs his palms together, a thing he always does when he wants control of his emotions. “I tell you what, Louis. Paquin told me about your essay. If you don’t get top grades, you can forget about going to London. And that goes for all the other subjects too, you know. There will be no London as long as you don’t try a little.”
I actually don’t know what to say. He’s never threatened me with anything before, and despite all the protests that come to my head right now, a part of me knows full well that I screwed up with this Dorian thing. I could yell something, like ‘It’s not fair!’, or ‘Mom would never do this to me.’ I don’t feel like it today.
Dad moves to the sink. “Go do your homework. I’m making dinner.”
Perhaps I should show a little more backbone. Rage Against the Machine, you know. So, he could tell his friends we had a big fight, and he came out on top. I lift my chin up. “I’ll be eighteen soon, you know. And then I can do what I want.”
My father turns to me, frying pan in hand. “Not with my money, you won’t.”
That’s good enough. Now I can turn on my heel and stomp to my bedroom, even slam the door.
Dinner happens in heavy, resentment-laden silence, each of us buried deep into our thoughts. My father wonders if he went too far, if he should’ve raised his voice at all, if he’s worthy. Or perhaps he’s just wondering what’s on telly tonight.
Personally, I’m just wondering how I’ll possibly get top grades on an essay about a book I haven’t read, written with a guy who hates me. A guy who hates me because of me.
Comments (0)
See all