I Hope I'm Better Than You

Chapter 04

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“Feeling any better?” Mrs. Bellanger inquired, her hand resting gently on my back in a gesture of concern.

“I'm hanging in there,” I replied, though I still feel quite sick.

Mrs. Bellanger nodded, though her worried smile hinted that she might not be entirely convinced.

Just then, the door swung open, and Ms. Couret entered, accompanied by Michele. Both of them wore an unreadable expression, and I couldn't help but notice Michele's soaked form, draped in Ms. Couret's coat.

“Michele? What happened?” I hurried over to her.

“There's been an accident,” Ms. Couret answered on Michele's behalf.

Mrs. Bellanger, now by my side, exchanged concerned looks with Ms. Couret as they discussed the situation. I guided Michele to a nearby chair, offering her a seat.

“Did you fall into a fountain?” I asked Michele, though I wasn't sure if that was the real reason. Was there even a fountain in the school?

Michele hesitated for a moment before replying, “No, it was Descamps who did this to me.”

I furrowed my brow, desperately racking my brain to recall any details about Descamps, but the name drew a blank. Who on earth was Descamps? And why would they do such a thing to Michele?

Following behind Ms. Couret, I trailed back to the second floor. Despite my desire to stay and offer Michele some company, Mrs. Bellanger insisted that I return to class, especially since I was no longer feeling sick and was considered a top student who shouldn't miss any discussions.

As we approached the second-floor corridor, a second-year student burst out of their classroom in a state of panic.

“They got his eye!” he exclaimed, stumbling forward in distress.

Ms. Couret stopped momentarily, a puzzled expression crossing her features before she hurried towards the classroom from which the student had come out. Curious, I followed closely behind.

Inside, a boy was hunched over on the floor, clutching his left eye in agony while tears streamed down his face. Mr. Bellanger knelt beside him, offering assistance as the rest of the class looked on in shock. But I was more shocked when my eyes landed on the last person I expected to be at the center of the commotion.

“He might get expelled!” Antoinette exclaimed.

“And so what if he gets expelled? It's just means there's more for me, hm?” I remarked nonchalantly, masking any deeper emotions that might have stirred within me.

“You're right, but that's not the point, Inès. Jean-Pierre is incredibly hardworking, smart, and talented. He has such a promising future ahead!”

“And I don't?”

“That's not what I meant!”

“We have a quiz in Mathematics tomorrow, and this is the least of my concerns right now,” I asserted firmly to Antoinette, maintaining a nonchalant expression as we walked home in complete silence.

Antoinette couldn't stand the silence and broke it.

“I'm just saying... Jean-Pierre has come so far, and now he's on the verge of starting over from scratch,” she sighed.

“If we women were in his shoes, no one would care.”

If Jean-Pierre were to be expelled, it would mean that I no longer have competition for the top spot, and that my efforts and sacrifices would finally be recognized by everyone.

Sure, I craved recognition, but not under these circumstances. It felt as though I could only rise to the top if Jean-Pierre was no longer in the picture, as if I needed his absence for my own success to be acknowledged by others. And that realization left me feeling conflicted. Or at least, that's what I believed I was feeling.

It was a sleepless night as I tirelessly studied for math until 1:00 am, but nothing seemed to get in my head. The next morning, I dragged myself to school with heavy bags under my eyes and a complete lack of energy. I struggled to focus or even hear the conversations around me due to my overwhelming exhaustion. Even Antoinette, seated beside me, had to repeat herself for me to grasp her words.

“Today's Jean-Pierre's disciplinary hearing. Do you think he'll be expelled?” Antoinette asked, breaking through my foggy state.

“He's going to save himself alone,” I muttered disinterestedly.

“Of course,” Antoinette sighed. “I was really rooting for you two. Seems like your love story ended too fast.”

My eyes widened at her remark. All the color coming back to my pale face and my energy suddenly surging back.

“What did you say?”

Antoinette, ever cheeky, grinned knowingly. “I said, it seems like your love story ended up too fast.”

“There's no love between us, only war,” I joked. Antoinette burst into laughter. I couldn't understand why she was so easily pleased; it was a tough joke to crack.

I watch as Magnan exited the building, walking towards where his sister Michele and her best friend Simone were seated on the stairs. His attitude while conversing with his sister was cold. He had always seemed to push her away from him. But God, he's sexy when he's like that.

My gaze trailed after him until he disappeared into the men's restroom. I let out a breath, a small smile tugging at my lips as countless scenarios raced through my mind. However, my thoughts were interrupted when I spotted Descamps, the reason why Jean-Pierre's future is at stake.

The bell had already rung when Descamps and his peers came out from the men's restroom, their smiles and laughter hinting at something suspicious. Jean-Pierre had yet to come out.

“They were up to something,” I muttered under my breath as I rose from my seat.

Antoinette, who was preparing beside me, noticed my movement and asked where I was going.

“Just go ahead. I'll catch up,” I replied, darting towards the men's room.

“Don't get into too much trouble!” Antoinette teased as I hurried away.

I heard screams coming from one of the doors inside, unmistakably Jean-Pierre's. My suspicions were confirmed. They had locked Jean-Pierre up.

I hurried towards the door, frantically searching my bag for something sharp. My fingers closed around the scalpel we had used for dissection last week. It wasn't ideal, but it was sharp enough to cut through the cloth tied around the door knob.

“Inès? Is that you?” called Jean-Pierre from inside.

“Hang in there. I'm cutting it down,” I reassured him as I attempted to slice through the cloth. The scalpel snapped, and I cursed under my breath, “Damn it!”

With no other options, I resorted to kicking the door open, causing it to splinter where my foot made contact.

“Thank goodness. I was running late,” Jean-Pierre remarked casually, checking his watch.

I stood there, staring at the destroyed door I had caused, knowing I was in for a world of trouble.

Unexpectedly, Jean-Pierre gently grabbed my chin and pressed his lips on mine and kisses me.

“That's a thank you from me,” he said with a smirk before rushing out, leaving me in a dazed state.

Damn, he took his time.

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