TO BE FRANK

CHAPTER SEVEN, a brave new world

     "Nothing that concerns you," Juliette retorts as she crosses her arms over each other.

     Her eyes fall onto his lowered arm and she tries to snatch it again, only for Descamps to notice her sly movements and stretches his arm behind him. The sudden motion causes Juliette to fall towards his chest, hand pressing against his abdomen to catch her weight. Descamps freezes. His expression morphed from his usual teasing visage to an unreadable deadpan. Perhaps he was glad Juliette couldn't see the look on his face as she pushes against him then pulls away, disappointment drenching her scoff.

     He swallowed heavily due to the sudden proximity, missing the way Juliette's cheeks heated as she has once again failed to retrieve her books. Instead, she sighs when she finds her balance again and mutters a few annoyed curses.

     Vergoux and Dupin stare at the pair with wide eyes. No way that just happened and the rest of the quad did not even notice with how quick it happened.

     "If you do so much as ruin that book, Auriol, I will be reporting you." Juliette huffs and Descamps is only saved by the ring of the bell.

˚✧₊⁎

Juliette shouldn't be this annoyed, she knows it. She was always the type to give a little too much effort and care into things that most wouldn't really bat an eye to. Dramatic, perhaps? Sure, but she had nothing to apologise for. Surely she had more pressing, prevalent affairs to deal with than a boy who happened to snatch her most prized possession, but she digresses. Aside from a few icy cold stares thrown over her shoulder towards Descamps at any chance she could get away with it, she was also plotting his demise.

Perhaps she could blackmail him into giving it back?

No, that's too complicated and she didn't want to make this a bigger problem than it needed.

Or, she could probably create an elaborate heist and take it right under his nose without him even noticing?

No, she was not James Bond, unfortunately.

Maybe if she just kept begging and begging him to the point he gets so annoyed that he wants to pull his hair out of his head, he'd actually give it back?

Yeah... yeah, that'll surely work.

It was like she couldn't even think. If Descamps didn't give it back or worse—destroyed it, threw it away, ruined it—she would have lost years worth of internal thoughts, written memories of a reader's feelings, sentimental scribbles, underlined prose, and evidence that her father had even a sense of humanity written all over those pages. It was a time capsule, a chrysalis of the human condition passed down through three generations all at risk of being lost forever.

     She knows it's not that serious, but god did it scare Juliette. She had never felt so hopeless aside from the time she was shipped over here just a few weeks ago.

Her gaze left the dusty blackboard and fell onto her blank notebook resting upon her desk. Her hand, gripped tightly around her pen until her knuckles bled white and all her veins ached for blood flow, until her tendons ached in agony as her neatly trimmed nails dug into her palm. They threatened to cut deep.

"Perfect marks! Amazing job, Miss Bellemare," Mademoiselle Couret said in English as she slipped her test paper upon her desk. '20' was neatly scribbled at the top corner of the page and Juliette let go of her deathly grip.