Her whole life were fit into boxes and tossed across France. Away from the cold waft of water that sweeps the edges of the French landscape. When they had arrived at the quaint town there was the unspoken tension in the air that felt as if their unfortunate predicament had sealed over them. The town was nearly half as busy as their home in the north of France and despite that the houses were much smaller.
In the stillness of the night they had crept into the city and made it their home. The piano who had a whole room dedicated to its existence was now slumped in the far corner of the room. They had one set of stairs that winded up across all three floors in which her sister decided to hang off of making Dahlia leap to pull her off heart thumping in terror. They had no money for a nanny and so her mother, who was not use to children, was nursing her sister. My father, Ettienne, locked himself up in the study unable to face his wife. He had disgraced their lives becoming bankrupt and he'd have to live with the humiliation.
My mother stepped into my room sitting at the end of my bed with forlorn face.
"There are no rooms for you in the near girls school. You'd have to attend the coed one in the centre of city." She says shaking her head. If it was up to her mother she would be locked up in the nunnery. Anything to regain her daughter's pure name, that's the only honour they had left. Dahlia was still for moment taken this information in,
"you mean a school with boys?" She couldn't believe that it was now becoming acceptable in society, the change was exhilarating even more now that she could be apart of it. It was only a couple decades ago that America had introduced the new woman to the world. Although, many had eased into this image of the lady her mother remained hostile due to her orthodox background and her strong belief in tradition. At times she despised her mother for her historic ideas of women and spoke out on her own beliefs in which her mother glowered at her silencing her completely. They had heard the news mostly on the radio who could not stop bringing up the change in social dynamics and relationships between boys and girls. Mother had always said that girls and boys must remain in their respectable positions separate from in society, it's only wise.
"I know how barbaric, the French have lost their minds. We are not Americans and do not need to follow suit." She declares shedding a patriotic tear. Dahlia turned away from her mother unable to look at her as she filled with sudden rage. She would blame her behaviour on her books and what they taught in schools nowadays. Sometimes she would even go far as to say that the best times for children was during the war where they learnt to survive and be a man. Dahlia thanked God that she wasn't given a son for he would be a horrible creature in her hands.
Dahlia was awake before her mother had stepped into her room to beckon her from her sleep. Truthfully, anxiety and excitement had eaten away at her through the night. She hadn't slept more than 5 hours and she simply felt like death. "Ah you're awake." She murmured holding her head in her hands ever so theatrically trying to make her headache evident. Dahlia sprung out of her bed and stood In front of her wardrobe for quite sometime. What a woman wears is important as it tells you their intentions.
She wore a navy blue dress with round buttons that go down the front. Her outfit was duly noted by her mother who couldn't help to grimace in disdain at her child's appearance. So much so that she looked underneath the table at breakfast and gasped at her bare sinful legs. Only to tutt and shake her head in disappointment. "Once you're finished, wear stockings I will not have you walk out into streets like that. You'll have the neighbours thinking we are flapper girls." She orders beyond exasperated. Without protest she followed suit to her bedroom to find something more appropriate and godly.
There is a small knock on the door and her father peers through with a pair of long white socks with embroidery down the sides. His frail figure standing in the darkness of her room, "I got these in Italy when I went to find my old war comrade, I had completely forgotten about them until we had to pack up my study." He says solemnly. I think the one thing that her father had missed the most was his library back in Calais. Departing from his world full of neatly tucked away first editions and historical conquests was his most grave loss. "Thank you papa, they are so beautiful." She stands on her tip toes to plant a sweet kiss on her father's cheek. He had always been a man of few words but in those small moments he was man full of heart.
She wrapped her hand tightly around her satchel strap as if someone would leap in to steal it any moment. As she stepped into the school she held her breath unable to look up from the ground. She could feel the stares of the horde of boys who stopped in their tracts to look at her walk across the courtyard. She could hear the boys conversing stating their bewilderment, some even going as far as saying that they thought it was a joke. She felt as if one of them would jump at her any minute now and sink their teeth into her. A group of boys on a bench gave standing ovations as she briskly walked past her clutch on her bag getting visibly tighter making her knuckles turn white. They all applauded and heckled her across the courtyard. All but one who was still sat and met her face with a disgusting smirk, making her skin crawl.
Mother was right but even if she came dressed head to toe the boys would still find something to swoon about. Once she was indoors it was much better and she could cope with the glances of the curious boys that passed her in corridor. On her way she checked her class on the bulletin board her eyes darting until she's found her name Dahlia Beaufort next to some teacher named Mrs Giraud. There was awful speech that forced her outside to mingle with the boys. As soon as the speech came to an end she decide to head to her class, eyes darted at the class numbers in hopes to find her soon.
She quietly made her way to an empty desk. The teacher had already arrived and there were luckily a few girls who sat across from her. Supposably the only girls in this damned school. One of the turns around enthusiastically greeting me, "Simone and you?" She spoke informally as her hands brushed through her short brown hair. "Dahlia, I'm glad to finally see that a girl does exist in this school." She says sighing loudly with relief. She chuckles, "yes we exist."
Her blonde hair friend chips into the conversation turning around, "salut, I'm Michèle it's nice to meet you and don't mind those boys they are evil by nature." She declares her lips curling in disgust.
The bell rings and boys swarm in to the classroom taking their spots as the chatted. A girl in navy blue walks in and the guys heads snap to look at her. She sits down next to a boy and his chubby figure hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of the boys as they joked about the girl sitting next to a pig. She felt terrible but was glad it wasn't her.
"Bonjour, I am Mrs Giraud your homeroom teacher," she introduced her self to the class, "and what is your name." Her eyes clearly digging wholes into the girl behind her. She rises from her seat, "Annick Sabiani." Mrs Giraud shakes her head.
When the teacher saw that the girl had sat next to the boy, Henri, she broke out into a hellish rage much too similar to her mother. She forced the boy to the back even though she had sat next him. Michèle lurched up to protest the injustice that had occurred especially after he informed her of how he would be unable to see from the back. The teacher did not care if he could see or not but rather for her prehistoric values to be reinstated into the classroom of the first coed school in France. "Excuse me but theres a space vacant next to me." Dahlia courageously says. Which makes the boy with glasses infront of her turn to face her as if he inspecting her. "The fine lady over here said there's a space next to her." He says in mocking tone much louder pointing to the space next to dahlia. The teacher ignores them both, "this is my classroom silence." The classroom fell quiet and she began with her dreary lesson but not before waiting for Henri to lug his stuff to the back of the class. A boy stretched out his leg making him stumble forward, "Not your day, piggy." He said making the boys start laughing in unison.
Sabiani was like a firecracker in lesson her hand always waving in the air to some of the boys distaste for her it was admirable. On the contrary, the boy in front of her would kiss his teeth every single time her name would be called to state his agitation. He wore round glasses and was known as Descamps by most of his thuggish friends, "She pretty and all but that mouth sure ruins it." Descamps complained and rolled his eyes as her hand flew up again unapologetically. What aggravated Dahlia the most was how Jean-Pierre was immune to his criticism despite his hand being up half as much as hers but she would learn to know that the two could not stand each other.
Writers note:
I hope you enjoyed the start. Criticism is welcomed but only in respectful terms. My writing is purely fictional and I'm no novelist so this isn't going to be the next Camus or Kafka, sorry. Bisous.
Cordialement, the writer duh xox.