CHAPTER TWO
the physical jerks
˚✧₊⁎
A prudent catholic school nun with an affinity for slapping children on the wrist seemed like the better instructor to have than the current witch that stands before Juliette and her class.
Bluebeard—as so Juliette learned from Henri Pichon just a few moments ago—has the poor boy scrambling out of his seat and towards the back of the room. Towards the very seat Juliette found herself in now, well... not for very much longer.
"And you?" Mrs Giraud's voice bellowed through the still classroom air, "Mademoiselle...?"
"Juliette Bellemare, madam," her voice was quieter than she anticipated.
"Well, mademoiselle Bellemare, I need you to switch seats with monsieur Pichon," a beat barely passes. The words did not even register fully in her head when Giraud shouts, "Now!"
Juliette flinches, though the moment was very slight. She gathers her things quickly, eyes meeting Pichon's across the two walkways. He held an almost apologetic look in his eyes, as if it was his fault of them being under the scrutiny of Mrs Giraud. Despite her lack of interaction with any of the boys in this school, her very brief conversation with Pichon on the way to class was enough to show he at least had some sentiment of humanity. As for one, he actually talks to the girls like a normal person.
The faintest of smiles forms on her lips only for it to melt away within a second as Pichon trips, the sound of a snorting pig following with it. Juliette stops in her tracks as laughter erupts in the classroom. Worry flashes over her face until relief floods quickly through her veins when he manages to catch himself before falling. At least then the humiliation ended once he finds his seat.
Her gaze, soft at first, hardens as it falls onto the boy who tripped Pichon once she reaches her seat. It was the same one from earlier this morning, giving her the same smirk that made her hands ball into a fist. Now she knew what that look meant, mischievous and annoyingly immature that charged something within her. A fury, if you will, but Juliette knew she would never go as far as to blow a gasket full of it. This boy is not worth any of her time.
She frowns at him before taking her seat.
˚✧₊⁎
Out of habit, Juliette finds herself fiddling with her fingers as boredom sears over her mind and body. She likes to consider herself a good enough student, one that pays attention, does her work diligently, and gets good grades. And yet, even the best students have their moments as her mind drifts in and out, over and around. She wonders if Dean and Laurie were placed in the same home room again, or perhaps the administrators finally decided that their faculties' sanity was worth the effort to split the two from each other.
Juliette reminded herself to give them a call again when she reached home. How ironic the complains she blabbered about this morning were nothing but an afterthought now that she really missed their presence in a classroom.
As thoughts rode in a whirlwind of tandem, she supposes it was her way to treat herself, to turn her brain off for just a second after having to deal with Mrs Giraud for an hour and a half. Though, this teacher didn't seem to be much better either.
You had to be a certain type of pretentious to teach Latin, a language that has been dead for thousands of years, and yet here she was, learning it from a monotonous man with an insufferable ego.
"Well?" he asks the class, "Can anyone tell me what this means?"
Annick's hand had been raised for a good second now and Juliette considered to raise hers as well, but she does not remember the last time she spoke up in class. It was not like she liked to, anyway. His opinion of girls joining the school was blatant in the way his eyes shot past the girl next to her like a ghost, eyes scanning for nonexistent hands and ignoring her completely.
Until finally someone did, that is.
"Yes, you?" There was a certain excitement in his voice when a boy finally speaks.
Juliette did not have to turn around to know who it was. He'd been making remarks throughout class the entire day and clearly has no intention to stop. His strong designation to be the class clown was showing poorly, at least to the girls of the class. None of them found any of his one liners even remotely funny, not that he wants any recognition from the girls, anyway.
"I think she has her hand raised," he says and a chatter of laughter follows with it.
Mr Douillard nods, feigning a type of innocence in his expression, "Indeed."
He motions for Annick to speak. She stands from her seat in one swift motion, brushing down her skirt and answers, "The Romans welcome Heratio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house."
Cheer, Juliette answers in her head.
"The Romans cheer Heratio," corrects Mr Douillard, "can you conjugate the verb 'ovare?'"
Juliette listens to Annick answer. She conjugates the word swiftly, not missing a single beat and when Juliette finally looks up to see to what she expected to be an impressed Latin teacher, his attention was not even towards his speaking student, but rather to the boys behind them.
"Give me that," he interrupts as Annick lets out a sigh and sinks back down into her seat, "Come on."
The boy caught, adorned in a mustard yellow shirt makes his way to the front, stopping just next to Juliette. Mr Douillard snatches the paper out of his hands and unfolds it, watching as his brows furrow with a scoff.
He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, "You think this is funny?"
"It wasn't me," the boy defends and it was clear the teacher was not happy with his answer.
"Then who is responsible for this?" Douillard waves the paper back and forth, but Juliette could not make out what was scribbled onto it.
It takes no genius to know it was something inappropriate written all over that page, nor did it take a genius to make the safe assumption of who did it. Juliette turns over her shoulder, eyes scanning the desks next to her until her gaze falls on a bespectacled individual. She did not know much about this boy besides being a complete dickhead, but she knows for a fact that he could not hold a poker face for the life of him. The slight smirk plastered on his face was enough of an alarming red flag screaming, it was me, I did it!
He meets her gaze once again—an action that Juliette fears will happen a lot more than she would like. He winks at her, a sly little action as if to say, you caught me, keep this between us. It was then Juliette had to remind herself (once again) that he was not worth a single second of her time.
"Your name?"
The boy shrugs, "It wasn't me."
"It wasn't me," Mr Douillard repeats, scoffing under his breath at the audacity, "All culprits seem to have the same name. You all must be related. Okay, Mr It-Wasn't-Me—"
"My name is Laubrac," he cuts through the air in a restless tone.
"Monsieur Laubrac... are you the boy from foster care?" the teacher's sudden speculation caused an eruption of murmurs throughout the classroom, "Some nobody's son is trying to graduate? How amusing. Didn't anyone teach you discipline in the care system?"
Juliette sinks deeper into her seat with her bottom lip wedged between her teeth. Her light fiddling fingers were now picking at each other furiously. The taste of iron seeps through her mouth as resentment for this lousy man grew by the second. How can a teacher, the person supposed to support their pupils no matter their background with knowledge for the future possibly treat them like second hand citizens? Perhaps she had grown lucky enough to have decent teachers throughout her schooling career, though, it seems as if her luck had finally ran out.
"I won't let a bastard disrupt my class," he spits, motioning towards the door. "Get out."
"He didn't do anything!" came a voice from the other side of the room, capturing the rest of the classroom's attention.
Oh Michèle, Juliette thinks as realisation sinks into the girl. In her also very short and unfortunately interrupted meeting with her before class began, she did not seem like the type to pull such a stunt, let alone on their first day. Though it might not have been the best decision, Juliette applauded her nonetheless. At least she had the guts to do something Juliette hadn't had the courage to.
"Did no one teach you how to raise your hand at your girls' school, mademoiselle Magnan? Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the dean?"
Commotion erupts in the classroom once again as Juliette's eyes widened, nails digging deeper into her skin. This time it was much louder and the whispers travelled quickly.
"Why don't you escort your new friend to your uncle's office. He'll give you detention, too." says Mr Douillard.
He could barely finish his sentence when Laubrac pivots towards the door, not even waiting for Michèle as she follows a few paces behind him.
When the door shuts, the classroom remains silent for a few beats as if Douillard wanted them all to simmer in the tension thick air. Annick and Juliette share a look of indignation as their teacher walks back over to his desk, muttering under his breath.
"It's not fair," Juliette thinks, but rather the words come out as a whisper before she knew it. And with the silence lingering in the room like a soggy, wet blanket, she could have very well shouted into oblivion.
Mr Douillard turns as if he had heard a terrible rumor, eyes wide and threatening, "What did you say, mademoiselle Bellemare? Not fair?"
Juliette shakes her head furiously with sweating palms, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to—"
"No, I'm sorry for not treating fairly as apparently letting you into this school was not fair enough!" The man before her huffs, approaching the poor girl. "Though, I should not be surprised of the actions of a girl who hailed from a privileged boarding school. I'm sure you're used to doing anything you'd like without repercussions, right mademoiselle?"
The once silent room was boiling over in whispers and Juliette swears her heavy beating heart had froze in place, her fingers trembling.
Juliette liked to believe that she was a bit metamorphic. Metamorphic in the way Franz Kafka writes his protagonists in which you had to put on a certain act in front of certain people in certain situations. The biggest benefit being that Juliette could avoid confrontation at all costs. It did not matter if the situation she had found herself in was her fault, as to most of the time she had found herself doing this—masking her true feelings and thoughts—were in front of her parents, and sometimes, her own brother. Never would she have thought to put on her best act here, where she spent her schooling years under the radar.
Her metamorphosis was failing, however.
"No, that's no true! I—" she tries the explain herself, but she is cut off.
"If you think we are not fair here, mademoiselle, then I suggest you go back to your place in London," Mr Douillard's seep into her like poison, ripping into her skin, intravenous and malevolent.
Juliette could not pride herself into defending the situation any longer. The words in which were hard to swallow and threatened to suffocate her even if she tried. Mr Douillard may have won over her humiliation, but she would never let him feel the satisfaction of her tears. Instead she keeps staring into his furrowed eyes, knowing he wants nothing from her but to look away in defeat.
Silence settles again, but Annick is the first to break it as her gaze falls before widening again.
"Juliette!"
Taken aback, Juliette rips her stare from the teacher and finds Annick pointing to her hands. She looks down upon her fingers, lifting them up slightly as blood seeped out of the raw cuts and ripped skin around her nail beds. The habit was something she had done since her move to London as a child, often failed to notice the pain that came with picking her fingers raw. It had been a while since this little habit of hers became a problem and she had a slight inkling into why it was coming back now. It was like she was nine all over again.
Her anxious habit has not been this bad since.
A frustrated sigh left Mr Douillard as he swings his head back, "Mademoiselle Sabiani, take her to the nurse, will you? Then escort her to the dean once she's patched up."
Annick does not waste a single second as she stands abruptly, motioning for Juliette to stand as well. Although her legs were like jelly, near buckling under pressure as the heat of the entire classroom's eyes burns her back raw. A palm braces Juliette's back, holding her hands close to her body to hide the blood, though it was not much. Embarrassment was a nasty kicker and she wished they could've sat closer to the door to amend the walk of shame out of the classroom. A bit dramatic, she knows, but at least she was aware of her most undesirable trait. Relief ran clear through her warm cheeks the moment she and Annick made it into the hallway.
Their steps, careful and calculated, made their way to the nurse slowly. Neither of them wanted to be in that classroom for any longer and for the purpose of wasting time, the two girls took the long route, losing sight of Laubrac and Michèle who were further down the hall.
"What did you do to yourself, Juliette?" Annick sighs, worry coating her exasperated visage, "Even your lip is bleeding too..."
Juliette's tongue peeks out through her dried lips and swipes it over the cut. The taste of iron evident on her tongue again.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes quickly, looking down upon her hands and examining the deep peeling skin and thin layers of dried blood coating her finger tips, "It's a terrible habit of mine when things get... difficult."
Annick's gaze flickers from Juliette's hands then back to her face, "Have you had it for long?"
Juliette simply nods as her eyes stay glued onto the floor. Her lack of a verbal answer was enough of a sign for Annick to not press any further, letting the comfortable silence and their syncing footsteps echo through the empty corridors.
Once the two reached the nurses office, they were greeted by a kind woman to whom Juliette was aware to know was the dean's wife. She sat Juliette upon one of the cots, pulling a long curtain across its rod, separating her away from a nervous looking Annick and an empty infirmary. Though the gesture seemed a bit weird to the girl, she was glad for the sentiment. It was nice to know that at least one of the faculty cared about their incoming students.
"May I see your hands, erm–what was your name, dear?"
"Juliette Bel—"
"Juliette," she repeats before taking her hands into hers and inspects them, "you have quite sharp nails, I'll tell you that."
It is not long before she cleans the wounds with a cotton ball drenched in alcohol. Juliette flinches as the sharp pain radiation from her cuts, each stinging swipe of the cotton ball quick and light against her fingers.
"It's good to know you carry weapons at the end of your fingers," the nurse muses, cutting the silence that fell upon them as she dresses the cuts in sticky bandages.
A total of a box and a half of bandages were used—eleven to be exact covering the ends of her fingers and around her nail beds (an extra placed on an especially bloody left index finger). The nurse ensured Juliette could still bend her fingers at the knuckles before she slips another tin full of bandages into her hands.
"I'll hand you a few extra in case they fall off or get dirty," she says with a smile.
"Thank you, madam."
Juliette hops off the cot, greeted by Annick when nurse Bellanger strips away the curtain. When she heads to her desk, she scribbles something quickly, ripping it off from its seam and places it into the delicate hands of Juliette.
"A slip for your return to class," she says before leading the two girls out from the infirmary, "if you girls need anything else, I will be right here, okay?"
The girls nod.
"Thank you again," says Juliette, tightly grasping the tin of bandages between her hands.
"Well, someone needs to care for you girls."
It was a kind thing to say and Juliette knew it was genuine. And yet, she knew deep down that she could never truly rely on anybody but herself and a few others in a school like this.
˚✧₊⁎
Once Juliette's nose finds itself stuck between two pages of a book, she was a goner. Absolutely nothing in the world would pull her out of the universe that was written all over the pages of her book unless someone physically ripped it out of her bandaged hands. And based off of Dean and Laurie's experience, it was like ripping a chocolate bar away from of a (very strong) child.
She received detention from Mr Bellanger after her trip to the nurses office. He seemed like a kind man from how he spoke to her, harsh and concise, yet empathetic in the way he noticed her bandage-clad hands.
Reading was her way to get her mind off of thinking of the real world too much. It was the sole reason she remains sane from her day to day life before meeting Dean and Laurie, and perhaps even Annick. The blonde girl stayed with her the entire duration of her meeting with the dean as well, wasting her precious education for a girl she had just met this morning. Juliette made sure to thank her every chance she got to the point Annick had to shut her up every time.
Juliette only had five more pages to go before she finished The Metamorphosis for the umpteenth time. She had lost count how many times she had read this short novella considering it was only 70-pages long and she read the first fifty the night prior.
Despite being able to finish this novella within a few hours, she liked to savor the words she read. Consumed them, chewed on the syntax until she had met a new realisation of the words she had read time and time again just for her to come to the same conclusion that Franz Kafka was a literary genius.
Though Juliette's reading was cut short by a stranger, or rather, one she wished was one.
"You're sitting on my bench, cherie."
Juliette does not even bother to lift her eyes from her book, "Is your name written on it?" Knowing who it was, her attitude bites for once. She finishes the last sentence on the page and flips it, looking around her before turning up to look at the boy, "I don't see it anywhere."
He shoves his hands into his brown collared coat, sparing her a teasing smile. "You need to know my name first in order to find it, Bellemare."
"I don't care enough to know," Juliette sighs, slapping her book closed before shoving it back into her bag, "I was leaving, anyhow. You can have your precious little bench back."
"I'm not asking you to leave, I'm asking you to scoot over," he sits down, forcing the poor girl to scoot to the other side of it. He finds the action amusing, "C'mon, I don't bite."
"I'd rather not be seen with you to be honest," Juliette mutters, pulling out her book again and flipping to the right page. If there was one thing she were to achieve today, it would be the finish this book even if it took hours just to read a single sentence.
The boy's gaze falls onto her delicate fingers whose bandages rubbed against the pages of her book. "I'm sure that's the least of your problems, cherie."
A scoff escapes Juliette, tossing him a look full of venom, "What the hell is your problem?"
"You and the rest of the girls who got into this damn school are the problem," he spits with an equal harshness as hers, "Voltaire High used to be a good school and I'm not letting a bunch of girls ruin the curriculum just make it easier for them."
"Easier?" Juliette scoffs, "you underestimate us. I can assure you most of the girls can outscore more than half of the male students here."
"Is that including you? The girl who doesn't answer a single question in class?"
"That's rich coming from a boy too busy coming up with his next unfunny joke to yell instead of listening to his teachers or scribbling nonsense instead of taking notes and then blaming it on innocent people."
His head cocks to the side, elbows resting against the backrest of the bench. His lips melt into a smile, "I didn't take you to be a fan of Laubrac."
He's deflecting. He knows her words ran true.
"I'm not a fan, I hardly know him."
"But you defended him."
"Hardly," Juliette rolls her eyes.
"Enough to be sent to the dean and the nurse, surely."
If looks could kill, the boy before her would have dropped dead by now but instead he has that same stupid look on his face. The shameless, immature visage that Juliette could not wait to see the day she would wipe off. However, today was unfortunately not that day and she could not risk another visit to the dean's office.
"I should've reported you to Bellanger," Juliette huffs.
"Why didn't you?" He tests, feigning a fake look of conceit, "Ah, right. You did not have a name to even report to him. It's okay, Bellemare, I'm sure his niece already mentioned me to him so you can spare yourself the hassle."
He lets out a sigh as he gets up, flicking his gaze down on Juliette as if she was nothing more than a puny little insect, just like Kafka has written. God, she hated how he was right.
"And for future reference," he bends down in the most condescending way possible, "It's Joseph Descamps. Remember it when you want to run to his little office again."
He turns, leaving Juliette to her own devices in the emptying courtyard of the school. She bore holes into his back as she watches him walk into the school building. The fury that was lit inside her was growing bigger as the day progressed; she did not even notice the way her novel crumpled under the pressure of her tight gripped hands.
AUTHOR'S NOTE !
and so juliette and joseph finally meet! and their dynamic is certainly something.
this chapter was initially supposed to cover the rest of the first episode from latin class to the water prank scene, but it ended up being longer than i thought. plus i wanted juliette and joseph to interact at least once before he looses his eye lol.
anyway, my semester just started so i hope to update every week or so. just praying uni doesn't completely kick me in the butt and stops me from writing since i really look forward to posting new chapters.
votes and comments are greatly appreciated,, once again thank you for reading!!
— fei.