I Hope I'm Better Than You

Chapter 05

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The water cascaded over my pale hands, its icy touch washed away the memory of Jean-Pierre's lips pressed against mine in the men's restroom moments ago. Antoinette's curious gaze met mine as she watched me vigorously scrubbing my lips under the tap, wondering why I was being so rough with them.

"Inès, stop it. You'll end up bruising your lips if you keep rubbing them like that. Trust me, nobody wants to see lips that look like they've been attacked by a swarm of wasps," Antoinette said, her hand rummaging through her feathery bag in search of a napkin.

After a brief search, she retrieved a delicate floral handkerchief, a reflection of her own femininity, and handed it to me. I accepted it gratefully, using it to dab away the water from my face. I turned to face Antoinette, unsure of what to say.

"You're acting really strange today, Inès. I mean, you're never this weird," she remarked, pausing for a moment before adding, "Wait, are you in love?"

Those three words echoed in my mind, jolting me into a response.

"No!" I exclaimed emphatically. "I'm not in love or anything, I'm just washing my face."

Antoinette gave me a skeptical look. "Uh-huh. Only half of your face is wet, but whatever. Shall we head back to class now? Mr. Doulliard's going to be pissed off if we miss his Latin lesson."

Mr. Doulliard was in the midst of wrapping up his lesson as we entered the classroom. I could sense trouble brewing as his gaze locked onto us. Antoinette was visibly flustered, her throat audibly gulping, but I kept my cool.

"Ms. Clèment," he called out.

I exhaled sharply at the sound of my name.

"You may take your seat, Ms. Legrand, but Ms. Clèment, please come with me," Mr. Doulliard instructed, gesturing for me to follow him outside the classroom while he instructed the rest of the students to behave.

My heart sank as I noticed Jean-Pierre's empty seat. Where could he be?

"Ms. Clèment, are you aware of the upcoming Regional Contest?" Mr. Doulliard inquired once we were outside.

I shook my head nervously. "No, sir."

A small smile tugged at Mr. Doulliard's lips. "They'll be introducing new subjects this year, including Latin. I believe you're the second best student in Latin after Jean-Pierre, of course," he added, emphasizing the last part.

Right, second best.

"Yes, sir?" I responded tentatively.

"I think you understand what I'm implying. I want you to participate in this contest. Remember, opportunities like this are rare, especially given your circumstances."

Despite the sting of being labeled as only the second best, I knew I had to accept his offer. Opportunities like this didn't come around often, and I couldn't afford to let this one slip away.

Training stretched on after class, pushing past the usual hours and lingering until 6 pm. Mr. Doulliard, ever the dedicated mentor, had loaded me up with books and materials he believed would sharpen my skills for the upcoming contest. My backpack, once as light as a feather, now weighed me down like a sack of stones.

As I made my way through the now deserted corridors of the school, the fading light casting eerie shadows, I caught sight of a figure hunched over in distress. Though initially unable to discern their identity, there was only one person in this school who I could picture still looking hot even in a depressed state.

"Jean-Pierre?" I whispered to myself, though deep down, I already knew.

There was no response, and perhaps it was for the best. Witnessing him in such a vulnerable state tugged at my heartstrings, flooding me with guilt for the unhinged thoughts I had about him. But guilt wasn't the only emotion weighing heavily on my conscience.

I was very aware that the spot in the upcoming Regional Contest had originally been earmarked for him. After all, he was far more better than me in every aspect.

Then, a sudden realization dawned on me.

"Mr. Doulliard! Mr. Doulliard!" I called out desperately as I spotted him coming out of the room designated for training.

"Yes, Ms. Clèment?" he responded, his voice tinged with concern.

"Sir, I can't do it. You were right. I'm not better than Jean-Pierre," I confessed, my words tumbling out in a rush. "Latin is the only thing I excel at, and even then, I still can't match up to him. Jean-Pierre deserves this spot. He's superior to me in every aspect. I'm sure you won't be disappointed in him, but if I participate, I'll only bring shame upon your name, and..."

"Ms. Clèment, are you listening to yourself?" Mr. Doulliard interrupted, his brow furrowed.

"Yes, sir. I don't deserve this. Jean-Pierre does. I'm not doing it," I declared.

Mr. Doulliard seemed to consider my words carefully, lowering his head before a small smile graced his lips. Meanwhile, Jean-Pierre, looking thoroughly confused, approached us, having likely overheard my outburst.

"What's going on?" he inquired, his gaze shifting between Mr. Doulliard and me.

Mr. Doulliard met my gaze before addressing Jean-Pierre, "Very well, Ms. Clèment. Your words have been heard. Magnan will be taking your place in the contest."

"Why did you do that?" Jean-Pierre questioned as we walked side by side.

I stole a glance at Jean-Pierre from beneath my lashes, my heart raced when I found him already gazing at me, a smile playing on his lips. Coming to a halt, I noticed him mirroring my actions, pausing to listen to whatever explanation I had to offer.

"Because of you, of course. What other reason could there be?" I replied, attempting to suppress the giddy sensation bubbling within me.

Hearing my response, his smile widened as he stepped closer. Instinctively, my right foot stepped back, but he tilted his head, signaling for me to stay put. Slowly, he looked me up and down.

"I love it when you're being honest," he remarked in a flirtatious manner.

"Are you implying I'm usually a liar?" I retorted, feigning offense.

"Yes, you are," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

I bit my lip, struggling to find the right words, but he pressed on, growing more confident.

"See? You're speechless. You're not even pushing me away. Stop lying to yourself. Admit it, you like me," he insisted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Jean-Pierre, I-" I began, but before I could finish my sentence, he closed the distance between us, cupping my cheeks in his large hands and capturing my lips in a passionate kiss.

The familiarity and warmth of his lips overwhelmed me, and I kissed him back. My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as I leaned into the kiss, lost in the moment. He pressed his body against mine, and kissed me harder, as if there were no tomorrow, like I were his last meal. Only when we needed air did we break apart, catching our breaths as we smiled.

"I'll take that as a yes," he whispered.

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