PICTURES | j.p. mangan

two

"Does the Latin teacher call on you ?" Michele addressed Marie as she lazily sat with her head in one hand and the other hand moving her mash potatoes around the plate.

When Marie never responded, Simone nudged her slightly, cashing her head to fall from her hand and jolt up right suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Latin teacher. Do you not care we are never asked questions?"

"Oh I don't mind, really."

"Why do you not care at all about any of your classes? It makes us all look bad if you act like this!" Annick threw her fork down angrily.
"I'm not good at any of it, it's easier not to care than to obsess." Marie said with a sigh. The table of all the girls at Volitaire became silent with tension after Annick's outrage.

"My brother said Douillard has always been strict and prejudiced, he had him last year and again this one." Brigitte, in the same year but a different class from them broke the painful silence.

"Ah," said Simone.

Marie had tried hard the first couple of lessons but by the time she got to maths, she realised there was no point as she was helpless. There became a point where she looked at the chalk board and the numbers swirled around, or when the professor spoke the words came out in riddles. The only subjects Marie seemed to do well in were languages; English and Latin. But those classes weren't until after lunch.

The lunch itself was plain and luke warm. Gravy, mashed potatoes, sausages. Marie played with the mash and offered her sausage to Simone, whom seemed to actually enjoy it.

It was at that moment that a boy in their class, Henri Pichon had been pushed into their table, and his dirt hands landed directly on Annicks tray of food causing the girl to scoff.

"I'm sorry Annick, do you want my food?" He offered hastily, positively panicked.

"It's that idiots fault, he should be the one offering his food!" Michelle yelled, pointing at Descamps.

The boys in their classes could almost perfectly be slotted in to an allocated role. The class joke, Henri Pichon, the class genius Annick Sabiani, the outcast, Alain Lebrauc and the class bully, Joseph Descamps.

Descamps didn't seem like a bully at first, with a most charming smile before it quickly turned into a cruel smirk and his glasses were not of a cute nature but of a mean intelligence. Descamps had only picked on Pichon so far, mostly comparing him to a pig. Which Marie felt was not a far fetched comparison but Henry reminded her much more of a man made out of a porcelain egg she once dreamt off.

Michelle's outburst has beckoned the attention of the fifth year boys, all who were much more mature and handsome than those in their year, Marie thought. Marie looked up from her plate to see a set of intense green eyes staring at her, and upon analysing the owner she concluded he was much more pleasing to look at than the plate in front of her. With green eyes, perfectly molded jaw and cheekbones and dark kept hair Marie thought he was about as handsome as you can get.

The boys at Descamps table just laughed even more at Michele's comment and that seemed to annoy the girl further.

"What did you write in that note anyway?" She said, almost scoffing at how angry she was.

"Yes, tell us, we all want to laugh too." Simone added in almost immediately in a perky manner. Whilst Marie enjoyed Simone's child like mannerisms she did think that her nativity in thinking the boys and the girls would get along was not going to work out for her.

"It was not a note, it was a drawing." The rest of the boys laughed more. "Here I will show you," Descamps took his play and a glass bottle of vinegar and when he was done, lifted the plate to show a pair of poorly drawn breasts. "It's a portrait," the boys in Marie's class were all howling laughing whilst most of the the girls were either angrily staring or looking down in embarrassment. The boys in the year above, including Jean-Marc were all rather unimpressed by Descamps.

"I thought of you when I drew it." Joseph Descamps said whilst looking between Annick and Marie-Madeleine. whose eyes widened completely as almost everyone in the lunch hall turned to look at her and her cheeks heated furiously.

Marie snapped her head to look at her plate and her plate alone as she wished the walls would cave in on her. She faintly heard Simone snap back at Descamps but only looked up when she heard the loud scraping of a chair against the hard wood floor - a sound which had made most tables go silent.

The culprit of the sound was none other than Jean-Marc Martin who promptly picked up his played and threw it directly at Descamps, the contents hitting his face and the plate bearing into his neck and shoulder. An uproar began, teachers trying to stop it, speactators cheering, Jean-Marc and Joseph yelling and food being thrown in all directions.

By the time lunch was over and the commotion was put to an end, almost every student and teacher was dirtied by some sort of food, sauce or drink.