Biscottes
The day was starting off badly for Vi. Woken by the shrill alarm of her phone, she jumped up in a start, violently hitting her head on the ceiling.
Putain.
She massaged her aching skull and cautiously crawled toward the ladder of her bunk bed. Vi turned on the only light bulb, bathing the room in its faint yellowish glow. With this lighting, twilight was perpetual in her apartment.
She only had to take a few steps to start the kettle. As the water hissed, she collapsed onto the sofa, just below her high bed.
Horns, shouting, and discontent, the sounds of the street never weakened, echoing relentlessly day and night. She had gotten used to it over the past year, even having trouble with silence when she went back to visit her family in their small house in Nantes.
She rummaged through the drawers searching for a coffee pod.
Fais chier.
No more coffee, just hot water and biscottes for breakfast. The end of the month was always tough for Vi, as she only received her financial aid on the 5th. Professor Sevika always let her scrape some bread and would close her eyes when the leftover food from the cooks mysteriously disappeared. Vi was her best student, and Sevika, despite her rough appearance, had grown fond of her.
Vi counted the weeks until Christmas, exactly eleven, before seeing her family again. Her father had strictly forbidden her to find a part-time weekend job, wanting her to live a student life as normal as after being deprived of it for so many years. Vi would never ask him for more money than he already provided. She knew how hard times were, especially with her sister's schooling coming up.
This 9m² was all she had been able to find in Clichy, near Paris. The apartment was as small as possible, poorly insulated, and plagued by humidity, but it was her place. All hers.
A few shelves overloaded with books and mangas were close to collapsing with every step she took as she got ready.
She packed her sports gear and class uniform into her backpack, planning to stop by the school's gym later. The days were long and exhausting, but she needed her daily dose of dopamine. Lifting weights at the gym without thinking suited her perfectly.
Vi threw on her thick, oversized leather jacket and ruffled her pink hair with one hand before putting on her headphones. An hour of subway ride awaited her before classes.
The locker room door slammed behind Vi. Clenching her fists, she headed toward the principal's office on the second floor. As she climbed the stairs two at a time, she couldn’t stop replaying the conversation that had just taken place.
It all felt like a fucking misunderstanding, but Kiramman had asked for it. If there was one thing Vi couldn’t stand, it was contempt, especially toward those less fortunate.
She had seen from the beginning that Kiramman was spoiled and had likely never lacked anything. Vi had noticed her since the start of the year and tried to ignore how just seeing her made her heart beat faster.
Diamond studs in her ears, a discreet necklace with a shining pendant around her neck, a simple but clearly expensive bag, all clues that told Vi Kiramman was rich. Very rich, and that they didn’t come from the same world at all.
Vi had known many girls like that when she went to a downtown high school. Haughty or pitying toward those less fortunate. Living in such wealth that they thrived in a world of perpetual glitter and crystal, a world that didn’t include CAF's help or empty fridges.
Kiramman had seemed different when they spoke briefly last week. Her blue eyes, her deliciously cultured English accent, her night-colored hair... Vi had replayed their encounter more than once.
Arriving at the principal's office, she knocked on the door and entered.
"Hello, you asked to see me, Sir?" -Unless otherwise mentioned, the dialogues are in French.-
He was a tall man with rectangular glasses framing clear brown eyes. His scalp, partially bald, still had some remnants of brown tufts. With his well-tailored gray suit jacket and signet ring on his left hand, he commanded respect.
"Ah, Violet. Thank you for coming. Please, sit down."
She sat on one of the two chairs in front of his desk. They were soft, and Vi sank into them with pleasure.
"I prefer Vi, if that's alright."
"Vi? Alright." He shrugged. "Anyway, I asked you to come here today not because there's a problem. On the contrary, you're an exemplary student."
"Thank you," Vi responded, perplexed, truly wondering what the hell she was doing here.
"If I asked you to come today," the principal repeated, "it’s because I need your help."
He stood up and started moving around the room, his hands behind his back.
"You see, one of the pastry students this year is having a lot of difficulty with practical assignments."
He turned toward her. "You graduated in pastry last year with flying colors. Your bakery year is going very well. As a scholarship student, I thought you might... show some gratitude toward the school that took you in and help this student."
Vi crossed her arms, thoughts racing in her mind.
"If I understand correctly, you're asking me," — she emphasized the word — "to tutor a student, outside of my class hours, because I'm a scholarship student and in a precarious situation."
"No, Vi, think of it more as a way to share your knowledge and help a fellow student in need." His voice became syrupy. "But it would indeed be regrettable for the proper progress of your studies if you refused."
Vi suddenly felt like grabbing his glasses, smashing them, and making him eat the frames. She began wondering if that would result in her being expelled or sued. Probably both.
There was a knock at the door. The principal cut off her thoughts, announcing in English :
"Ah, she’s certainly coming! I’m so looking forward to you meeting. I forgot to mention, but you speak English, right?"
Vi froze. A flash of understanding crossed her mind. She suddenly knew exactly who she was going to have to tutor.