Underneath The Covers


4. Three

You, lady who overuses the no limitation of the dress code, do you know how to read this?” He asks, referring to me. I definitely hate people hating me just because what I wear, and sometimes, it’s not actually with what I wear. Try making other people dress the same thing but they won’t look slutty as I do, some stuff just won’t work with other people as they do to some.

            I stammer and stare on the board behind Professor Jim Lardy, he’s our French teacher. He doesn’t look like one but perfectly sound like one. In his grey tux, paired with a golden yellow necktie, he looked more of a business man than a teacher, nevertheless, his aura shows that expertise in nature reminds people to keep off from judging. . A clamorous noise directed my attention to nowhere forgetting why I am standing and what I was just about to think.

            “Do you know?” He asks again, pointing on the words written “Bonjour” on the board.

            “If memory serves, I believe it means ‘hello’ and reads like ‘bon jo’” I reply, sounding uncertain.

            He nods and says, “Certainly.” And claps while other follow. “So, Bonjour!”

            Students hesitate but replies “Bonjour.”

            One and a half hour of French classes passes very, very slowly. Our professor acts like a pro and he is too uncaring if we are neophytes, worse, he thinks we can catch up to him. Too much for first day or rather, first subject!

            “Hey,” Someone whispers from behind. I look and see a guy in a v neck black shirt and pants. My eyes direct to his feet, he is actually wearing slippers in school. He smiles and extends his hand, “Victor.”

            I reach for his hand and shake it, “Lovi.”

            “Pretty dandy, ain’t he?” He asks, pointing to our professor, I chuckle and returns my attention to Mr. Lardy as he continues talking in French. No one would listen, I bet.

            A kick startles me. It was Victor. “Yeah?”

            “I’m sleepy,” he says, yawning.

            I roll my eyes and turn my back. “I don’t care actually,” I murmur.

            “You don’t care?” I can’t clearly hear Victor but I don’t really care about what he said, not until when I hear Mr. Lardy says in his deep voice, “Who doesn’t care, little boy?”

            He points to me.

            I panic and say in a sharp voice, “I didn’t say that!”

            “Yes you did.”

             “You bastard, I said I didn’t!” I demanded.

            “Ms. Jackson, I believe you should go to the Head Mistress’ Hall right now for a little debriefing of school rules.”


            “Sur.” Sounding like giving a command, I don’t know what ‘sur’ means in French.

            “But Monsieur –“ I try to apply what I learned from his little barely comprehensive lecture.

            “Sur,” he says stiffly.

            The bell rings and Mr. Lardy leaves, leaving me no time to debate and defend myself.

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