Here, and Only Here by Christelle Dabos & Hildegarde Serle

Author:Christelle Dabos & Hildegarde Serle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2023-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Pierre

No more consultations.

That’s what’s written on the door of Room 1. The ink has run, due to the rain. I knock just in case. No reply. I’ve already trekked four times to the back of the school, and each time it’s been total silence. And I’m not the only one. Yesterday, while hiding in the car park during recess, what a stream of pupils, and a few teachers, too, I saw braving the rain to try their luck with the guru. They all found no one in.

Even me, who everyone hits but no one talks to, yup, even me, I’ve heard plenty of stories. Bodies changed. Lives altered. Well, from what I gathered, it was mainly skin, weight, and dick problems.

Not sure if she can help me, the guru, but, nothing ventured …

I return to the playground, shoulders hunched, hood over my eyes. I really don’t want to see what I know I’ll see if I turn my head, even a little. Follows me everywhere, the bastard.

All the plebs hurry under the shelter. The guru must be somewhere in the crowd. She was a pupil like any other before, less than any other, even, seeing that no one actually knows which class she’s in, including those in her class.

I look for her without knowing how I’ll recognize her. I find her. Perhaps because Vincent has plonked himself right beside her on a bench and is gesticulating wildly at me. Precedes me, now, the bastard.

“Um. Hi.”

The guru doesn’t reply to me. She’s stuffing her mouth with brioche like she’s bulimic or something. It’s wet and freezing cold, but she’s wearing giant sunglasses, like some starlet wanting anonymity. But then, I can’t see her feather. Apparently, it’s the feather that does everything.

“Um. I’ve got a little favour to ask.”

I could loosen my hood, but it quite suits me, this shrunken vision of the world. As long as I have the guru straight in front of me, I don’t see Vincent beside her, Vincent and his fingers drumming patiently on his oboe case, Vincent and his intolerable elastic smile. He still sits as straight as ever. Motherfucker.

In the meantime, the guru, she’s still eating her brioche and saying nothing.

“Um. If it’s about money …”

I hand her a banknote, a biggie, fresh out of the parental wallet, the sort I usually reserve for my bullies. I don’t hold myself straight like Vincent, me. I’m so hunched, I almost can’t breathe any more.

“Could do better.”

That’s what she blurts, the guru, her mouth still full. There’s something disturbing behind her dark glasses. Perhaps it’s her hairless skin or something, but she looks like a doll. No, like a baby. A fat, sulky baby, yup, but a baby who smells really nice.

She adds, without really looking at me (hard to tell with the sunglasses):

“That’s what teachers have said about me since primary school. Could do better. I’d grind three times harder than Louise. Could do better. In athletics, in class, in collage, in colouring, in sewing, in dictation.

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