Chapter 2: The Fall

Élianor

The doors of Saint-Exupère High School open like a mouth swallowing its prey. The noise is deafening, a cacophony of laughter, screams, and slamming lockers. I slip in, making myself as small as possible, my bag pressed against my chest like a shield. It's an illusion. Here, I am bare.

The hallway is a tunnel of trials. Eyes land on me, heavy and insistent. Sidelong smiles, whispers that stop dead as I pass. I fix my gaze on the tiled floor, an imaginary vanishing point leading nowhere.

— Hey, watch out! You're taking up all the space!

A shoulder collides with mine, deliberately. It's Matthias, the captain of the soccer team, surrounded by his lackeys. They snicker.

— Sorry, I didn’t see the wall, he adds, feigning regret.

My face burns. I murmur a barely audible "sorry" and quicken my pace. My refuge is the back of the French classroom, the last desk, against the radiator. A place where I can blend in, become a piece of furniture.

But today, something feels off. The whispers are more numerous, more insistent. Stifled laughter erupts as soon as I enter a room. Eyes gleam with a sick excitement. Liora, encountered in front of the bathroom, wears the smile of a cat that swallowed a canary. A smile that chills the blood.

— Have a good day, my sister, she says in a sickly sweet voice.

The trap closes at lunchtime. The cafeteria is the beating heart of school hierarchy, and I have no place there. I take my tray, my hands clammy, and head toward a secluded corner, as usual. Suddenly, a clamor rises near the doors.

It's Liora's group. They've set up a projector and a folding screen. A crowd begins to gather, excited.

— What’s happening? someone asks.

— It’s the school beast contest! Liora announces, a smile on her lips. We made a montage to elect the most… memorable specimen.

A general laugh rises. My stomach tightens, a knot of ice. I want to flee, but my feet are glued to the ground. The screen lights up.

And it's me.

A close-up photo of me, stolen while I was eating alone, my face puffy, cheeks full. The crowd howls with laughter. Another photo appears: me, from behind, my too-tight jeans clinging to disproportionate hips. The laughter intensifies.

— And the grand winner is… Élianor the Whale! yells a boy I’ve never spoken to.

Tears well up in my eyes, burning, humiliating. I want to scream, but no sound comes out. I want to disappear. It's at this moment that the video begins.

It's a shaky phone video. We see me, last weekend, at the town's annual prom. An evening I had forced myself to attend, hoping for a miracle that would never come. I stayed in my corner, sipping a soda, invisible. Until Théo, a senior boy, popular and handsome as a god, approached me.

I remember that moment. My heart leaped. He smiled at me.

— Do you want to dance? he said.

I believed in the miracle.

The video shows the scene. We see me, red, hesitant, agreeing. Then, on the dance floor, as a slow song begins, he leans toward my ear. The phone's microphone must have picked up his voice. His real voice.

— You know, Élianor, no one will ever want you. You're fat, you're ugly, and you smell of loneliness. Dancing with you is the price I paid for a bet. You're just a joke.

Silence falls in the cafeteria. A deathly silence. Then, laughter explodes. An unleashed, hysterical laughter that seems to shake the walls. Hundreds of pairs of eyes are fixed on me. I see them, those eyes, shining with malice, with delight. I see my sister’s face, radiant, in the front row.

I am the joke. The fall. The beast.

My whole body trembles. Tears flow now, hot and salty on my lips. I drop my tray. It crashes to the floor with the sound of broken dishes lost in the laughter. I turn on my heels and run. I run like a madwoman, bumping into people, blinded by tears.

The laughter chases me, echoes in the hallway, sticking to my skin like tar.

— Well done, the whale!

— She's crying! Look, she's crying!

— Run, fat lump, run!

I push through the heavy door of the building and rush down the stairs. Shame is no longer a feeling. It’s a substance, thick, black, filling my lungs, choking my throat. It flows in my veins instead of blood. The whole city has seen. The whole city has laughed. My family, my classmates, my neighbors.

I run without knowing where I’m going, my cheeks streaming, my heart in pieces. Every laugh is a stab. Every gaze a poison. I am bare. I am sullied. I am nothing.

The fall is complete. And at the bottom of this abyss, something is born. A spark. Tiny, drowned in the ocean of shame. A cold anger, waiting for its moment.