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When Lila is finally alone, she slumps down onto her desk.
Her nose hits the wood. It hurts. Eyes closed, she lifts her face slowly up from the table so she could rub her nose. This graduates to Lila having both hands over her face. Then, without even knowing she is going to do it, she screams.
It is loud, shrill, animal-like in its resonance, and the classroom may be empty of students but it doesn’t mean the school is cleared of stuff. People could hear her, hollering like a maniac, letting out her anguish and satanic frustration, but what are they going to do? Arrest her? For causing some noise?
Lila’s head hurts. It throbs like there’s no tomorrow, and as she stands up, grabbing her bag carelessly in the process, she nearly stumbles down the stairs as she practically limps her way out of the classroom.
The sky overhead is broiled with swollen, thick clouds. Cast over in an unappealing ugly iron grey that Lila wants to sneer at for no particular reason. Autumn breeze blows discarded pieces of garbage and abandoned snack wrappers across the courtyard. She could see no one. There’s lights on over at the library and the teacher’s lounge, and there are doubtlessly people cleaning over at third-floor cafeteria, but no one bothered her. No one stopped Lila and no one says anything to her, so Lila returns the motion in kind.
It hurts. And it’s unsettling and it’s unbecoming, and Lila hates the kind of person it made her become.
She’s Lila Rossi, god-fucking-damn-it, she’s not made for looking over her shoulder and swallowing her words and ducking her head behind her fringe and thinking twice about what she’s going to say. She’s the fucking Lion Queen, and here she is, sneaking out of the school like some prey animal.
Lila thought herself as above this. As in, should it ever come the day where she’s completely thrown out into the open like this, she’ll be unfazed by it. It wouldn’t hit her confidence, it wouldn’t hit her belief in herself as a person, she wouldn’t be bothered by it.
What she didn’t plan for was the whispering. She expected insults, she expected barrages, she expected particularly nasty boys and girls to come up with bandages wrapped over their fists at lonely corners where no teacher is likely to lurk. But no one has so much as – looked at her. Talked to her, acknowledged her in any way. The closet Lila has actually gotten to communication all day was when she walked into the classroom in the morning and Rose startled upon making direct eye contact before breaking that vulnerable optical strand by immediately twisting around to whisper some absurd secret into Juleka’s ear.
Since then, Lila could feel eyes burning on her back and shoulders, glares boring their way through the back of her head. But whenever she turned around with a toothy smile and a quick retort at the ready, everyone is conveniently deeply submerged in doing something else. Every time Lila thinks, this is it, I’m gonna be able to cuss someone out for this, the moment evaporates, fades. It seems like no one has even thought about her in the first place. And Lila will look like a total loser chasing after some uninterested party, trying in engage them in verbal combat.
Lila isn’t supposed to be chasing after other people’s attention. They chase after hers!
It wouldn’t be so bad if Lila had known that this wasn’t intentional. If people had really forgotten her and decided she was worthless after she ran out of exciting tales to tell or when it is discovered Lila can’t deliver any of the shit she had been promising to the moon. Sure, it’ll sting a little, Lila would’ve thought she would’ve garnered a little more status than that, but it’ll be something she’ll be able to live with.
Instead, it’s like she’s faced with an icy wall. As if all the students of François Dupont are doing their very best to pretend she doesn’t exist, as if they’re content with carrying on in life with a quarantine barrier around her. They’ll invite each other to sleepovers and birthday parties and make plans while ignoring Lila is right there. They’ll form groups for assignment activities and look irritated when Madame Bustier reminds them gently that Lila needs a partner as well.
It’s another level of humiliation, and Lila supposes that is the point. Probably one of those new-age anti-bullying techniques. Instead of antagonising, retaliating, or confronting the person causing trouble, just make them feel like they should be embarrassed of their own existence. No one gets hurt and shame teaches the greatest lesson of all at the end of the day.
Why didn’t they try this skit on Chloé? Why her?
Something hard drops on Lila’s scalp as she’s making her way across the basketball court, and that jars Lila out of her inner turmoil, spurring her to run the last few steps towards the school’s gateway.
Just as she’s safely out of target, the downpour starts. Raindrops clatter like bullet across the roof tiles, bouncing out their melodic tune as they run down gutters, slither through drainage pipes, splashing in litres across the floor. Within seconds, the world from just before disappears. Everything is covered in a pearly haze, it becomes difficult to see even just a couple of metres out. Humidity sticks Lila’s fringe to her temples, and she knows it is curling her hair ends.
At the front of the school, a nondescript red car roars across the curb, splashing a wave of sleet-grey water to wash the pavement.
Lila resists the urge to stamp her feet and scream again.
Why her? Why now? Why is the universe being so cruel to her today?
It’ll be such a coward’s move to stay away. To huddle at home and abstain from going to school. People will definitely notice, and it’ll make it appear as if Lila is running (which she is), as if she’s really intimidated by this pathetic little routine her classmates are playing (she is). But Lila doesn’t really want to stay in there either, day after day, alone at her desk. Having to ask to join groups. Having to plead for acknowledgement. Having all those awful blank stares aimed at her when she talks. The teachers don’t pretend she’s invisible, thank god, but who cares about the recognition of teachers?
After standing there for what feels like hours, waiting for the rain to subside (it was three minutes), Lila gives up and ruffles through her bag for her phone. She calls Alessandra, the first name in her contact list.
“Hi! You’ve reached Alessandra Anguissola’s phone. I’m currently busy right now, but I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible! If this is an emergency, please contact me on my work number at three-nine–”
Lila hangs up and scrolls further down her contacts list.
Then, after a silent second of pondering her secondary options, turns off her screen and awkwardly shoves her phone into her pocket.
Now what?
The rain isn’t giving any signs of stopping soon, and Lila does not fancy getting wet. Maybe she could try one of the cafés across the street? She wouldn’t be risking too much running there, and she could get some food and homework (swiping through social media) done.
(Lila doesn’t fancy going home anyway, to the small walls and empty rooms. The fridge full of ready-to-eat meals and the lights that are always too dim.)
Lila searches through her belongings, trying to unearth and combine her change, when a shadow walks past her.
Lila startles. He is so silent, she never even heard him coming until he is right beside her.
Adrien Agreste peers at the sky beyond the ceiling of the school’s gateway, before tentatively reaching out a hand to test the storm. Thunder rumbles, dark and ominous, and a tongue of white lightning flickers across the horizon. Adrien retracts his palm to find it spotted with fat splotches of rain. He, matter-of-factly, wipes his hand dry on his jacket. The storm is giving all indications of staying the afternoon, night, and part of the morning tomorrow.
For a long moment, the two of them stands together. Silent, side-by-side.
Adrien doesn’t do anything; take out his phone to pass the time, acknowledge Lila, fiddle with some trinket, just stands like a statue. It places pressure on Lila to be as reticent. She observes him for a while, present with perfect posture in a Gabriel nylon bomber jacket and argent dog chain necklace. His hair is the colour of gold threads and perfectly mussed. There’s a splatter of freckles on the underside of his jaw. His right ear is pierced in seven different places, all of which are stuffed with an assortment of minimalistic silver jewellery. His rubber-soled sneakers has barely any heel or platform on them, yet Lila reaches only to his chin. And this is while Lila is wearing stiletto Attico boots when her regular height triumphs most of the boys and pretty much all the teachers in the school.
Adrien looks so serene and unflappable, staring out with the expression of a bored god, that Lila is suddenly consumed by an anger so rapid and inexplainable, she could feel her cheeks burn with the instant.
“What?” she snaps sharply, startling him. “You’re ignoring me too?”
There is a frown on Adrien’s face. “What?” he says.
“You’re too good for me too?” Lila continues. “Too good to even talk to me? Acknowledge me? I bet you feel so proud of yourself now, huh? I bet you feel so clever and special and superior, having managed to triumph over the big bad bully, managing the save the day without even raising a single finger. Good for you! Good for you and your pacifist, hippie bullshit! Good on you for managing to avoid raising a fist! Oh, you’re just so perfect and competent and better than me–”
Lila realises she has started crying when her voice wobbles and breaks. Soon, the words are coming out of her throat wetter and thicker and so slurred, until she herself could barely understand what she is saying, just rambling with no argument or end goal. She just wants to pour her heart to someone, throw her heart at someone, let someone else know how embarrassed and hurt and plainly upset she is.
Why is Lila so bothered by all this? Why can’t she be as untouchable and imperturbable as she imagines? Not this howling mess of a girl sobbing her lungs out.
Adrien, for his experience, has been startled, alarmed, confused, irritated, before settling on mildly uncomfortable and befuddled as Lila sinks to her knees and bawls into her hands.
She can’t look at him, eyes screwed shut from both the force of her weeping and her embarrassment. It’s not so bad, Lila thinks. At least it’s Adrien. Not Marinette, or Alya, or any of the other classmates or any of the teachers. Adrien wouldn’t fake empathy with her or memorise this moment for later or try to use it as a heart-to-heart opportunity. People believe that Adrien is charitable and sensitive and nearly suicidally compassionate, but what they don’t realise is that what they perceive is simply a self-projected reputation of the altruistic child celebrity.
Adrien is a lot more aloof than people realise, reservation is taken for shyness. Adrien is a lot more calculating than people realise, clemency is taken for tenderness. Adrien has sufferance and accommodation in the spades, but don’t let the sharing tiger be mistaken for a tamed tiger. Kindness could be tolerance, and Lila would much rather bluntness than deception. At least Adrien would never speak to her using that high-pitched, near-infantilising voice people do when they try to relate to a stranger.
A hand touches her shoulder, and Lila flinches.
“Here,” says Adrien’s low voice, and something fabric is offered to Lila. Lila takes it, still without looking at him.
It’s a handkerchief. Who the fuck in this day and age carries around a handkerchief? It’s made of some satiny, synthetic material, crinkling around Lila’s fingers. When she blows her nose on it, the fabric fails to retain any liquid. When Lila looks closer, she could see a near-invisible embossed Gabriel symbol at the corner. Ah, a statement, advertising piece, then.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Adrien says. When Lila looks at him, she could see the coffee freckles on his cheek in high definition. “But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I thought you knew this, that this is our entire dynamic. You chase, I ignore. You holler, I pretend you don’t exist.” Lila snorts, unable to help himself, and a small smile curves Adrien’s lips. “I wasn’t doing anything particularly special today, I was just doing what I thought we always do. I’m sorry if I hurt you, Lila – but I always ignore you.”
“I get it,” Lila says loftily, staring at the sandstone beneath their feet. She wishes for a mirror to look into, she’s sure she must appear ridiculous. Lila has always been a pretty crier, that’s one part of herself she doesn’t have to practice. Her nose and cheeks turn a coquette baby-pink and her eyes get all glittery, but Lila is also wearing a lot of make-up today. And when she pats at her skin tentatively, her fingers come away dyed kohl-black. If she looks like a clown, Adrien is being very subdued about it. “I'm sorry for embarrassing myself.”
“Are you okay?” Adrien asks. “What happened?”
Lila ganders at him. “You really don’t know?” she asks. “They didn’t tell you?”
“Who didn’t tell me what?”
“Your friends?” Lila suggests. “Nino, Alya, Marinette, whatever; Chloé? Is Chloé in on it?” Lila frowns, trying to remember. Chloé didn’t look her way for the entire day either, but Chloé never looks her way. Lila is sure Chloé still doesn’t know the name of the new Italian exchange student.
“I sincerely have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Adrien says. “If it helps, I was in the library for the entire day, from 5am until about twenty minutes ago.” At Lila’s look, he continues. “I’m going on a round-the-globe trip next month,” Adrien explains. “It’ll last about two weeks, and I’m hitting eighteen different capital cities across three continents for the launch of my perfume’s latest spin-off.” Adrien rolls his eyes. “‘Adrien, le Fragrance, Édition Blond’ ,” he says, in the long-suffering tone of someone forced to immerse in a task they despise. “‘Love starts with a Leap of Faith. Dare to be bold.’ The fucker smells like sandalwood and lavender, if you’re interested, tried to make it as gender-neutral and vague as possible to attract all customer bases. I was in the library all day long, exchanged through a plethora of our teachers like an unwanted whore trying to figure out how I could try to make a two-week absence in the middle of my terminale year work. Do you know how hard it is rearranging the schematics of an exam when you’re halfway across the Atlantic Ocean? No? It’s fucking hard, trust me. Now I’m tired and mad.”
“Mad?” Lila utters, the most prominent part she managed to catch of that parade.
“I don’t want to go on the stupid promotional trip,” Adrien barks. His cheeks has flushed with his fervour. “And I hate the stupid perfume. Trust Daddy to pick the most inconvenient time of the year to boot me out of the country.”
Lila laughs, despite herself. “You call him Daddy?” she chortles.
“I was clearly being sarcastic,” Adrien snarls.
Lila rubs at the corner of her eye, still chuckling. At least her tears are from humour and not despair this time. Adrien watches her, and despite his ire, there is something like affection in his expression. He seems pleased that Lila isn’t distressed anymore.
“Well,” Lila says, and tries again. “Well, that makes my issue seem so puny – or maybe it makes your issue seem out-of-touch. I don’t know how many other kids our age are moaning about having to go on a round-the-world trip.”
“I’m sorry I’m not relatable,” Adrien says.
“You’re forgiven,” Lila says, and goes back to boring at the concrete. “…well, you were right.”
“About what?”
“…the whole lying thing,” Lila says. “People found out. And, oh boy, they are not happy about it.”
“I’ll say ‘I told you so’,” Adrien says. “But that would be kicking you while you’re down, wouldn’t it?”
Lila sniffs, raising her nose slightly in the air. “I can take it.”
“In that case,” Adrien says. “I told you so. I told you that people can do a simple research and unravel your entire web from there. I told you that you wouldn’t be able to take it. I told you that you’ll end up completely lonely and regretful.”
“I’m not lonely,” Lila snarls. “Lonely implies that I – I miss them, or some shit! And I’m not regretful either! I don’t care about their feelings and I don’t care that we’re not friends anymore, I never wanted to be their friend! They’re all boring, and annoying, and so damn sickening. I just – I…I never realised how weird it would feel.”
“Weird?” Adrien repeats.
Lila wraps her arms around her middle. They are both crouched down, huddled together like two small animals seeking shelter from a storm. Which they technically are doing, children hiding from the rain. The rainfall isn’t coming down heavy, but there’s no denying that one wouldn’t get drenched even if they’re simply trying to make it across the street. It’s nice; chilly, watery weather like this always soothes some deep, earthly fragment of Lila’s soul – although she’ll never say that out loud, what kind of flower child bullshit is that? There’s something simply and universally relaxing about smelling petrichor in the air, wet stone and moist dirt. Feeling the gale on her cheeks and hearing the whistling through the leaves.
Perhaps it’s the weather, perhaps it’s because she cried a bit of it out, or maybe it’s because Adrien is here and listening to her and not making fun of her even if he is being disparaging about it, but Lila feels a lot better now. She couldn’t believe she was so anxious and warbling about it all day, she now feels sheepish, and wishes for the clock to rewind the time so she could go back to this morning and adjust her actions. Lila shouldn’t have been quiet and confined to her seat for the entire school day, she should’ve laughed at someone the moment they tried to pull the pathetic trick, mock them for believing they could make her feel inadequate.
“…I don’t like how insecure it made me feel,” Lila says. “…like I did something wrong.”
“You did do something wrong,” Adrien says.
“Don’t start,” Lila sighs.
“And yet, I will anyway,” Adrien says. “Look, Lila. You’re not a bad person, neither an intolerable person. I’ll say I’ll even like you, if you don’t have this weird attitude about life.”
“What’s wrong with my attitude?” Lila demands, offended. “What weird about my attitude about life?”
“You look at life as if it’s something to be conquered,” Adrien says. “As if every single person is an enemy and you have to grind them down in order to rise up.”
“Uh – well, I hate to break this to you,” Lila says. “But that is how the world works. We can’t all get where we are by being nice and sweet and naïve, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, sweetie. No weaknesses.”
“And you’re sure you’re not lonely.”
Lila bares her teeth at him. “What about you?” she demands. “Are you lonely? I don’t exactly see you rolling in friends out here.”
“I don’t treat people like they’re pawns or tools,” Adrien says. “If you truly don’t care about people’s opinions, if you really don’t give a damn, then why did you ever play nice with them in the first place? Why didn’t you just leave them alone instead of trying to weasel into their relationships?”
“Don’t say weasel,” Lila complains. “You make me sound so gross. I was infiltrating. Hijacking. I was being a very sexy spy about it.”
Adrien makes a facial expression that expresses general distaste.
“And I was doing it,” Lila says. “Because they all have something I want.”
“Like?”
“Mylène’s dad has connections to Josiane, the director of the Parisian Theatre Society,” Lila says. “I was grooming her to groom her dad to drop my name in a conversation somewhere. And Juleka isn’t really that close to her father, but I don’t need them to be close for my name to come up somehow.” Lila counts off her fingers. “Alix’s father is the director of the Louvre, which could not not come in handy, and Sabrina is such a suck-up, once she gets attached, she would beg her daddy to leave a friend alone if some issue with the law ever get involved.”
Adrien looks concerned. “Are you planning on committing a crime?”
Lila rolls her eyes. “No,” she says. “But it could come in handy is what I’m saying.”
“Instead of pretending to be their friends and manipulating them for their benefits,” Adrien says. “Why don’t you actually be their friends, so they’ll help you regardless?”
“Did you not hear what I said earlier?” Lila demands. “I don’t like them.”
“…I don’t get you, Lila,” Adrien says. “I thought I did once, but the more I get to know you – can you honestly not see how you’re self-sabotaging yourself?”
“Oh, please.”
“You’re heading down a very dark and lonely path,” Adrien says. “Convincing yourself that the world is cold and uncaring, that you need to lie and manipulate everyone in your path in order to get what you want. I mean – what is it that you want?”
Lila shrugs. “Haven’t decided on it yet,” she says. “But a life of unimaginable fame and wealth would be good.”
“Okay,” Adrien says. “Well – in that case, why did you never come to me? Or Chloé? I imagine that we would be your express ticket to a life like that.”
Lila gives him an unimpressed look. “Chloé is annoying,” she says. “She’ll never want a friend around her, an equal, she’ll want another maidservant. And I am not carrying her textbooks and getting her a Starbucks every morning.”
“And me?”
“…what’s the point?” Lila says. “You’ll already know I’m trying to manipulate you.”
“You’re not manipulating me right now.”
Lila cackles. “What is there to gain?” she asks. “And – are you sure I’m not manipulating you? Maybe this is just something I made up and I’m crying crocodile tears to gain your sympathy.”
Adrien reaches forward and brushes the back of one crooked finger against Lila’s cheek. Lila freezes at the contact, a warm touch sparking shivers on flesh she hadn’t realised were cold. Adrien’s finger comes away all stained, and he shows the melted pigment to her matter-of-factly.
“One thing I do understand about you,” Adrien says. “Is that you’re very superficial. It’s all about appearances to you.”
It takes Lila’s mouth a second to spit out a retort. “This coming from a mannequin?”
“If you are trying to manipulate me,” Adrien says. “You’ll make sure you look good doing it.”
A sudden car horn from the road startles Lila. She flinches, and almost topples over in her stiletto boots. Adrien raises his head and turns to the noise. A black Peugeot sedan has rolled up to the curb before the school, crunching wet gravel beneath rubber tires. There is the squeal of crushed rock. The car horn sounds once more, and Adrien stands up. Hastily, Lila pushes her palms against the floor, stumbling to follow him.
“That’s me,” Adrien says, reaching into his satchel to pull out a black umbrella. It flaps open in a single neat movement. Adrien rests the shaft against his right shoulder, looking at Lila from under the nylon canopy. “You going to be okay? How are you planning on getting home?”
Lila crosses her arms under her chest, bumping her crocodile-skin handbag against her flank. Cavolo. She tries her best to hide her disappointment and isn’t sure if she succeeded. She had completely forgotten they were both waiting to get home, somehow. It wasn’t a genteel conversation, and towards the end, Lila was experiencing the sensation of wanting to smack him with her handbag, the same sensation she always gets whenever someone gets a little too friendly and preachy around her. But at the same time – Lila can’t remember the last time when she was able to let her guard down and just talk to someone like this. Not having to take note of a hundred little mundane details just in case they come in handy later, not having to wildly calculate inside her mind while keeping a cool expression, configuring separate stories and falsities in order to remain credible. Lila realises, with some trepidation, that she actually enjoys talking to Adrien, as sententious as he is. That he might be the only person she enjoys being around ever since coming to Paris.
“None of your business,” Lila says.
Adrien raises an eyebrow at her, mien disconcertingly neutral. Then, he holds out the handle of his umbrella to her. Lila realises she is supposed to take it. Hesitatingly, once she evaluated that there’s no detriment if she does so, she does. Ignoring the brief contact of their hands as Adrien relinquishes his grip.
“Keep your chin up,” Adrien says. “It’ll all blow over. And, who knows. It’s never too late to make amends.”
“Keep dreaming,” Lila snorts.
“I’ll like to be your friend,” Adrien says. “I find you interesting, Lila. I’ve never met anyone so ambitious and determined, and I work in the fashion industry. I’m a very – languid individual. Happy to go along with the flow, happy to be part of the team. I’m not really use to taking solid control of my life. So, who knows? If we start hanging out, we might rub off on each other. I might teach you to take it easy. You might teach me the appropriate time to rake a few claws.”
Lila is going to say something, but at that exact moment, the umbrella chooses to shudder and collapse over her head.
Spluttering and blinded, trying to fight her way out of the compressing fabric, Lila could only hear the sound of nylon rustling and Adrien’s laughter.
“You did that on purpose!” Lila accuses, shoving the canopy off her. “You – you did that on – !”
“Hey, hey,” Adrien says, raising both hands up. “You’re the one holding the umbrella.”
“You handed it to me, you little – !”
The Peugeot’s horn honks again, with a distinctly annoyed tenor this time. Adrien shakes his head apologetically while Lila glares down at it.
“Tell your servants to know their places,” Lila orders.
“That’s literally my substitute father you’re talking about,” Adrien says lightly. “I can’t tell him anything. Goodbye, Lila. See you at school tomorrow, if you’re brave enough to show up.”
“Of course I am!”
Adrien grins at her, boyish and carefree, and Lila refuses to name the warm jolt of emotion that sparks through her chest at the sight of that smile. Absently holding a palm over his head in poor replacement of his umbrella – and Lila considers the charity that goes into giving away your own property in times of need to someone who’s not even nice to you – Adrien goes to brave the elements.
Maybe Lila doesn’t need to manipulate Adrien at all. Maybe – Adrien already likes her more than he lets on. Lila perks up. Wouldn’t that be an interesting route to consider?
Adrien runs down the stairs, raindrops glazing off his waterproof jacket but dyeing his jeans in spots, somehow not slipping and cracking open his skull despite his speed. Lila keeps her eyes on him the entire time, wondering if he’ll look back, but he never does. The car door slams shut, and Lila couldn’t see anything past the tinted windows as the vehicle pulls away.
Alone, Lila remains in the mouth of the gateway. She could be fooling herself, but she swears the handle of the umbrella is warm where Adrien has last touched it. Lila realises, she still has his handkerchief clutched like a life buoy in a hurricane in her grasp.