A new week was beginning for Thomas, which he hoped would be totally different from the last one. He had a bad memory of the events of the last few days, which had cooled him, literally and figuratively, and confronted the harsh law of high school. Luckily, Thomas hadn't seen Peter and his gang since the crushed ice soda incident, but he hadn't seen his benefactress again, so he hadn't had a chance to thank her anymore. at length for his gesture. He hadn't wanted to tell Alicia, for fear of causing her more trouble and covering her with unfounded guilt. He hadn't told his parents about it on his last call either, and had just pretended to have had a great week.

It was now time for him to go to room B22 for his Art of Communication class. He arrived early as usual, when only two students were already present, and sat down in his self-assigned seat, in the front row. A few minutes later the room filled up and Mr. Spillman arrived.

— Hello young people, he exclaimed.

He pulled his jacket over the back of his chair and put his briefcase on his desk.

— During our first two sessions, I told you about the program for the year, and we vaguely touched on a few points, he said, strolling between the tables.

Thomas appreciated the laid back demeanor of this professor, he reeked of passion and the desire to transmit. He was certainly no longer very far from retirement age, had undoubtedly given countless hours of lessons, but he was still as cheerful as ever, as if time had no hold on his joy at teach.

— Now it is time for me to tell you about the project on which your assessment will mainly be based. You will have little exercises throughout the year to evaluate different points of the court but the major part of your evaluation lies in this project, and given the time I leave you to carry it out, I prefer to point out to you at the outset that I set the bar very high.

He took his chalk case out of his bag, took one, then began to write on the board.

— This year, your mission will be to write a speech about one of your classmates in this course, in the form of your choice. It could be a tirade, an address, a serenade, whatever.

Thomas stared at the three words Mr. Spillman had just written on the board: Speech. In. Duo. He was new and Alicia was not part of this class, two disabilities that he was going to have to combine.

— Two important points, said Mr. Spillman. This is an individual job, but you must partner with a fellow student, so your writing will be about that person while they are writing about you. Likewise, in order to spice it up a bit, you will have the right to lie during your speech. But you will of course also have the right to tell the truth. At the end of it, the class will vote on whether this is a lie or a pure truth.

Mr. Spillman then wrote the number 2 on the board.

— And if you can fool the majority of the class, I'll add two more points to your grade, he continued. I count on the class to act as judge in the event of a dispute, you know each other much better than I know you anyway.

Whispers began to sound in the room, as Thomas froze at the words written on the board. Speech. In. Duo. He was already worried about what he was going to say, and about whom.

— Be creative, impress us and use these long months to produce something anthology.

* * *

The bells are ringing in the classroom, signifying the end of class.

— Start thinking about your speech now, Spillman said to an audience that was no longer quite captive.

Like all the other students, Thomas put his things in his bag and left his table in the direction of the exit.

— Thomas? Mr. Spillman called out.

— Yes sir, replied Thomas, staying on the doorstep.

— I suspect that the exercise I am asking will not be easy for you, as it will for the other foreign students in this class. Are you French, is that it? he asked as he walked over to him.

— Yes that's right.

— You have time to find someone to associate with. Don't hesitate to ask other new students like you, I'm sure you will find someone.

— Thank you sir, I'll think about it, thanked Thomas as he left the classroom.

Thomas walked up the stairs ten yards away, to attend his next class, when he felt a hand pat his right shoulder. He turned around and saw with surprise his benefactress standing in front of him.

— Hi !

— Hi, he replied shyly.

— Thomas, is that it?

— Yes, and what’s your n...

— I need to talk to you about something, she cut off. Can you pass me your phone, please?

Thomas did so and handed the phone to the young girl. As she tapped on it, he watched her. She was dressed in a floral blouse and jeans high to the navel, and a pair of round-lens sunglasses on her head.

— Thank you, she said all smiles, handing her phone back to Thomas. I have a pretty busy schedule right now, so I text you when I'm available.

— Uh, ok, he answered. You know, I, I would like to th...

— Bye, the girl finished, waving her hand at Thomas.

He froze in this quick and unexpected conversation. He had just seen his benefactress again, but hadn't had time to thank her, or even ask her for her first name. And now she had something to tell him. Was it because of Peter? Did she mention him? What could she possibly want to say to him that seemed so urgent, and required to borrow his phone for a few seconds? These questions stuck in his head, and he found no answers.

He unlocked his phone, put to sleep after a few seconds of inactivity, and touched a green handset icon. He looked in his directory and found that now there was a new contact with the letter "L". A newly registered number, in Lara's name.