Bonjour Girl

by Isabelle Laflèche

  Both Jake and I nod approvingly at her outfit before we continue our chat.

  “You’re very discreet. I like that in a person,” Jake says. Is that because he’s not, I wonder? I hope not. I’ve been confiding a lot of personal stuff and I don’t want it to get around.

  “It’s a rare quality in people these days.” He cocks an eyebrow ominously, pursing his lips and crossing his arms while nodding toward the back of the class.

  I have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m referring to the … you know … the tweet,” he says in a hushed tone. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, Clem. There are serious consequences to what people write online … and bullies have no clue about the impact their comments have on others. Anyway, just so you know, I tweeted back in your defence. You have my total support.”

  I stare at him blankly and, within seconds, the glow on my face vanishes. My stomach clenches and I feel faint. Jake realizes I have no clue what he’s talking about and lifts his arms in consternation.

  “Oh, dear lord. You haven’t seen Twitter.”

  I shake my head. It occurs to me that I haven’t set up any notifications on my new phone yet. I extend my arm. “Let me see it.”

  Jake shakes his head in protest. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “Oh jeez, what have I done?” He puts his hands over his face. “Are you sure you want to read this shit? I’m not sure this is the right time or place.”

  “Well, if it’s that bad, I should know about it, don’t you think?” My stomach in knots, I brace myself for the worst. I have no idea who tweeted what about me but I know the message will hurt. I still feel the sharp humiliation of catching my ex-boyfriend kissing my mother. It still cuts to the bone and hurts like hell. Why is life so cruel sometimes? Just when I thought I was on top of the world, my house of cards comes crashing down. Again.

  “All right, read at your own risk.” He reaches for his phone, scrolls to the message, and holds it in front of my face. My jaw drops when I read the nasty tweet:

  @ClementineL, student @Parsons, received a scholar­­ship because she’s related to design teacher Madeleine Laurent. So UNFAIR!!

  My stomach drops. I feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I take a look at the Twitter account, assuming it must be Ellie’s handiwork. But I nearly keel over when I see it’s not Ellie at all, but Stella, the failed legal eagle with the cute preppy outfits and funky decals. So much for being part of her entourage. I’m furious at myself for trying to befriend her. What a mistake — and what a frickin’ mess. I hate myself even more.

  Then it hits me: Jake knows about Maddie, and the fact that I kept it a secret. And yet he’s still talking to me. He sees it dawn on me and pats me on the back. “Is it true, Clem? That you and Maddie are related?”

  I stare down at my glittery Mary Janes. I’m embarrassed to admit it. I blush instead.

  “You know you can totally trust me. Unlike some other people in this class,” he finishes loudly.

  “Yes, it’s true,” I whisper. “I was going to tell you but was waiting for the right time. But I didn’t get any preferential treatment, I swear!”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being related, Clem. As a matter of fact, it makes total sense to me now: you both have great style, a French background, and all that jazz. I just wish you’d told me.”

  “I know, I’m sorry I kept it from you. But you need to believe that the scholarship was based on my academic performance and work experience — that’s it,” I add defensively. No wonder I’ve been getting more evil stares than ever this morning. How did this get leaked? I feel like I’m about to throw up.

  “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. Or should I say bitch-eat-bitch …” Jake shakes his head. “Whatever it is, it’s just plain rude. We need a strategy.” He continues to stare at me expectantly. He’s waiting for my response, but I’m speechless. I don’t know how to reply to something so vile. Is revenge the best strategy? Or should I just take the high ground and ignore Stella’s nonsense?

  Jake points to his phone. “There are lots of retweets, likely by her friends” — he emphasizes the word to show his scorn — “in the back row. Tons of people saw this. Trust me sista, we need to plot revenge.”

  I turn and see Ellie staring at me from the other side of class with a strange look. Is she in on this, too? Is the entire class in on ganging up on me? But why? This really sucks.

  I imagine standing up and giving Stella a piece of my mind in front of the entire class, something my hot-blooded French mother would probably do — bold and brash runs in my family — but I take a second to cool off and think it through. This is no time to mimic my mother’s dramatic antics or her hot temper. It’ll only get me in trouble just when I’m trying to find my place in this school. I’m dying to run out of class and snitch on these freaks but something keeps me firmly planted in my seat: self-respect.

  Did Taylor Swift lose her cool when Kanye West burst on stage at the MTV Video Music Awards to snatch the microphone from her? No. She reacted gracefully. If she managed to keep her cool, so can I.

  “Just when you thought Stella was your friend, SHE’S NOT! Welcome to New York!” Jake says, pointing his pencil at me.

  The irony of Jake’s words isn’t lost on me, given that we just had a huge, almost friendship-ending fight after knowing each other for only a week.

  I turn around and give Stella an evil stare but she turns away to whisper something to her friends. Her ignoring me makes me fume even more.

  Why would she do this? I don’t understand. Does she have her own digital plans in addition to her fashion collection? No wonder she left law school — she doesn’t have a law-abiding ethical bone in her body.

  “It sounds like this lecture about legal stuff may come in handy. You need to know your rights, darlin’, so you can defend yourself,” Jake says just as the teacher finally re-enters the classroom to finish her talk.

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Screw the rules.”

  “Oooh, that’s more like it, love. I like that attitude. I am woman, hear me ROAR,” Jake says, imitating some form of dangerous animal. It helps me calm down just a little. Deep down, I’m falling apart and breaking into a million little pieces. I’m dying to jump up from my chair and run out of the class, because despite my fake bravado, what I really want to do is disappear.

  The question is, what will I do about this now?

  “Come on, Clem. You can’t let that she-devil get you down,” Jake says to me over some delicious hot cocoa and a giant brownie. We’re chilling at the Walker Hotel on 13th Street, just around the corner from The New School. Jake dragged me here after class to help me relax and get over Stella’s vile tweet. As soon as I walked through the hotel’s front doors, I felt better.

  The decor is reminiscent of the Gilded Age, and it’s the perfect hangout for an eclectic mix of New York writers, artists, musicians, and business travellers. And us.

  It’s a gorgeous architectural gem. We’re sitting in plush half-moon-shaped red velvet seats, and there’s a fireplace in the centre of the room whose warm glow makes me feel cozy and safe. Black and white photographs of the city hang above us. I find the room supremely romantic and, if I wasn’t so upset and in need of comforting, I’d call Jonathan and have him meet us here. I guess that will be for another time.

  “You know what the crazy thing is? I first thought it must’ve been Ellie who tweeted that stupid crap,” I say, clutching my cup of hot chocolate. “I’m honestly shocked Stella would pull such a stunt. What a hypocrite. She tries to befriend me and then poof! Just like that, she stabs me in the back.”

  “I know! Stella looks all innocent and stuff with her pastel jackets and pink shoes. But she’s the wicked bitch of the east draped in cotton candy,” Jake says, taking a long sip of hot cocoa that leaves
a trace of chocolate on his upper lip.

  “How did she find out about Maddie? That’s what I’d like to know,” I say.

  “Who cares? That doesn’t give her the right to call you out all over the internet. This could be considered libel or slander,” Jake adds, all legal-like.

  “I’m not sure it qualifies. The information needs to be false or something.”

  “It is false. You got that scholarship because of your grades, Clem, not because you’re related to Maddie.”

  “Right! I thought the fashion law lecture might help me, but it was too theoretical. Maybe I need the advice of another professional.”

  “Yeah, a top criminal lawyer — when I get arrested for punching Stella’s lights out. Or better yet, setting the warehouse she uses to store her stupid patches on fire!” Jake says, hitting the table with the palm of his hand, making the water glasses shake and spill over — he’s getting a bit carried away.

  A bite of the hot fudge brownie soothes my nerves a bit. “I think success is the best revenge,” I say calmly.

  “WTF? Are you kidding me?” Jake drops his fork and gives me a quizzical look. He obviously wasn’t expecting this kind of response, but his plans for revenge don’t sit well with me. They’re not realistic, anyway, even though I secretly wish I could make Stella suffer, at least a bit.

  “Come on Jake, get real. You’re not going to get arrested over some dumbass tweet,” I say, sounding a bit like him.

  “If you say so. But burning down her warehouse sounds like fun,” Jake says with a devilish grin and a sweet moustache. I move in closer and wipe away the chocolate. Friends don’t let friends walk around New York with a giant brown ’stache.

  “I’d love to teach her a lesson. And I think the best way to do it is by creating an amazing platform with a huge following. The problem is I no longer have any funding to start my business.”

  “What do you mean?” He whips his head around, looking confused.

  “Well, I thought long and hard about what you said … and I gave the scholarship money back.”

  “Whaaat? Come on girl, are you out of your frickin’ mind?”

  “Maybe. I just want to do what’s right, you know?”

  “Um, NO.” He waves his dessert fork at me. I back away to avoid flecks of fudge hitting my vintage blouse. “Am I responsible for this? ’Cause if I am, I’ll never forgive myself.” Some of the chocolate lands on the tip of my nose. I wipe it off. He doesn’t even notice.

  “No, it has nothing to do with you, Jake. It has everything to do with me. It’s about appearances and karma. Besides, what’s done is done,” I say flatly.

  “Well, look where this has gotten you: broke and humiliated. Listen, Clem, we’ve only just met and no matter what you say, I know I’m responsible for this act of COMPLETE jackassery, but frankly you need to look out for numero uno. ’Cause Stella and Ellie sure ain’t gonna do it for you, now are they?” He finishes, wipes his lips with the serviette, and drops a twenty on the table.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, confused.

  “It’s my treat — I got a letter saying my scholarship application is under review. And god knows I ain’t gonna turn it down if I’m so blessed. But no matter what, I feel like a giant scumbag.” He stands up, whips his Burberry scarf around his neck, and slides into his trench coat. His dramatic exit is worthy of a Hollywood film star.

  After a rough morning, Jake’s flamboyance finally makes me smile. Jake isn’t a scumbag. If he were any kind of bag, there’s no doubt in my mind it would be a limited-edition Louis Vuitton.

  Maddie is sitting on a tall stool in her kitchen reviewing class notes when I walk in to discuss the Stella situation.

  I’m surprised to find papers strewn everywhere, empty coffee cups and colour-coordinated sticky notes all over the marble counter. Maddie is usually so neat; it’s kind of reassuring to see a mess. It makes me feel like less of a scatterbrain.

  I guess Maddie wasn’t expecting me so early — I was supposed to get together with Jonathan after school. But frankly, with the nasty tweet weighing on me, the last thing I want to do is bring the man of my dreams down with my problems. It’s enough that I told him about my temporary falling-out with Jake on Saturday. I don’t want him to think I’m a drama queen.

  I’d rather slip into my flannel pyjamas and take a hot bath. I text Jonathan and tell him I have an unexpected matter to take care of. I grab the half-empty bottle of red from the counter and pour myself a glass.

  “Oh dear, I had a feeling something was up. Is it about the competition at school? It’s a real jungle out there, isn’t it?” Maddie says, still reading her notes.

  “Jungle? No, I’d say we’ve moved up a notch from that. It’s a shitstorm,” I blurt out, pulling out the cork. Maddie gives me a curious look. I guess she’s not used to hearing me talk like this or seeing me drink. Jake has a strong influence in the way I speak.

  “Come on, Clementine. Is it really that bad?

  “Yep, it is. It’s that Stella girl, the one with the sticker business.”

  “Sticker business?”

  “She started some fashion-decal business, stickers that attach to your sneakers and handbags.”

  “Hmmm, sounds familiar. I must have read about it somewhere,” Maddie says, sounding intrigued. “What did she do?”

  I show her the tweet and Maddie’s jaw drops. “Oh dear.”

  “That’s what I said. And she has a huge following. I just don’t understand why she’d do such a thing. I mean, she can’t be jealous, she’s far more successful than I am. And to go through this after I gave the scholarship money back …”

  “Well, um” — cough, cough — “not exactly …” Maddie says, looking at me sheepishly.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “The finance committee that offered the money contacted me this morning. They won’t accept your cheque. The representative was impressed with your forthrightness, but thinks you still deserve it. He even ran it by the school’s ethics board. Since I wasn’t on the committee, there’s no conflict of interest. The money is yours, Clementine. You should use it. Do you think this Stella girl would give back the money? I think not.”

  “That’s what Jake said. I don’t understand how she found out in the first place.”

  “A written announcement was posted on the bulletin board in the admin offices. That’s probably where she saw it, along with your full name: Clementine Laurent Liu.”

  “Oh shit.” My mother gave me her maiden name as my middle name, which I always thought was kind of neat, but now it doesn’t seem so great. Stella must have connected the name Laurent. “But she’s making tons of money with her stickers. Why would she care about this?”

  “Oh, there are so many reasons why people act out, Clementine. Competition, envy … maybe she’s just an annoying spoiled brat.”

  I take another sip of wine. It helps me relax a bit. “You’re right. I’m keeping the money. Here’s to that, at least, at the end of a crappy day.” I lift my glass in the air. I’m being supremely French tonight. We’re all good.

  Maddie lifts her half-empty coffee cup to meet my glass. “I thought you were meeting up with Jonathan tonight?”

  “I cancelled. I was bummed out about the tweet, and I didn’t want it to ruin our date.”

  “I bet you your scholarship money that you’ll feel better if you go out and have some fun! It’s New York!”

  I look at her suspiciously. I have a feeling she’s kicking me out of her place and there’s a special reason for it. “You have a date?”

  She blushes. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s the first time you’ve tried to get me out of the house … on a Tuesday. You normally stay in and watch Netflix.”

  “All right, you win. Someone is coming over for dinner.” She looks down at her watch. “And you hav
e enough time to shower and change; he’ll be here by seven.”

  “Oh, who’s ‘he’? I’m not sure I want leave now … I think I’ll stay.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” She stands up and guides me to my room. I text Jonathan and put on Sia’s “Cheap Thrills.” Suddenly I’m in the mood for some fun. I twirl around my room to the beat and collapse on my bed thinking of Jonathan and his dreamy lips. I can’t wait to kiss him again.

  My phone buzzes with the perfect message.

  See you in no time, sweet Clementine

  Chapter Seventeen

  “That was fast,” Jonathan says, sitting across from me at the Wythe Hotel in Williamsburg. It’s true that I texted him, showered, and changed in record time. I was in a hurry to see him again and Maddie was in hurry to get me out of her hair. It was a win-win, especially given how sexy Jonathan looks tonight. I can’t believe I almost missed out on it because of some run-in on social media.

  This stunning hotel is housed in a historic, entirely refurbished factory on the Brooklyn waterfront. My jaw nearly dropped when I walked into the ultra-sleek white lounge decorated with minimalist couches and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson River. It looks like one of the bright, contemporary spaces on Garance Doré’s Instagram profile. The view is amazing, both out the window and right in front of me.

  Jonathan is dressed in a pair of washed-out blue jeans, tan leather boots, and a white Henley shirt that highlights his lean, toned arms. Seeing him and smelling him again gives me goosebumps.

  I’m wearing a light-blue shirt, a green and blue midi skirt, and royal-blue pumps. I also threw on some chandelier earrings and painted my nails Blue Boy by Chanel to add sparkle to my outfit and, ironically, to get myself out of the blues.

  Jonathan kissed me softly on the lips when I showed up and held my shoulders tenderly while looking into my eyes. It was the warm, affectionate welcome I was hoping for. So far, he hasn’t disappointed me.