My ears are too small, ugly and complicated to catch melodies—I think that, in order to enjoy music, you must need very long sideburns that flap in the wind and funnel notes all the way down a vast, oyster-shaped ear. Did you close your Facebook account? Are you crazy? Probably a birth defect. Malo and I used to be good friends. In nursery and in primary school, he was neither stupid nor nasty.
We had fun together. We took baths together, had water fights and slapped each other with wet flannels. In Year 6 we gradually grew apart. I had water fights with that minger. First day of Year 7, I walked up to him. You all right? I just stayed standing there with my eyes wide open until my eyeballs fell back inside my skull.
The fat cow was wearing a too-tight T-shirt, too-tight jeans and too-tight shoes. Astrid raises her eyes towards her, then looks at me, then stares at Mum again, then at me. Astrid, Mum, is the Pig Pageant winner this year. She stole my top spot. She was brought up by the sisters and is a fan of Indochine. Do you know Indochine? Terrible, I know. I hardly know anyone here. I thought people would be nice. And strong. She complains all day long that she should have faked a giant migraine the night I was conceived!
They let us go. Do you know Bourg-en-Bresse? Bourg—Bourk—for short. Two bookshops, a newsagent that sells hologram bookmarks dolphins, kittens and ponies. Cafes, restaurants, artisans who make traditional enamel jewellery, small shops with windows full of gigantic bras, hair salons from which—whoosh! Few people buy—they go to Lyons or Paris, or leave the town centre to live in big detached bungalows. Other buildings are empty, and wooden planks have been nailed to the windows of closed shops.
Small parks where very old people scrunch up the sandy pebbles as they walk; where children hang from metal bars in the soft play area; where high-school kids smoke and look at their phones.
