It’s been a while since I’ve written little stories. Here’s a little one to remind you that when you have a crush on someone you shouldn’t be too hesitant to tell him/her.
Her name is Apple. Like an apple. She probably has parents who have a lot of apple trees. Can you imagine a beautiful girl? Well Apple is even more beautiful than that. She has wonderful dimples, wonderful hair (red, but not too much) and she smiles all the time, even when it’s gray or rainy. In history class I am behind her and I admire her back. It’s a pity that the Bac test does not fall on Apple’s back, I would have been unbeatable. I try to listen to history, the one we should know, the cold war, the fall of the wall, the construction of Europe… All of this brings me back to Apple’s back. Her red hair over her green sweater. This afternoon: English! I will be on his right. So I’m going to work on his right profile, maybe my favorite. I will have to be discreet, especially not heavy! I would be sorry.
His name is Raoul. Still haven’t understood what prompted his parents to call him Raoul! It scrapes at the back of the throat, you can’t be affectionate with a name like that. “ My little Rara ! it can’t work. Too bad because he’s funny and rather cute, I can already see all my girlfriends starting to hang around him. Strangely he doesn’t realize anything, plus he seems shy. The Christmas holidays are approaching and I will spend two weeks without seeing him. It doesn’t seem to move him. This afternoon, during English class, I thought I saw him watching me. But nothing is certain, he could as well observe Coline who is sitting next to me. Coline is tall (I could say tall if I were naughty) and inevitably she overshadows me, you only see her, in the classroom, in front of the school, on the bus. It’s our benchmark, so obviously Raoul only sees Coline. It’s certain.
Sorcery objective: I have studied the problem well, the only way for Apple to take an interest in me is to use proven and risk-free techniques. I watched tutorials, consulted blogs there are many processes. In some cases it is necessary to obtain an extract of the person to bewitch, I had no intention of cutting Apple into a slice.
Get a recent full-length photo. Not easy either. She is not on Instagram or Twitter or Facebook, I would have to be able to take her picture discreetly without anyone around, so that she is not hidden by a Coline for example.
No, the most accessible way is the so-called “encirclement” technique. The principle is simple: you have to go around the home of your loved one 33 times. In addition to the LPs, you have to recite some kind of weird sentences that I printed out to learn them by heart. It must be Tibetan, I’ve never seen it but it looks like it.
I am scared. I don’t know why but I’m scared. I’m sure they’re all flirting with Raoul on their Instagram Messenger and company. They’re all stuck in their head, and I’m a UFO. No social networks, no Meme (yes I know what it is!), no TikTok and thumbs up that skip to the next video half a second after half a second. So I read, I think of Raoul, I eat chocolate, I think of Raoul. I wouldn’t crack. I swore to myself not to pry into his life using the internet and I would hold on. So I invent stories, stories with Raoul who comes towards me smiling, or who cooks or who walks in the forest. At the end of the story, Raoul takes my hand, he says kind words to me (I don’t know what in fact, it’s up to him to find the right words) then he approaches my mouth and kiss. Pfff I look clever making me stories of princesses and charming princes who come to kiss me. Prince Raoul ! it doesn’t sound very good. I don’t know what sounds good with Raoul. Sometimes I imagine that it’s him who’s sleeping, on the beach, and I take advantage of his closed eyes to kiss him.
I can’t stop learning the magic phrases by heart. There are about fifteen in all, each sentence is made up of about ten words that look something like this: KAFALOUMIKOLOPARA MIPOULARISOTOALAPOELE etc. Fifty times that I reread these damned sentences, I’ll never get there! Not to mention that I’m going to have to recite them while I go around Apple’s 33 times.
Speaking of which… Pomme lives in the countryside, in an isolated house, with flat land around it and probably lots of apple trees. So 33 times around the property, I calculated, that’s 66 kilometers, to do in one go otherwise it won’t work, the tutorial is formal!
I decided to do the 33 bike tours, in 4 hours it is possible. I would get up very early, my parents would still be sleeping and, keeping a good rhythm, I would be finished before going to class. People will think that I left for high school very early. I’m almost to the point on the last evening Tibetan phrases to repeat. I should have taken Tibetan as a second language for the Bac.
Apple’s dad finishes shaving, it’s still dark and he leaves for work in 30 minutes. Back in the kitchen, standing behind the window, he drinks his coffee, staring into space. He sees in the distance a young cyclist pedaling at a brisk pace. The young man is holding his handlebars in one hand and sheets of paper floating in the wind in the other. The picture makes him smile. After getting dressed, Apple’s dad goes back to the kitchen, he thinks amused of this cyclist who is perhaps revising his lessons on his bike. He turns off the light and does not notice that the same cyclist is going back to the same place always at the same pace.
Monsieur Pomme silently leaves the house which is still sleeping, gets into his car, triggers the opening of the automatic gate and says to himself that he should remember to change the orange flashing light of the gate, the one which starts up during the operation of the leaves. He quickly crosses the gate without bothering to look at the traffic, because there is no traffic in the rue de Pomme.
Except that morning, at 6:30 a.m., at the precise moment when Raoul, his nose buried in his papers, pedals vigorously, articulating his 24th MIPOULARISOTOALAPOELE. The shock is terrible, the bike becomes folding for the occasion, Mr. Apple’s car is badly dented and Raoul is lying on the road.
Dad is in the hall yelling on the phone, he’s yelling at someone who obviously doesn’t understand that there’s an accident and that help needs to be sent quickly. I rush in pajamas in front of the house. There, in the street, I see a twisted bicycle and a boy lying on its side. I remain frozen by the scene that I discover: Raoul, My Raoul, he is there, lying on the macadam, his eyes closed. I rush over to him, take his head in my hands and I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I slowly approach his mouth, I kiss him. So slowly he opens his eyes, he kisses me in turn and whispers something weird, probably Tibetan. I don’t care, it’s up to him to choose the right words.