SAINT-VÉRAN

SECRETS BETWEEN CLASSES

By the time Monday arrived, everyone at Saint-Véran seemed to know something about me.

I just wasn’t sure what.

The rumors started quietly.

They always did.

A glance that lasted too long.

Two students whispering near the staircase.

Someone laughing behind me in the dining hall.

A conversation that abruptly stopped whenever I walked past.

At first, I told myself I was imagining it.

I had spent my entire life being too sensitive about things like that.

My mother used to say I noticed everything.

The way people looked at me.

The way their voices changed.

The pause before someone answered a question.

The things people didn’t say.

It was a useful skill when you were poor.

You learned to read a room before entering it.

You learned when to stay quiet.

You learned which adults were angry before they raised their voices.

At Saint-Véran, however, that skill had become exhausting.

I was halfway through the east corridor when I heard my name.

“That’s him.”

I kept walking.

“The scholarship student?”

“Yeah.”

“Apparently he’s sharing a room with Valmont.”

“I heard that.”

“How did he even get that room?”

I tightened my grip around my books.

I should have kept walking.

I did.

Another voice followed.

“They’re together all the time.”

My steps faltered.

“Who?”

“Morel and Valmont.”

Someone laughed.

“No way.”

“I’m serious.”

“Lucien doesn’t even talk to people.”

“He talks to him.”

I turned the corner before I could hear anything else.

My face was hot.

I hated this.

I hated being talked about.

I hated that I cared.

Most of all, I hated that a small, embarrassing part of me wanted to know what exactly they were saying.

I reached my classroom.

The room was already half full.

I took my usual seat near the window.

A minute later, Lucien walked in.

The room changed.

It always did.

Conversations softened.

People looked up.

Someone called his name.

Lucien ignored them.

His eyes found mine almost immediately.

Then he walked toward my desk.

He stopped beside me.

“Move.”

I looked up.

“What?”

“My bag.”

I glanced down.

His sports bag was sitting on the chair beside mine.

I hadn’t even noticed him put it there.

“Why is your bag here?”

He looked at me as though the answer were obvious.

“Because I’m sitting here.”

I stared at him.

“This is my seat.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you sitting here?”

He pulled out the chair.

“Because I want to.”

I sighed.

“You have a seat.”

“Not anymore.”

He sat down.

I looked toward the front of the classroom.

There were at least six empty seats.

I didn’t understand him.

I didn’t understand myself either.

Because despite everything, I found myself feeling calmer once he was beside me.

Which was ridiculous.

He was the reason people were talking.

He was the reason my name seemed to be attached to every rumor circulating through the academy.

And yet somehow, having him beside me made the whispers easier to ignore.

Professor Moreau entered.

The room became silent.

I opened my notebook.

For the next fifty minutes, I tried to concentrate.

I failed.

Not because of Lucien.

Because someone behind me kept whispering.

“Valmont and Morel.”

A quiet laugh.

“Maybe the scholarship comes with benefits.”

My pen stopped.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Then Lucien’s pen stopped too.

I looked sideways.

His face was expressionless.

He didn’t turn around.

Neither did I.

Professor Moreau continued speaking.

I forced myself to write.

When the bell rang, I packed my books quickly.

I wanted to leave before anyone could say anything else.

I barely made it into the hallway.

Someone bumped my shoulder.

“Careful, Scholar.”

I recognized the voice.

I turned.

Matthias König was standing there with two of his friends.

He smiled.

Not kindly.

“Wouldn’t want you damaging your precious scholarship.”

I lowered my eyes.

“Sorry.”

Matthias laughed.

“See? He apologizes.”

His friends laughed too.

I stepped aside.

That was what I always did.

Step aside.

Let them pass.

Don’t make trouble.

Don’t make yourself memorable.

I was almost past them when another voice spoke.

“Move.”

Lucien.

Matthias’s smile disappeared.

Lucien stood several feet away, his hands in his pockets.

He hadn’t raised his voice.

He didn’t need to.

Matthias looked at him.

“Relax, Valmont.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change.

“I said move.”

Matthias stepped aside.

I walked away.

Lucien followed.

For several seconds, neither of us said anything.

Then he asked:

“Why do you apologize?”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“You weren’t in his way.”

“I know.”

“Then why apologize?”

I shrugged.

“It’s easier.”

He frowned.

“Easier for who?”

I didn’t answer.

The hallway had begun filling with students.

Everyone seemed to be moving around us.

I could hear pieces of conversations.

Fragments.

Whispers.

Our names.

Again.

I hugged my books closer to my chest.

“Can we just go to class?”

Lucien looked at me for a moment.

Then nodded.

“Fine.”

We walked together.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

But by lunch, the rumors had gotten worse.

Apparently Lucien had never spoken to anyone for this long.

Apparently we had been seen together after midnight.

Apparently I had gotten into Room 317 because Lucien had personally requested me as his roommate.

That last one was ridiculous.

I knew it was ridiculous.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When I entered the library that afternoon, I found a note tucked inside my history textbook.

At first, I thought it was a bookmark.

I pulled it out.

A small piece of folded paper.

No name.

No handwriting I recognized.

I unfolded it.

Three words.

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.

I stared at them.

For a long time.

The library was quiet.

Around me, students whispered over books.

Someone turned a page.

A clock ticked somewhere near the librarian’s desk.

I read the words again.

My chest tightened.

I folded the paper.

Then folded it again.

I slipped it into the back pocket of my notebook.

Nobody had seen it.

Good.

I didn’t need anyone knowing.

I didn’t need another problem.

I returned to studying.

But the words stayed with me.

They followed me out of the library.

They followed me through dinner.

They followed me back to Room 317.

I kept the note hidden inside my textbook.

I told myself it didn’t bother me.

That was a lie.

At ten that night, Lucien came back from training.

His hair was damp.

His academy jacket was hanging from one shoulder.

He tossed his keys onto his desk and looked at me.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this.”

I looked down at my book.

“I’m tired.”

He studied me.

I could feel his eyes on me.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t answer.

I turned a page.

“Nothing happened.”

Still nothing.

I looked up.

He was standing beside his desk.

Watching me.

“What?”

“You’re lying.”

My stomach tightened.

“I’m not.”

He walked toward me.

I instinctively closed my textbook.

Too quickly.

His eyes dropped to it.

Then back to me.

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

He held out his hand.

I stared at it.

“What?”

“Give me the book.”

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted.

It was such a small reaction, but I knew I had surprised him.

I hugged the textbook against my chest.

“It’s just my history book.”

“Then give it to me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re acting strange.”

“I always act strange.”

“No.”

He sat on the edge of his desk.

“You act nervous.”

I looked away.

“I don’t.”

“Elias.”

Something about hearing my name in his voice made my defenses weaken.

I looked down.

The note was still inside the book.

I could feel its weight even though it was only a tiny piece of paper.

“I said I’m fine.”

Lucien was quiet.

Then he stood.

I thought he was going to leave me alone.

Instead, he reached for the textbook.

I pulled it away.

“Lucien.”

He stopped.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then he said quietly:

“Why are you afraid of me?”

I wasn’t.

At least, I didn’t think I was.

But I couldn’t explain why my heart was beating so hard.

“I’m not.”

“Then what?”

I swallowed.

“People are talking.”

His expression changed.

“About what?”

I shrugged.

“Us.”

He went still.

“There’s no us.”

I knew that.

Of course I knew that.

Still, hearing it out loud made something inside me sink.

I looked down.

“Exactly.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

“What did they say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t want trouble.”

“You didn’t start this.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like you did.”

I didn’t answer.

He stared at me for several seconds.

Then he reached for my textbook again.

This time, I let him take it.

He opened it.

The folded paper slipped out.

It landed on the desk.

Lucien looked at it.

Then picked it up.

He unfolded it.

His eyes moved across the words.

The room became very quiet.

I watched his face.

Nothing happened.

No anger.

No surprise.

No visible reaction at all.

That somehow frightened me more.

He folded the paper once.

Then again.

Then he tore it in half.

I blinked.

“Lucien- ”

He tore it again.

And again.

Until the words were nothing but tiny pieces of white paper between his fingers.

He dropped them into the wastebasket.

I stared at him.

“You shouldn’t have read it.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“Then why- ”

“Because I know what it said.”

I looked at the pieces of paper.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“No.”

I tried to smile.

It didn’t work.

“Someone just doesn’t like me.”

Lucien looked at me.

“They don’t know you.”

“Exactly.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Then don’t let them decide what you are.”

I looked away.

“I just don’t want people thinking I got the scholarship because of you.”

His expression hardened.

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No.”

“Lucien- ”

“You earned it.”

His voice was firm.

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

I looked at him.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then he sat down across from me.

His elbows rested against his knees.

“You keep trying to disappear.”

I swallowed.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He looked toward the window.

“You walk around looking at the floor.”

I said nothing.

“You apologize when people bump into you.”

I said nothing.

“You sit at the edge of every room.”

My fingers tightened around my pen.

“You eat alone.”

“I don’t always eat alone.”

“You do when I’m not there.”

I looked at him.

He was watching me.

Something uncomfortable moved through my chest.

I hadn’t realized he noticed.

“You pay attention to everything,” he continued. “But you think nobody pays attention to you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Nobody had ever described me that accurately.

I looked down.

“Why do you?”

“Why do I what?”

“Pay attention.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

The silence stretched between us.

Then he said:

“Because I notice you.”

My heart stumbled.

I hated that it did.

I hated that three simple words could make me forget every rumor I’d heard that day.

I looked away.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because...”

I couldn’t finish.

Because you are Lucien Valmont.

Because I’m nobody.

Because people are watching.

Because every time you look at me, I forget that I am supposed to stay invisible.

Instead, I whispered:

“It’s easier if you don’t.”

His expression softened.

Only slightly.

“I don’t think I can.”

I looked up.

He was already looking away.

For some reason, that made my chest hurt.

I closed my textbook.

“I’m going to sleep.”

He nodded.

“Okay.”

I climbed into bed.

The room went dark a few minutes later.

I pulled the blanket over myself and stared into the darkness.

I could hear Lucien breathing on the other side of the room.

Slow.

Even.

Eventually, I closed my eyes.

Just before sleep took me, I heard his voice.

“Elias.”

I opened my eyes.

“Yeah?”

A pause.

Then:

“Don’t hide things from me.”

I stared into the darkness.

I didn’t know why those words affected me so much.

Maybe because nobody had ever said them like that.

Not don’t lie.

Not don’t cause trouble.

Not don’t make things difficult.

Don’t hide things from me.

As though he wanted to know.

As though what happened to me mattered.

I turned onto my side.

Lucien’s bed was only a few meters away.

I couldn’t see him.

But I knew he was awake.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond.

Neither did I.

But for the first time since I had arrived at Saint-Véran, I wondered if perhaps being noticed wasn’t always the same thing as being exposed.

Maybe sometimes, being noticed meant someone was watching out for you.