Prologue

Ping, ping, ping.

The alarm screams through the room.

My eyelids are heavy, glued shut with exhaustion. I can’t open my eyes.

Fumbling blindly, I try to silence that infernal noise.

First try: miss.

Second: I touch it, but fail.

Third time: victory. The alarm finally stops.

Still lying down, I stretch lazily.

My eyelids eventually give in, and my eyes open slowly.

The first thing I see is daylight trying to seep into my room. The curtains fight valiantly to keep it out.

I sit up, yawning so hard it feels like my jaw might pop.

I scratch my back absentmindedly, then finally stand. A new day begins.

First instinct: open the curtains.

Light hits my face—raw, brutal.

I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but I step back slightly before dragging myself to the bathroom, still drowning in fatigue.

I open the bathroom door.

And there it is: the mirror.

And just like that, disaster strikes.

Once again, I’m face-to-face with the same mug I’ve been dragging around since birth. Seriously… how can someone look this ugly straight out of sleep? And that belly… looks like I swallowed a balloon. A deflated one, but still.

I hate myself. My face, my body… everything. And in my head, that familiar voice whispers again. The one you wish you could silence:

“You know there’s always a solution… Suicide.”

Charming. As if morning depression wasn’t enough.

“Free yourself from this body, this life…”

Yeah, or maybe I could just… I don’t know… have a coffee? Just an idea.

— Éric!!! You’re going to be late for school! my sister yells.

— For f***’s sake, leave me alone! I shout. I’m in the middle of a very emotional monologue for whoever wants to hear it!

— Are you nuts? You’re alone, idiot… Hurry up! Dad’s leaving without us!

Great. No time to even wash up. I glance one last time at the mirror. No time to fix this mess today. Too bad.

I check the time on my phone: 8:40.

Dad leaves at 8:45. Which gives me exactly… 5 minutes to:

1. Brush my teeth

2. Iron my clothes

3. Put them on

4. Jump in the car

I’m a ninja. I can do this.

…

9 minutes later.

Of course. They left without me. Traitors.

My dad’s strict. He’s going to hit me with the classic: “You can’t respect a schedule, so you’re grounded.”

Okay. Survival plan activated:

— Hide the console: check

— Stash the PC: check

— Sprint to school to save my dignity: in progress…

I step out. I run. Or at least… I try.

Three meters in, and I’m already gasping like I’ve run the Paris marathon with a sack of potatoes on my back.

Yeah. Sports aren’t happening today.

9:20.

Ah… ah… ah… (I’m gasping)

I finally arrive. Barely alive.

— Hey kid! You look like you got hit by a train… and you reek of sweat, says the school guard.

— I’m trying to stay in shape, sir. Exercise is good for your health, right? I say, trying to smile through my wet zombie face.

The guard lets out a long sigh—the kind that judges you from head to toe without a word.

— Hurry up, you’re really late, he says, tired.

— Thanks! I shout back as I start running again.

But a few meters from the door… I trip over who-knows-what and fall like a pancake.

— Oh lord… No running on school grounds! the guard groans, covering his face like he just witnessed a murder.

— Yeah… sorry, sir, I mumble, ashamed, picking up whatever was left of my dignity.

I walk fast. Very fast.

Finally! I’m almost there.

The path was long, full of pain, sweat, and wheezing… but I survived.

I open the classroom door.

Silence. Every eye turns toward me.

And then the teacher, without blinking, says:

— Go kneel, please.

…

We stare at each other for a second. Him, unmoved. Me, drenched, confused, at the end of my rope.

I don’t even argue. I just head straight to the back of the class, dragging my wet sneakers and crushed ego behind me.

The other students try to hold back their laughter. Mocking eyes, giggles hidden behind hands.

And me? One single thought loops in my mind:

I’ve been cursed. Probably by some old wizard jealous of my beauty.

11:59

— Éric, back to your seat. And don’t let this happen again. Or I’ll talk to your parents, says the teacher coldly.

— Yes sir, sorry, I say, head lowered.

I hate my life.

I can’t take the stares anymore.

They judge me, scrutinize me, despise me.

I don’t even know what’s worse: a teacher who openly hates me or classmates who treat me like trash.

Actually, everyone treats me like trash. Maybe because… I look like trash?

I didn’t choose this body.

I just want, for once, to feel… normal.

I sit down, avoiding every gaze.

The bell rings, and like wild animals released from a cage, the students grab their stuff and rush out.

— Don’t forget to do your homework from today’s class. It’ll count for your final grade, says the teacher… staring right at me.

He knows damn well I didn’t take any notes.

He’s doing it on purpose.

I wonder what I ever did to him… Seriously, he must have a radar for people who struggle, just so he can push them down even more.

Or maybe he just favors the good-looking and smart ones.

Yeah, no surprise—I’m clearly not in that club.

I pull out my phone. Maybe I can find the lesson online. The title was...

Suddenly, a silhouette steps in front of me.

— Hey Éric.

It’s Badha.

The only girl who talks to me like I’m not garbage.

— What can I do for you, Badha? I ask, surprised.

— I noticed you couldn’t take notes today.

— Yeah… that’s right.

— I’ll let you borrow my notebook so you can copy them.

— Oh, thank you! Seriously, you’re saving my life. I’m almost moved.

— But on one condition.

She says it with a mysterious smile. My eyebrows rise instinctively.

— Which one? I ask, wary.

— Tomorrow, I want you to go out with Emma. We don’t have classes in the morning, so take the opportunity.

…

— What?! I yell. Why me?

— Just say yes. So? Want the notebook or not?

— I don’t know… It’s a lot. And Emma’s popular… If people see us together, it’ll ruin her reputation.

— It’s fine. Come on. Don’t forget this homework counts toward your grade. It would be a shame to fail just because you’re scared. She winks at me.

I sigh.

— Okay, I’ll do it…

— Perfect. I’ll send you the details tomorrow morning. Try not to be late.

And just like that, she walks away. Leaving me even more confused than before.

Why me?

A chubby guy with no charm, no presence, nothing.

It has to be a joke. A prank, again.

But Badha… I’ve known her since kindergarten.

And no matter the year, we always end up in the same class.

She’s the only one who talks to me like I’m normal. Like I’m real.

So maybe it’s not a prank.

Maybe.

But even if it is, I need that notebook.

I’ll go out with Emma, I’ll listen to her, pretend everything’s fine, and survive.

Then we’ll each go our own way.

Yeah.

Simple plan. Safe plan.

What could go wrong?