Claire’s world shattered, even though her eyes were closed the sunlight still managed to penetrate her eye lids and seemingly shine directly into her brain. She heaved herself out of bed, unsteady on her feet and slowly but surely she shuffled out of her room into the sitting room to find Pauline stretch out on the couch, grinning as she slept. At this a smile crept across Claire’s face.

She arrived at the kitchen and fixed herself something to counter the excruciating side affects of the previous night’s drinking. Settling on scrambled eggs and milk which was a guilty pleasure and something her father would never allow her to eat, she thought gloomily. As she began to nibble away at her breakfast her thoughts drifted to the night before. It was a blur of dancing and drinking, the best she’d felt in months but still in the back of her head there was that pang of loneliness. She and Pauline had started off at Le Cab. She’d used her father’s secretary weeks ago to reserve a table in the VIP area, a place that seemed was solely inhabited by the most dazzling people on earth.

They spent the night sipping champagne and giggling at the thought of the repugnant Jean waiting outside her apartment building. The interior of Le Cab was like something out of star wars. Every booth and bar top was edgy and futuristic giving the whole night a lovely modern sheen. Claire sat there all night enduring an endless wave of sordid pick up lines and leering while Pauline just stood there lapping up the attention as she always did allowing Claire to sit back and drink deeply from her champagne flute. Later they went out onto the main floor to dance the night away, dance… School!

Now back in the real world, Claire chocked down her last mouthful of eggs frantically.

“Crap, an hour late!” she hissed, “Wake up! Wake up!” she shouted at Pauline who woke up and promptly rolled off the couch, hitting her head in the process cursing in rapid French she pulled herself up off the ground and raced to the bathroom whilst Claire skipped off to her room to find a change of clothes and collect her school bag.

She walked in and looked around trying to find her ballet slippers and books, panicking as she did so. Her school was the most prestigious ballet school in France and indeed to some, the world. Punctuality was one of the ridiculous values that were drilled into them from day one. She couldn’t imagine what they would say when she arrived two hours late. Claire found all of her academic accoutrement and slid into a pair of denim shorts and put on a plain singlet. Over that went a black vest she had bought the previous week with Pauline and then spent the next five minutes hunting for her favourite red slippers before she headed into the living room, finding an annoyed Pauline already at the door, tapping her foot impatiently. They shot out the front door of the foyer and charged off down the road, headed for the Pont-de-Neuilly station.

They ran down the street, dodging cars and pedestrians, making their way through the winding Parisian streets until they were met by the huge arc entrance of the old gothic station. Its features were still preserved from almost a century ago. They walked down the steps, and headed to the ticketing booth to buy tickets. The old station reeked of sweat and oil, anxiety and chaos hung in the air like a thick fog. All around her Claire could see the patchwork of society, the rich, poor and bourgeois clamouring and moving together as one, all of them instruments playing in the great Concerto of existence. It was times such as this that Claire was truly humbled by such expanse of life.

With all my problems I wonder how many of these people would care if I told them? she wondered inwardly, allowing herself a small slice of self-pity as they boarded the train.

“Do you think Nicolás will be on today?” asked Pauline, her voice bathed in hope.

Claire laughed but was still pensive: “You know he only talks to you to try and get to your sister.

“I know but a girl can dream, maybe he’ll just get bored with her and stick with the better sister instead,” Pauline jibed with a knowing smile.

Claire looked shocked and blurted out “You haven’t!?”

Pauline started giggling wildly, “No, but you should see the look on your face, I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me and Nic.”

“I do! He’s not right for you. Don’t you know how many of the girls at school he’s been with? I just don’t want to see you hurt by such a degenerate.” replied a flustered Claire.

“It’ll be fine, you know he almost reminds me of your Dad. They both have the same attitudes you know?”

Claire could only glare at her in reply and resolved not to talk to her until they reached La Défense station. They arrived 15 minutes later at the bustling station, and exited the train promptly running up the escalators they came to the exit and found on the Avenue de Hambourg they walked briskly down the street passing Le Pouce, a statue by the famed sculptor César Baldaccini which unlike most of her peers Claire knew about because she was super intelligent.

The gold thumb thrust up from the ground, glittering in almost silent approval of the grand ancient city. They turned onto Avenue d'Haïfa and rushed down the slight hill until they came to a rather grand driveway. Before them stood their school which was a monolithic sandstone structure with black tile roofing. Amongst the parapets at certain intervals there stood time-worn stone gargoyles, hideous creatures of myth, seemingly staring at them and silently chastising the girls for being so late.

They walked up the long driveway and into the main entrance hall of the hall, hoping to make it to the library without anyone noticing-

“Somebody is a little late today…”

The two girls stopped at the sound of a quavering voice tainted with a neurotic malice that both Pauline and Claire instantly recognised as belonging to a loathsome exchange student who went by the name of Elizabeth Burne. She wasn’t especially ugly, but at first sight you couldn’t help but dislike her with pallid skin, a squat face to match her equally cumbersome body and a bob haircut that seemed to accentuate her abnormally round head.

Claire Turned around with an innocent looking smile: “I am, girls problems you know.”

At this Elizabeth snorted, giving off the impression of a pig choking on a piece of food.

“Aw, I know what you mean love… I hope you don’t mind that I took the time to tell Madame Dahl that you were probably feeling the effects of Pauline’s birthday last night” said Elizabeth sweetly with a smile to let the effect of this piece of news sink in before lumbering off to her own class.

Claire and Pauline both looked at each other in equal dismay.

“What a stupid cow! You know she’s only like that because she has that pathetic crush on Peter” Claire grinned like a Cheshire cat.

Peter Krane was a boy in her class whom in the last week or so had taken a real interest in Claire. He paid for her lunches, drove her home and always demanded to see her after school every day.

“Ergh,” Claire grunted, “she can have him. He’s so dirty, its like he’s afraid of showering or something. All he wears are those silly second hand clothes he buys at those gypsy markets.”

“Well he’s the least of your problems now that stupid chienne decided to rat us out to the Madame” said Pauline, her voice half choked with worry.

They climbed the narrow wooden staircase that lead into the main studio to find the class in full swing and skirted around the edge of the class, slipping into the change room.

“Do you think we can just hang out here until they have a break and we can just sneak in and hope she doesn’t notice?” suggested Claire.

“Nah, the old bat is way too smart for that” replied Pauline.

They changed into their leotards and slippers and walked out and joined the rest of the girls in line. Madame Dahl didn’t acknowledge their presence and merely continued the lesson. The rest of the class lasted for another hour and a half and the Coupé’s, Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant’s and Grand jeté’s slowly took their toll on Claire’s already frazzled nerves.

Finally the class ended and the girls filed into the change room Claire and Pauline last to leave the studio until they heard Dahl’s voice like a whip crack:

“Girls!, if you’d be so kind to sit over there,” she said as she shot a steely gaze at the last girl to leave the studio.

She began to lecture them as her grey menacing eyes shot daggers at them: “Now, I don’t mind if you’re late, for the usual reasons, but tarting yourselves about the town in a drunken mess is not a legitimate excuse…”

Claire was about to protest but then was cut off.

“Claire you’re new but considering your father’s position I really did expect more from you… Do not let it happen again or I will personally take it to your father.”

Claire looked down sheepishly, suddenly becoming interested in her shoes. Madame Dahl hadn’t finished chastising Pauline in rapid French and finishing with “Get out both of you”.

As they walked down the stairs to the courtyard for lunch Claire looked quizzically at Pauline.

“What did she say to you?”

“She said she expected this kind of behaviour from an American, but not me” replied Pauline.

Claire sighed and felt were eyes begin to water slightly as the gloom of the previous day returning to her like an old unwanted friend. Sitting down in the court yard Claire suddenly realised that she’d forgotten to pack lunch and her own hunger added to the sense of gloom.

“Bonjour mon Cherie!” came a jovial but dopey voice behind them.

Claire looked over to see the dirty figure of Peter Krane bounding over to her, beaming as he did so.

“And how is my favourite Americain?” he asked with a smile almost as greasy as his hair.

“Pete, I’m the only American you know,” said Claire with a look of disguised revulsion.

“Ah but with you, why would I want to know anyone else?” he winked as he said this.

“You don’t have any lunch? I think I can take care of that.”

The melancholy and chastisement from Dahl was enough, but to endure the smell of sweat and cheap hair pomade was too much for her.

Claire balked, “No, no. I just ate with Pauline here, I’ve got to go and get… uh… a book from the library, bye Pete.”

Grabbing Pauline by the arm she power walked inside the main hall and walked over to the descending stair case that lead to the eight hundred year old library. As they strolled down there a warming calm enveloped Claire. It was in this vaulted archive that she truly felt safe, it wasn’t the books but the feeling of absolute silence. Here in the library was where she came to think, cry and just to be alone sometimes.

It wasn’t the books that she liked, though she really loved books because she was super intelligent, there was something about the cool damp smell of old volumes and parchment that made her feel as if she was apart of history.

“Thank you so much babe, I can’t stand that grubby sleazebag” laughed Claire.

“Oh the things I do for you” said Pauline winking “but I’ve got to go, because unlike you, I need to eat.” She playfully poked Claire’s stomach with her finger and was batted away.

“Its okay go, I like it down here anyhow.”

Pauline retreated back up the spiral staircase and disappeared, leaving Claire to wander about the labyrinth of books both old and new. She found her way to her favourite corner that overlooked the river Seine. There she sat huddled on the cold sandstone windowsill letting her thoughts drift to her father who she hadn’t seen in a week. It was odd, she thought, that he was always so harsh but then there were the rare times when a faint look of love seemed to redeem the months of back-handed compliments and cold detachment.

Wondering vaguely why in all of the places she’d visited in Paris that this library was the only place that felt real to her. She shifted herself off the windowsill and started to make her way back to the librarian’s desk to see if her favourite book Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capotehad been returned yet.

Suddenly, just as she went to turn the nearest corner there was an explosion and the piercing crash of shattering glass behind her. Glittering shards went flew past her and she turned around to see the window where she’d been previously sitting in ruins the glass spread everywhere like shiny pebbles of crystal. Her eyes darted just below the sill where a body was sitting and saw a shuddering body on the ground, gasping Claire ran over to the huddled mass that appeared to be a boy.