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Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? A girl's narrative unfolds as a delicate interplay between her own dreams and the projections of male fantasies upon the canvas of her existence. Even pretending you're not entertaining male fantasies is a male fantasy. Being a girl, and learning the world is not for you ─ it's like a kind of death. Girlhood is a prolonged dying starting the day you flower. We rot as soon as we ripen. In early adolescence girls learn how important appearance is in defining social acceptability. Attractiveness is both a necessary and a sufficient condition for girls' success. This is an old, old problem.
And old problems caused female rage. It was stronger than anything. Vivienne felt it too, how couldn't she?
The first time she let rage engulf her was in middle school. She remembers it distincly. It was thirteen. Year of first kisses, crushes, enterance of the womanhood & first periods. Too bad her period decided to start right when she was secretly hanging out with her crush from boys' school ─ Eliott Moreau. She probably shouldn't have ignored the stomach pain she had noticed before leaving the house. Yet, she did. What she didn't notice was the big red stain on her skirt. The boy was the first one to see it and then told the entire school. The rumors were a nasty thing that spread easier than anything. For the first time she felt so angry, this rage, this ugly rage was within her. And Eliott was the rage's first victim. She punched him the next time she saw him ─ it felt so good, too good even. Especially seeing him cry to his mommy like he was a child. Thirteen was the year Vivienne Satre learned women's first blood doesn't come from her legs but from biting her tongue.
Next time she felt it again was her first day of Voltaire High.
The cafeteria buzzed with the aftermath of Descamps' humiliation. Vivienne savored the moment, relishing in the laughter that echoed through the room. She exchanged a triumphant glance with Simone, a silent acknowledgment of their small victory.
As lunch came to an end, the group of girls gathered their belongings and headed towards their next class. The incident lingered in the air, a topic of hushed conversations among students. Vivienne couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, knowing that Descamps had received a taste of his own medicine. She was walking with Annick, the rest of the girls were somewhere far behind them.
Two girls were walking down the school hall when Jean Pierre and his friend Hilbert approached them. Jean Pierre sauntered up to Vivienne and Annick with a sly grin. His dirty blonde friend following shortly behind. Jean Pierre is the first one to speak. "Hey, there Vivienne," he looked at Annick next. "Annick, right?"
