Chapter Sixteen

The Kiss

"Pauline, can I ask you a question?"

Clementine was sat in the kitchen, waiting for her tea (a plain cheese and tomato pizza) to cook. Her only company was Pauline, her least-favourite flatmate, who was currently painting her long fingernails a bright, sparkly pink.

"Yes," the other girl said, not looking up from her careful work. She swore under her breath as a small speck of nail varnish found its way onto the side of her thumb.

"It's about…men," Clementine began, carefully. Very slowly, Pauline's head raised and her eyes fixed on Clementine's, her eyebrows quirking in a surprised manner.

Relationships in general were not something often discussed in their flat. Noémi blushed and stammered in the presence of boys and Sophie was far too wrapped up in her politics and petitions to even notice that relationships were a thing. Élodie had apparently dated a girl the year before, but it hadn't lasted long and she hadn't seen anyone since. And then there was Clementine herself; she'd had one boyfriend, back in Year 10 in high school when she was fifteen. It had lasted three months, she had thought it was going to end in marriage, but it had ended rather quietly in a very flat manner and Clementine often forgot it had ever happened. She'd fancied plenty of boys since, but nothing had ever come of those crushes.

Pauline, on the other hand, had brought many men home since Clementine had met her. Sometimes she dated them for a couple of weeks; other times they were purely for one night. She didn't really mention any of them in conversation, but that was Pauline all over. She often kept things private.

But she was the only one that Clementine thought would be able to help. She had realised, after her attempts to persuade Jean Prouvaire not to go to the barricade if it came to it (which she knew, without a doubt, it would), that she had definitely developed feelings for him. She needed to talk to someone, but Noémi wouldn't know what to say, Sophie wouldn't be interested, and Élodie would be too interested.

Pauline, however, would strike a nice balance between being interested (because, despite being a private person there was nothing Pauline loved more than other people's lives) and not asking too many questions. The latter thing was what Clementine was banking on, as her situation was complicated and something that would definitely lead to people thinking she was crazy.

"Have you met someone, Clementine?" Pauline asked, dipping the small brush back into the pot of nail varnish. She flapped one of her hands and blew hard on her nails.

"Not – not exactly," Clementine said. "Well, yes, I have, I suppose…But you don't know him."

"He's on your course, then?" Pauline wrinkled her nose as she rubbed at the speck of nail varnish with her finger.

"No."

Pauline looked up from her nails and said, "Does he go to the university?"

"No – as I said, you don't know him, he's from England," Clementine said. "I, uh, talk to him every night through…Skype."

"Right," Pauline said, slowly. "And you want to ask me what in particular…?"

"I think, I think I might like him," Clementine said, curling her fingers around the edge of the kitchen table. "We were – we were talking the other night and I got upset about – something, and I realised afterwards that I don't think of him as just a friend anymore."

"Hmm," Pauline said. She gestured with one hand. "Carry on."

"That's it, really," Clementine said, with a small shrug. "I think I like him."

"What did you want to ask, then?" Pauline screwed the cap on the nail varnish shut properly, and then drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

"I don't know what to do," Clementine said. "Do I tell him, or – hint at it? Or should I just stay quiet?"

"What would happen if you stayed quiet?" Pauline asked, turning her hand this way and that and staring at it with a speculative look in her eyes.

"We'd – we'd just stay friends."

"You like being friends with him," Pauline said. "Obviously."

"Yes, of course I do."

"So if you told him, you might ruin your friendship," Pauline said. "If you don't tell him, nothing changes. Everything stays the same."

Yes, Clementine thought in her head, but telling him that I like him might give me the leverage I need to get him to stay away from the barricades.

"But he could like you too," Pauline continued. "So hinting at it might work. That way, he can take it upon himself to tell you he likes you and you don't have to feel guilty for being the one that changed things."

Clementine nodded. "Yeah. But how do I go about hinting that I like someone?"

"Clementine, you're asking the complete wrong person about subtlety," Pauline snorted. "I'm the girl that walks up to men and asks them if they want to come home with me. I know nothing about hinting. You'd be better off asking Noémi if you want subtlety."

"What would you do, then?" Clementine tucked some hair behind her ear.

"I'd probably just tell him outright," Pauline admitted. "That way there are no mixed message or signals and you both know where you stand." She paused. "I can see by the expression on your face that is not the answer you were hoping for."

Clementine shoved her chair backwards and got to her feet, reaching out for the oven gloves that lay on the countertop. She put her hands inside them and opened the oven.

"I don't really know what I wanted you to say," she said. "But…thank you, anyway."

Pauline stood up as well, collecting her nail varnish bottles into her hands. "Glad I could help."

III

That night, Clementine went to sleep and as usual found herself waking up in Jehan's bedroom. He was already there, scribbling in his book which was rested on his lap.

"Good evening," he said, grinning broadly as he saw her, sat on the chest under the window. She stood up and crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed. As she promised that night, she was wearing long pyjama pants and a normal T-shirt.

"How has your day been?" she asked, pulling a hair tie off her wrist and looping her hair up into a ponytail.

"Boring," Jehan answered. "Not much happened. But we have a rally tomorrow, so that should be interesting."

Silence stretched out between them at the mention of the rally. She cleared her throat. "Is it about anything in particular?"

"We'll be handing out pamphlets, and Enjolras will be giving a speech," Jehan said. "It's just to make people aware of our cause."

"So it – you know." She wriggled her shoulders, feeling uncomfortable under Jehan's scrutiny. "Will this turn violent?"

"It shouldn't," Jehan said. "It's not going to end with us building a barricade, if that's what you're worried about."

She glanced down. "I am worried about it," she admitted. "But you know that."

His hand reached out and rested on the side of her neck. "Try not to," he said, voice low. "It might not even come to it. And we shouldn't worry about something before it has even happened, should we?" His features softened. "I don't like to think of you worrying about me."

Clementine took a deep breath inwards as he spoke, a war going on her head as she debated what to do. She opened her mouth, wanting the words to come out, but her tongue wouldn't move.

She thought of what Pauline would do. She knew what Pauline would really do, of course; she'd already have told him, and probably moved on, by now.

Clementine bit her lip. "What the hell," she muttered under her breath, and then leaned her head forward and pressed her mouth against his.