Billie Read Online Free PDF

Pluche, an old bat who spoke through pursed lips; for Rosette, a pretty country girl, but totally naive; for Perdican, a handsome boy who no longer knew if he wanted just to fuck or to get hitched; and for Camille, a girl who wasn’t all that hip, but rather straight as an arrow, unimaginative. Well . . . in the beginning . . .
    An eighteen-year-old girl who knew nothing about life and who was like one of those candles you light in church: super simple, super pure, and super white, but burning like crazy.
    Yes, completely exploding on the inside . . .
    Â 
    I was . . . enthralled.
    Exactly like before when I tilted my head to hold back my tears and saw the whole sky.
    It was as if I had planted a smile on the cushion I was grasping in my arms.
    I did nothing but smile.
    Â 
    At one point, when he was playing Perdican saying to Camille in a slightly drunk and disdainful tone: “My dear sister, the nuns taught you what they know; but believe me, it’s not all you’ll know; you won’t die without falling in love,” he snapped the book shut.
    â€œWhy are you stopping?” I asked, worried.
    â€œBecause it’s the end of our scene and it’s time for a snack. Are you coming?”
    Â 
    In the kitchen, while drinking I no longer remember what, some Orangina I think, and while eating his grandma’s rubbery madeleines, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking out loud:
    â€œIt sucks for the teacher to make us stop there . . . I’m dying to know how she answers.”
    He smiled, “I agree, but the problem is that after this scene, there are massive amounts of texts . . . long, long monologues . . . It would be tough to learn them . . . But it’s really a shame because the most beautiful part of this scene, you’ll see, comes all the way at the end, when Perdican gets upset and explains to Camille that yes, all men are scoundrels and yes, all women are sluts, but there’s nothing more beautiful in the world than what happens between a scoundrel and a slut when they love each other.”
    I smiled at him.
    Â 
    We didn’t say anything else to each other, but at that moment, the two of us already knew what would happen next.
    We pretended to finish our drinks as if it were no big deal, but we knew.
    We knew, and each knew the other knew too.
    We knew it was our last chance and we were getting our revenge for all those years of solitude spent amid the scoundrels and the sluts of the whole world.
    Yes, we said nothing and looked out the window to reduce the tension, but we knew.
    We knew it was true, that we were beautiful too.

 
    I could spend the whole night telling you what happened next. Those two weeks with him, talking, learning, working, rehearsing, arguing with each other, reconciling, throwing my book, getting irritated, giving up, having a fit, starting over, rehearsing one more time and working again . . .
    I could spend the night telling you because for me, my life began then.
    And that’s not just a figure of speech, little star, it’s a quote from a birth certificate, so don’t fool with that, please. You’ll upset me.
    Â 
    * * *
    Â 
    We had decided to meet each other every afternoon to practice the scenes we had learned that morning and very quickly I realized I needed to find somewhere besides that lovely home of mine in order to get some peace and quiet.
    I tested out several places: the back of a wrecked car, the porch of an old sawmill, the washhouse, but it became a game for my stepsister’s little rug rats (or let’s say the kind of stepsister someone like me would have, the type from the Morels) to follow me nonstop and get on my nerves, and finally, I ended up in the cemetery and sat down in a crypt.
    All those crosses, all those bones, all that debris of shattered stones and rusted iron, it calms you down right away, and it was perfect for coaxing out that