On the day the teacher handed back our papers, all my doubts disappeared and everything became clear, because Marie had a lower mark than me. And that was out of the question: it was scientifically impossible, with or without divine intervention. A big deal was made of congratulating me and I even felt quite choked: it was very touching. In the end I took the praise seriously, as though I’d actually deserved it, with all the stress that went with it. The whole class was looking at me and I was struck that no one seemed to suspect anything. Even Haisam had roused himself so as not to miss this important moment. A very sweet smile was spreading across his great face, which radiated calm and trust. My heart was beating double fast from the emotion. The teacher kept on and on: it was turning into a real awards ceremony, as though I’d won some geometrical Oscar. I thought she was going a bit over the top, but it was good to stack up some praise, since it was a long time since I’d had any. She even compared me to Marie when she gave her back her work. It was the first time I’d ever heard the teacher trying out a bit of humour.

“You see, you did even better than Marie, who made a big error right at the end. That’s how I know you didn’t copy her work!”

But then things began to go wrong, because after the lesson the teacher came limping up to me and said, “No more excuses now! You’ve proved that you can do perfectly well if you put a bit of effort into it. So I’m counting on you, OK?”

She looked me straight in the eyes. And then she added solemnly, as if she was presiding over some age-old ceremony, “Everyone’s counting on you!”

I got out of there with the feeling that I was balancing the fate of the world on the end of my pen, and all I could think was that I was completely screwed. It would have been good to talk to Marie, but she’d dashed off and disappeared. As I walked down the corridor, I felt like I’d just been in a boxing match. I looked out for Etienne and Marcel, who were the other two members of the rock band I’d founded, but they must have been out in the playground already, kicking their ball around.

Downstairs, trying to sneak as quietly as possible past his office, I bumped into Lucky Luke and that was the final straw, because he started banging on about it as well.

“Good sprint, young man, an excellent breakaway, as they say in the Tour de France! I’ve heard about your achievements. It’s the yellow jersey for you! Bravo! Worthy of a musketeer!”