Inside the Audi that smells brand new with a whiff of weed, Saïd is trying to make up for his hesitations last time. He can see it won’t be straightforward. It’s always complicated with girls. And even more so with Jo. There’s her constant irritability and that urge to go check out someplace else to see if the world is worth the bother. In his heart, he vaguely understands her urge, but he doesn’t believe it’s any better elsewhere. It’s six of one, half a dozen of the other. You just have to give things time to smooth themselves out, and you can dig yourself a comfortable little hole, even in a shithole. Besides, what can she possibly know about life at fifteen? Actually, he’s glad he’s three years older; it sometimes gives him the feeling he’s in charge. Girls his own age scare the shit out of him, and he hasn’t sucked the blood from their scraped knees. When you fall off the bike on narrow, bumpy roads, you develop a bond.

But right now he’s getting a bit pissed off. She’s still sulking. “It’s a nice car, though, isn’t it?” he says, tentatively.

Jo darts him a look without passion. She’s drinking her beer like a disenchanted rock chick, one leg folded under her, the other resting on the glove compartment. She throws her head back when she blows out the smoke from her cigarette. A bit too theatrical, but effective. Saïd laughs nervously.

“Go ahead, act like you don’t care.”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh really?”

She sighs like a woman worn out. “Yeah, I don’t care about your car.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No. Yes.”

“Is it your sister?”

“I don’t know.”

Then, as if stung by a horsefly, she grows restless and looks for the button to open the automatic window. “Can’t breathe in here.”

“Wait, I’ve got air conditioning.”

“Oh, great…”

Jo’s sarcasm hurts Saïd. This car cost him an arm and a leg. He’s proud of it. Jo fixes her odd eyes on the front window. Her mind is elsewhere and he’s getting fed up.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“About Antigone.”

She’s being hard on him today.

“Shall we go somewhere else?”

“Do you know who Antigone is?” Jo asks.

“Shall we find a quiet spot?”

“You don’t know who she is.”

“What?”

“Antigone. You don’t know who she is.”

“Shit, I don’t care! A mate of yours?”