Bye Bye Blondie by Virginie Despentes Page B

was fingering his teargas canister. Gloria, like Ratus, had simply smashed a Kronenbourg bottle against the pavement. She held the bottleneck in one hand, while a full beer bottle was doing the rounds. When they finished one, they stopped to buy some more.
    Gloria adored this kind of escapade. She loved being in a gang, looking for trouble, the intoxicating rush of adrenaline, just before. Fear, mingled with determination. She loved the fellow feeling, the camaraderie it created at once.And she loved being a lone girl in a crowd of boys, without it being a big deal. She took this as a proof of her worth, “Good as a boy, you are,” whereas it was just proof that the world is badly organized. Herbert was yelling at the top of his voice, “Here we go, last pogo in Nancy!” a local adaptation of the “Hymne de La Souris Verte.”
    On their way, they asked passersby for directions, sometimes politely, sometimes threateningly. A young kid—an apprentice amphetamine dealer—guessed at once who they were after.
    â€œI saw them just now, they’re at the Excelsior. They’re waiting for me, ’cause I’m supposed to take them some stuff. I didn’t find none, so they can wait. So what did they do?”
    They’d reached Place Saint-Evre now. Moving along, almost at military pace, in a group, this time it was Roger who was howling “Ethylique” in a sepulchral voice. As they approached the bar, Victor signaled for them to stop and be quiet. “I’ll take a look on my own, but not go in. See where they are, so we can rush them.” The Excel was a café near the station, lots of glass frontage.
    Then in they went. Roger, the biggest of them, signaled to Gloria to keep beside him in the frontline, “Come with me, a girl psychopath always impresses ’em.” She knew how to behave, alongside the leader, his trusty sidekick. Baring her teeth in a sinister grin, like in an ultraviolent film. She wasn’t planning on using her broken glass on anyone, it was just to look good and scary. Unless the situation deteriorated badly, she was thinking of dropping the bottle, pushing over some tables and throwing chairs. Noisy and visual, but not really dangerous. As for the others, she couldn’t have sworn they were thinking the same way. But it was up to the assholes facing them to understand and get out of there fast.
    They had walked the length of the bar, a dozen of them, with everyone staring. Silence had quickly fallen in the room. A tableful of young boys, shaven heads and crew cuts, wearing lodens and khakis, was waiting for them as indicated.
    Gloria put on her broadest smile, like in a Western, life was good.
    She didn’t recognize him at first. The group of boys stood up, with mocking grins, ready for a fight. Not having found their amphetamines, they’d had plenty to drink instead, they were up for it too. A few waiters intervened, pushing everyone toward the exit.
    â€œIf you’re going to make trouble, do it outside.”
    Wasted effort. The first fisticuffs were the signal for the start. Gloria had barely had time to aim a kick at the balls of a teddy boy—quite cute-looking actually, she noted—before someone had grabbed her sleeve and was dragging her outside, yelling, “Run, the pigs, the pigs!” She was propelled forward, the first to make it through the revolving door, losing her breath she went so fast. Two seconds later and she’d have been picked up—a vanload of police was in the area and had spotted them immediately. Still running, she could hear their whistles and male voices ordering her to stand still at once, which she took good care not to do.Gasping for air, she made it to Place Carnot and slowed down. The guy who had warned her did the same, and only then did Gloria recognize him. He’d shaved his skull, it made him look quite different. He’d put on weight. His face had lost its