Stella in Love (Stella est amoureuse)

Okay...

See you around.

I have to go.

Maybe you back next year?

Yes.

Hurry, we'll be late.

Want us to miss the train?

Come on.

It was just us girls, no parents.

A dream.

I'd had my first boyfriend.

I didn't speak Italian,

he didn't speak French.

I didn't like talking anyway.

I'd never seen the Med before.

I'd always spent summers at Gran's up north.

My sea was the North Sea, as a treat.

Or just the garden hose.

STELLA'S IN LOVE

After, compared to Italy, Paris felt empty and cold.

I loved sex with Enzo.

I thought it'd hurt, but it didn't.

It was so good...

-His cock... -Ok.

We get it.

Italy saw a group deflowering.

We rarely dated guys. We were outsiders.

They were intellectuals, I was a true outsider.

We didn't speak to others.

Well, I spoke to no one.

If we go back next year, will they have forgotten us?

No.

I've always wanted an epistolary relationship.

-You'll write to him? -To say what?

That you love his dick?

We hoped it would never end.

Come on in.

I'm Ms Clamart.

But call me Maud.

I'm your main teacher.

Put the desks in a U to make things easier.

Your final year.

The end of your schooling.

So this is it, it's here.

Let's get acquainted first.

Introduce yourselves and tell me what you do outside school.

You first. What do you do?

My name's Valérie Roucher and I draw.

That's great.

My goal at school was to not redo a year.

Sophia Legrand. I have no passions.

No passions?

Gladys, my best friend, was top of the class. That helped.

-Just work, like? -Not even.

You, next to her. What's your name?

I'm Stella Vlaminck. And... I dance.

Great. What style?

I dance in front of the TV.

At home, like.

Most girls like me were in vocational schools.

Great.

I'd just scraped into the final year.

But, for the baccalaureate, I couldn't cheat. We'd see.

-Study what? -Law.

Law!

My mind was elsewhere.

Better than at home.

Two weeks you vanished.

Heard of phones?

-Why didn't you call? -I dunno.

No idea when you'd be back.

Where's Dad?

You can see he's not here.

Your dad split.

Last week, we made a two-tier cake. The thing was huge!

Bring some.

Dad split with some bitch while I was away.

Her name was Stella too. What a homecoming.

A great start to the year!

The landlady's teary again.

You see...

-I bet he beats her. -You're gloomy, Marion.

-Are you pissed off? -No.

Had a bad summer?

It was ok. But the States with my dad isn't Italy.

You'll talk about it for months.

You didn't invite me.

It's not that. It's just...

That's how it came about.

Vincent's here.

How's it going?

I got to know Elodie when Gladys spent six months in England.

-He's really smart. -Hunky too.

She spoke to everyone, dated guys. She was the Traitor.

Marion looked sweet, but was unpredictable. She was the Dyke.

-Gross. -No.

-Us, naked. -Nice work.

-Who is he? -Max, he's in my class, redoing the year.

He's not bad.

-What? -Nothing.

Shall we split?

Even though Mum had a lover, she took it badly.

Really badly. She'd even slit her wrists.

-What did you do? -I was with my dad, as usual.

-We ate together. -Just the two of you?

Come on, girls!

Come on!

Come on, Mathilde!

More supple, Nathalie.

Think Elodie will make us pay for Italy?

I don't care.

It was weird not seeing Dad anymore.

My dad split.

With some bitch.

Will he come back?

I don't think so.

Come on, we'll get busted.

That's good.

One more lap.

Latin was my main language.

I dropped English cos the teacher hated me.

-Do any of you know the Punic Wars? -I know the Pubic Wars.

But don't have pubes yet.

She got off my back when Gladys said I lived in a seedy café.

Being a misfit suited me.

It helped me move up a year.

-Baccalaureate this year? -Yeah.

So pull your finger out.

Why d'you all piss me off?

What d'you want to do?

What d'you mean?

-After? -Work here like your mum?

-No way. -Why not?

-We're not nice? -Move, you suck.

Enough. Get lost.

-Eating, Mastermind? -Yeah.

What?

-What is there? -Boeuf bourguignon.

-Here. -Thanks.

-Is it your round? -Not at all.

I can't afford it.

-Why're you here? -I can't sleep.

Try jerking off.

-A dance! -No, you're a drag.

-That's seedy. -Come on.

Hands off the landlady. She's sacred.

C'mon, Rosy!

The Communist Party plunged these countries into a system that...

I'm sorry, your view of Communism is limited.

It's not all junk.

You ignore unequal conditions...

-He has a point. You're bored? -Yes.

We need to differentiate between Marxism and Marxism-Leninism.

Or even Stalinism.

If you wish to discuss inequalities, try seeing the Education Minister...

Les Bains Douches tonight with my cousin?

-Ok, I'll come. -Cool.

Clubbing with that cow?

Please take your documents now...

They pressured us with exams.

If I passed, I'd be the first in my family.

I really thought I'd try my best but...

I discovered clubs.

-Three. -Go on in.

Together?

See you on the dance floor.

Right away, I felt at home there.

From our café, I knew drunks, sex and partying,

sorrow drowned in drink and, above all, dancing.

-Want a drink? -I don't drink. Have my voucher.

-Never? -I grew up in a bar.

Forget it. That's André. He's a star here.

He bangs a model every night.

All together!

-Are you ok? -Fine.

-Were you up late? -A little. I didn't sleep well.

Come and help me, please.

Here you go.

This.... "I, the undersigned, Mrs Vlaminck..."

-Mum had never done a cheque. -A comma.

The comma comes after.

After Vlaminck.

She could barely read.

She began work at 15 as a maid for bigwigs

in Auvergne, then came to Paris.

Your dad's a bastard for leaving me in this shit.

I might have to sell the café.

Too many debts.

I don't like him, he looks pervy.

Not him. The fat one.

-Hi. -Hi.

Yvon, a delivery driver. Used to be Dad's best friend,

but soon became Mum's lover.

Eyeing my ass?

Dream on, kid.

-I only eye your mum's. -Shithead.

-You ok? -Yeah.

I'd like to come, but how d'you get in?

You need to dress up.

Farida on the door is tough.