You were waiting for Jean-Pierre outside his house. It was a cold, crisp morning and you usually walked the short distance to school with him.

A few minutes had passed since you knocked on the front door, and you were starting to become impatient. You could hear the faint voices of him and his sister, Michèle, probably arguing.

The door finally opened, and a well dressed Jean-Pierre stepped out. “Morning.” He greeted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.