Today, I feel like Tintin. If you aren't familiar with Tintin, all you need to know is that he is a stupid cartoon character created by a stupid Belgian writer. Tintin is a stupid reporter who solves stupid mysteries, and he has a stupid dog named Milou; stupid Americans had to change the dog's name to Snowy in the stupid American movie because of course, leave it to stupid Americans to dumb things down. It's not like Milou is even hard to pronounce, but they HAD to change it! I am sure Hergé is rolling in his grave. Anyway, I learned how to read by reading those stupid books, and now I feel that I am in my own stupid Tintin book.
All I need a stupid name that is similar to Tintin. How about Drinedrine? Les aventures de Drinedrine: le secret d'Ophélie. Um. No. Don't even think about calling me "Drinedrine"...
Just so you know, I secretly still like Tintin. I don't think it's stupid; today's events just made me mad. Milou is my favorite, and I will never forgive the American for changing his name for their stupid movie!
So yes, back to Le secret d'Ophélie...
I was doing my favorite thing ever. As you know, I like ballet more than I like complaining, shopping, and doing makeup. That says a lot. I wore a pink leotard to practice for our spring show with some girls in my division. My school's uniform bums me out a bit. We have to wear black leotards in boring styles, which means I can't wear my black leos with lace or fun colored leos to class. Thank goodness for practicing with people and summer intensives that don't have strict dress codes.
One of the girls said something about "that one scary girl from Picardie who visited our dance school", and I I knew that "one scary girl" was Ophélie. My vision blurred, and I hit the ground.
After Malorie's little talk with me, I tried to forget about Ophélie. She was trying to ruin my life! The girl was dangerous. I knew that much. I knew I had to get to the bottom of this, seeing as I haven't heard from her since her disappearance almost a year ago. I told the people I was practicing with that I had to go.
When I returned home, I immediately did a Google search for "Ophélie Ducatel"...
...and what I found shocked me.
I found a blog written by a student at l'école de danse de l'Opéra National de Paris named Ophélie Ducatel who happened to be from Amiens, Picardie. I saw photos of a girl in a light blue Degas leotard. She didn't look like the Ophélie I knew. This girl's hair was my shade, and she had darker freckles and different eyes. In one post, she was explaining the leotard colors and their corresponding divisions. Since she was almost 15, she was in the 4ème division and wore a light blue leo. In another entry, she was talking very openly about her psychological problems, and it made me gag. Those are personal problems; the world shouldn't know! The last entry was from two months ago, and it featured a photo of Ophélie with her family. Her family visited Nanterre and took her out to eat. The girl standing by Ophélie in the photo looked strangely like the girl I knew...the girl I thought was Ophélie.
Something didn't add up. The Ophélie I knew wasn't a student there since age 8! The Ophélie I knew was too old to audition and therefore wanted to enter the Prix de Lausanne and win. The Ophélie I knew didn't have a sister. Not only did I feel like the star of my very own Tintin book, I also felt like this was starting to feel like Pretty Little Liars, only (SPOILER ALERT) both sisters were alive...or were they? I mean, I haven't seen or heard from my Ophélie. She could be dead now, who knows? That post was written two months ago. A lot can happen in two months.
Whatever. I was now determined to get in touch with my Ophélie, if she is still alive. All of us have our own reasons for lying, but still, somebody certainly has a lot of explaining to do: about her life and about how I ended up in the hospital.