That summer, the hyphen began to grow.
If you recall a specific scene involving a teenager in a summer dress riding a bicycle or having an awkward dialogue in a small French apartment, you are remembering Clara , not Aurelie. Les 14 Ans D--Aurelie -1983-
It started small: a hesitation before speaking in class. A blank space where her voice used to be. M. Delacroix, the history teacher, called on her. Aurélie, explain the Maginot Line. She opened her mouth. The words stacked behind her teeth like cars in a traffic jam. She saw the other students turn. She saw Sophie Marceau’s double—a girl named Véronique with feathered hair and a swan’s neck—smirk. Aurélie closed her mouth. The hyphen sat in the air between question and answer, and nothing crossed it. That summer, the hyphen began to grow