Report at school: a class of CM2 at the time of the coronavirus!

A Malabar pink dawn flatters the sleeping horses on the Sacré-Coeur carousel when the CM2A enter their class, nestled on the top floor of the Foyatier school, in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. Old-fashioned blackboards, creaking parquet floors, latched windows on the slate roofs… Cliché oblige, we watch for the smell of Cleopatra glue when the cases unzip. But no, nothing. Under a mask, you feel nothing at all. Can the mini-noses sticking out here and there still smell anything else? You should do a test! In this class, since last month, there have been two “competitions”: the reading rally and the Covid test rally. 

Who is the swab champion? The fingers rise with the rest of the body: 28 tests on my left… 33 in the second row! “33 tests, all negative”, boasts behind his mask and his pair of glasses Samuel, slightly styling this big guy Enzo. And everyone recounted their war wounds: “At the beginning, my mother would spin 13 times in the nose instead of 5 to be sure,” Fanny squirms at this mention. “Like at the pharmacy in rue d'Orsel, torture. Don't go there”, advises, good comrade, Armand. Nassime, he once bled from the nose: “I don't really like it since. » « There are those who sink very far, others less… you never know what to expect, points out Alma*. When is it going to stop?