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After his last morning class, Courfeyrac headed back to Joly’s flat. He found Joly laying on his bed.
“Courfeyrac, thank god you’re here. I think I’m dying,” Joly said weakly.
“What is it this week?” Courfeyrac asked, not sure he really cared to know.
“My liver. I know I’m dying. Too much wine has killed me,” Joly groaned.
“Ah, today’s lecture was on liver disorders, wasn’t it?”
“No,” Joly lied, defensively. “OK, yes.”
“Well, before you expire, where is Thursday’s meeting?”
“Is that all you care about? I’m dying and all you care about is that stupid meeting!”
“Enjolras would be proud,” Courfeyrac replied sarcastically. “So where is it?”
“Café Musain. You know where it is?”
“I think so. Grantaire recommended it?”
“Yeah. Courfeyrac?” Joly asked.
“What.”
“Can you help me up? My back is killing me. Honestly.” Joly did occasionally have some minor back problems, usually resulting from overexcersion after prolonged periods without exercise. In other words, he had thrown his back out the day before moving Lesgle’s wardrobe. In all his imaginery complaints, Joly constantly forgot that he had a legitimate one.
Courfeyrac pulled him to his feet. “Any better?”
“Actually, yes.” Joly walked around the room a little. “Yes, it is a bit better.”
“Who else knows about the meeting?”
Joly continued to pace. “Grantaire won’t remember. He passed out as soon as I got him home this morning. And I told Bahorel right before class. So just Bahorel.”
“OK, I’m going to see Combeferre tonight. He said he’d tell Prouvaire and Enjolras. We talk to Lesgle all the time, and Feuilly will meet us here. That’s everyone.”
“Enjolras?” Joly asked, incredulous.
“Not my idea. Combeferre’s.”
“Oh. Do you have a three o’clock class?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I need you to check up on Grantaire around then. I can’t do it because I have class until three-thirty, then a late one at four. I don’t want him to get too much sleep, otherwise he might not wake up.”
“I understand. I can take care of it. You got any money?”
“Why?”
“For lunch, you moron. I’m starving.” Courfeyrac smiled. He wasn’t really angry at Joly, just teasing him.
“Here.” Joly flipped him a coin. “Get yourself some bread.”
Courfeyrac’s eye caught the clock. “Shit, I’m going to be late.“
“Then go.”
“Catch you tonight. Just don’t lay down again, else you won’t be able to get back up.”
“I know, I know. Just get to class.” Joly started getting dressed.
Courfeyrac, already out the door poked his head back in. “Café Musain?”
“Yes, now get out of here. Go, go!”
Courfeyrac ran out, ran to the bakery around the corner, and had a couple of rolls while rushing to class. He slid in just as attendence began. Monday was his worst day because something always came up during his half-hour breaks. Thankfully, the day was over by three.
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