The Paris Project

by Donna Gephart

  “You have fun now, Miss Cleveland. Enjoy every ever-loving French minute of this trip.”

  “I will, Daddy.”

  He gave Georgia a squeeze and lifted her off her feet, then set her down and looked right at her. “You’re an amazing daughter and sister, Georgia. You know that. Right?”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Dad. We’ll bring you back something très chic.”

  Mom got the biggest hug of all, and an embarrassingly long kiss.

  “You all just have a wonderful time. Be safe.”

  He threw us kisses and waved as we walked into the chilly airport. I was sad Dad wasn’t hopping on the plane with us, but glad Miss Genevieve wouldn’t be home alone. I hoped Dad really did get a job. I knew how important it was to him and that it meant Mom wouldn’t have to work as much.

  Once we checked our suitcase, Mom grabbed hold of Georgia’s hands and looked around the huge airport. “I can’t believe we’re getting out of Sassafras.” She tapped her feet a bunch of times. “Oh, thank you, Georgia!”

  My sister blushed. I think this one moment made it all worth it.

  I felt like we were flying all the way to Paris, even though I knew we were really going to Los Altos, California.

  It was an hour and a half until our flight boarded, so Georgia treated us to lunch at the Burger King in the terminal.

  I knew this was going to be the most amazing trip ever!

  The only way it could be any better was if Dad and Miss Genevieve had been able to come.

  I stuffed five french fries into my mouth at the same time, then chewed and swallowed their salty deliciousness. “You’re the best sister in the world.”

  Georgia shimmied her shoulders. “Tell me something I don’t know, Cleve.”

  And the three of us clinked our orange juice cartons together to toast our adventure.

  The Best Day

  THE AIR SMELLED GOOD WHEN we got off the plane. Fresh and clean and cool. While we rode the bumpy shuttle bus to our hotel, I noticed there were palm trees like in Sassafras. Maybe this part of the country wasn’t so different after all.

  We drove through neighborhoods with really big houses framed with pretty plants on neat tree-lined streets. It was gorgeous, so much nicer than Sassafras. And the whole drive to the hotel, I didn’t see a single sign for someone selling worm tea!

  The hotel was on a corner and looked like it did on the website. I may have gasped a little when we pulled up and the driver helped us out.

  “This is how fancy people must live,” I whispered to Mom.

  She leaned down. “Today, Cleveland, we are fancy people.”

  Georgia grabbed my hand, and we strolled into the lobby like it was no big deal.

  There was a woman behind a wooden desk. I had imagined she might be wearing a beret, but she wasn’t.

  “Welcome to the Enchanté.”

  While Georgia checked us in, I looked at a tiny replica of the Eiffel Tower on the desk. I shivered even though it wasn’t cold, and remembered that my tin was still at Declan’s house. I knew he was hiding it in the back of his underwear drawer, which was kind of gross, but pretty safe, because who would want to go in there? I’d ask him for it back after we got home. Dad had been doing great, and I’d have to learn to trust him at some point.

  “Would you like someone to help you with your bags?” the woman asked.

  Mom looked down at our single suitcase.

  I wondered if she felt like we should have lots of suitcases—one for each of us.

  “I’ve got it.” I grabbed the suitcase. It wasn’t even that heavy.

  We decided to climb up the three sets of marble stairs, because Mom said they were so pretty. I wished I’d let them bring up the suitcase, because it got heavy by the second set of stairs, but that might have cost extra, and Georgia had already spent enough.

  When Georgia opened the door to our hotel room, I forgot all about how heavy the suitcase had become.

  Our room was amazing!

  There was a big, comfy bed with a puffy white quilt on top. And another bed tucked against the wall. Framed paintings of gardens hung on the gold-striped wallpaper. And the best part: there was a fireplace!!! I’d never been anywhere with a fireplace before.

  “Can I?”

  “Go for it,” Mom said.

  So I flipped the switch and the fake logs at the bottom glowed orange. “Ooooh!”

  Georgia and Mom went straight to the big bed with the fluffy white quilt. They flopped down, their hands behind their heads.

  “This is the life,” Mom said. “I could stay here the entire trip.”

  Georgia laughed. “It’s so comfortable. You don’t mind the little bed, do you, Cleve?”

  I climbed onto the small bed. It didn’t have a puffy cover like theirs, but it had a soft gold blanket and a white sheet under that. “No, I love having my own private bed over here near the fireplace.”

  “It does look cozy,” Mom said in a sleepy voice, dragging her body up into a standing position.

  I leaped up and ran to the window and opened it with a crank. I looked down on the town of Los Altos. Everything was so shiny and new. While I loved the hotel room, I couldn’t wait to get out there and walk around the cute shops with the colorful awnings. Maybe I wouldn’t sleep during the whole trip so I could fit everything in.

  “Mom, can I take a few photos with your phone to send Dad?”

  “Of course, Cleveland. Make sure to get the fireplace and the big bed, too.” She handed me her phone. “And tell him we love him.”

  “I will.”

  While I was taking a picture of the town, Mom suddenly yelled, “Look at this!”

  Georgia and I crowded into the bathroom to admire the fancy soaps and square shampoo bottle Mom was holding. “Smell.” She shoved a round soap wrapped in flowery paper under our noses.

  “It smells better than any of the flowers at Weezie’s Market and Flower Emporium,” Georgia said.

  I took an extra-long sniff. “It smells like Paris.”

  After “freshening up,” which entailed lying around, then washing our faces with thick white washcloths, we walked along every street in the little town and stopped in a tiny Parisian vintage clothing store. When we entered, the woman who worked there said, “Bonjour!” Between that and the frilly, lacy dresses, high heels with puffy pom-poms at the toe, and berets—tons of them in different colors—I felt like I was in a store in Paris. After that, we went to a coffee shop that used to be a train station. I told Georgia I wasn’t thirsty, but she bought me a large café au lait anyway.

  “It’s the most French thing they have, Cleveland. You have to have it.”

  I really did.

  Mom ordered a cup of mint tea, and she drank it with her pinkie out. I felt like we were finally sitting at a Parisian café, drinking our fancy drinks. Oh, thank you, Georgia!

  My sister enjoyed a mug of steaming coffee and we shared a plate of madeleines. They’re delicious French sponge-cake cookies that taste buttery and melt in your mouth. And are totally addictive. I felt like I’d been sucked into the world of the Madeline books.

  Everything was so French, so perfect.

  After enjoying our drinks and cookies, we walked some more around the town and discovered a beautiful bookstore. We spent a long, leisurely time in there, each of us meandering to the sections of the store we liked best. I used some of the spending money I’d brought to buy Declan a new cookbook; it had a whole section on fancy, fizzy drinks, so Dec could try concocting beverages other than limeade spritzers. I’d be happy to help him taste-test each and every one. The woman at the register wrapped it in paper with a bow for free! I knew Dec would love it.

  Mom bought Dad a book about different kinds of cars.

  “Perfect,” Georgia and I said at almost the same time.

  While the woman was wrapping Dad’s gift, a girl entered the bookstore with a lady who must have been her grandma. The girl was wearing tights and a leotard, like she’d just com
e from ballet class. I smiled at her, and she gave me a shy wave in return. It seemed like a million years ago since I was at Miss Delilah’s School of Dance and Fine Pottery, accidentally breaking Jenna Finch’s pinkie toe.

  Amazing how many things had changed since then.

  Welcome Home!

  I WAS SAD TO LEAVE THE beautiful French hotel. I looked at it extra long before we shut the door so I’d remember all the details. I was sad to leave the museum where the French impressionist paintings took my breath away. They were more beautiful than I’d imagined. I was close enough to touch them, even though there were guards everywhere and that wasn’t allowed. I was sad to leave the French restaurant, where the bill was so high it made me throw up a little in my mouth. But Georgia smiled when she put the money in the black folder to pay our check, and I knew she’d added a good tip for the server, like Dad did that time we ate at Margaret Mitchell’s Restaurant in Winter Beach.

  I was so sad to leave all of it behind… until we walked through the Orlando airport and there was Dad, waiting for us with the biggest smile I’d ever seen and his arms wide open.

  “Welcome home, mes amours!”

  “Dad, you learned French while we were gone,” I said, surprised.

  He laughed. “Just those two words. I thought they’d be the right ones to welcome you home.”

  We hugged and kissed him almost as much as when he came home from jail. Except now he wasn’t so thin and was clean-shaven. I thought Dad looked happy because we were back home. But right there in the airport waiting area, he stood tall and made an announcement. “Potts family: I got a job!”

  We hugged and kissed Dad all over again.

  “You did it,” I said.

  “That’s so great, Dad,” Georgia added with a pat on his back. “Way to go.”

  Mom shook her head. “You continue to impress me, John Potts.”

  Dad hugged Mom, lifted her up, and twirled her in circles until she squealed for him to stop.

  People were looking at us, but not in a mean and judgmental way. They looked happy. It was nice.

  On the ride home, Dad explained that his old friend Dan Rousseau got him a job in parks and rec for Sassafras. He’d be responsible for keeping the parks and playgrounds clean and in good repair. “And the best part is I’ll be outside all the time!”

  It was the best part, because ever since Dad came home, he couldn’t stand being cooped up indoors. He needed to be outside in the fresh, humid air.

  “Now that I’ll be working, Cleveland, I’m going to pay back every single dollar that I stole from you.”

  It was weird hearing Dad say it outright like that. But it was true. He had stolen from me.

  I looked out at the twinkling stars in the dark night sky as we drove along. “Dad, you don’t have to—”

  “Every penny, Cleveland.” Dad cleared his throat. “And I’m going to pay Ronnie Baker back too.”

  “Oh, John,” Mom said.

  I didn’t think that part was such a good idea, so I chimed in from the backseat, “But, Dad, he sent you to jail. Why would you give him money?”

  Even though Dad was driving, he reached a hand into the backseat.

  I met his fingers, and he squeezed. “Baby girl, Mr. Baker did the right thing. And it was the best thing he could have done for me.”

  “Going to jail was the best thing?” I folded my arms across my chest. I wondered if Dad had gotten so happy about his new job that it had made him a little confused.

  “Yes,” Dad said. “If he hadn’t pressed charges after the third time I stole from him, I would’ve kept right on doing what I was doing.”

  “Three times?” Georgia said.

  “Yup. He let me slide the first two times. Like I said, going to jail was the best thing for me.”

  Mr. Baker knew Dad stole from him twice and let it go? I don’t know if I would’ve done that. I felt bad for the awful things I’d thought about Mr. Baker.

  “But you’re glad you went to jail?” Georgia asked.

  “Look, I wasn’t glad to be away from all of you, but the truth is, if I hadn’t gone to jail, I’d probably still be stealing to gamble.”

  Mom reached over and squeezed Dad’s shoulder.

  “It’s an ugly truth,” Dad said. “But it is the truth. Now I’m going to try and mend all the relationships I’ve broken and return every dollar I took.”

  I felt choked up, hearing Dad say those words. Part of me had wanted to hear them for a long time. It was such a relief, like one last missing puzzle piece snapped satisfyingly into place.

  We were quiet for a while, until he asked us about our trip, and then none of us could shut up for a minute about how awesome it was.

  Because it was!

  The Paris Project

  By Cleveland Rosebud Potts

  1. Take ballet lessons at Miss Delilah’s School of Dance and Fine Pottery (to acquire some culture).

  Ballet is not the answer… no matter what the question is!

  2. Learn to cook at least one French dish and eat at a French restaurant (to be prepared for the real thing). Crepes—savory and sweet! Délicieuses!

  My favorite part of the French restaurant was the cute server who was totally flirting with Georgia the whole time.

  3. Take in paintings by the French impressionists, like Claude Monet’s Water-Lily Pond, at an art museum so I can experience what good French art is (more culture!).

  4. Continue learning to speak French (will come in handy when moving to France and needing to find important places, like la salle de bains, so I can go oui oui—ha-ha!—French bathroom humor).

  5. Apply to the American School of Paris (must earn full scholarship to attend for eighth grade. You can do this, Cleveland!).

  6. Move to France! (Fini!)

  Good riddance, Sassafras, Florida!

  C’est la Vie!

  MAY PASSED IN A BLUR.

  School was winding down. If I wasn’t walking dogs after school, I was hanging out with Valerie or with Dec and Todd.

  I even told Jenna Finch off.

  I was in the lunch line to buy ice cream again, and there she was right behind me. “Oh look,” Jenna said. “You actually have enough money to buy something for a change.” Instead of shying away, I whirled around and faced her. It took all my restraint not to stomp on her formerly injured pinkie toe. “Jenna Finch”—I pulled my shoulders back—“I am just as good as you are, so keep your snooty opinions to yourself.”

  And she did.

  Jenna’s mouth formed an O of complete and utter surprise; then she closed it and cast her gaze downward.

  I knew that look.

  Jenna Finch was ashamed.

  * * *

  Things were going well on the home front, too.

  Dad came home sweaty and happy from work every day and still went to Gamblers Anonymous meetings a couple of nights a week.

  He started paying me back, and I put every dollar into the Eiffel Tower tin at Declan’s. It’s a good thing it was a large tin, because that thing was really filling up! I decided to leave it at Declan’s house a little bit longer. Just to be extra safe. Then I’d probably have to open a bank account, because it was a lot of money.

  Mom was able to give up some of her cleaning jobs, so she didn’t look so tired and she was around more often. She even started making dinner again, so Georgia didn’t have to do it all the time.

  Georgia had decided to go to the community college in the fall and didn’t seem so miserable about it. She also put up about a thousand pictures of mountains and people skiing and other Vermont-looking things on the walls in our bedroom. She cut the pictures out from Mom’s travel magazines. Mom didn’t spend quite so much time looking through them these days.

  “I’m going to get there someday,” Georgia said, looking at all the pictures on our walls.

  “Maybe next year,” I offered helpfully.

  Georgia nodded. “Maybe.” Then she looked at me. “Hey, do you want to put up so
me pictures of Paris, Cleve? I could help you find them in Mom’s magazines.”

  I shook my head. “Your pictures are good, George. They make me feel cooler, which is a welcome change.”

  “Well then, you have a good imagination.” Georgia waved a book in front of her face, but I knew it wasn’t doing anything to dissipate the heat in our trailer. We were heading toward another hotter-than-hot summer, and there wasn’t much anyone could do about it.

  Miss Genevieve didn’t seem to mind the heat. He napped and snored and was his usual happy self.

  Everything was going fine in the Potts home until one day I was in bed looking through an old copy of Madeline I’d borrowed from the Sassafras Public Library, when Georgia let out the world’s loudest scream.

  My foot tangled in my sheet as I rocketed up.

  Outside my room, I bumped into Mom and Dad.

  Miss Genevieve was underfoot, barking.

  “What?” Mom shrieked as we ran. “Are you hurt?”

  Georgia screamed again. And again. “Oh my gosh!!!”

  Dad got to the kitchen table first.

  Mom and I crowded around him.

  Georgia was staring at her computer with one hand over her mouth. She was shaking her head.

  “What, George?” Mom asked, trying to get a look at her screen. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell us,” Dad said.

  “Yeah, Georgia.” I moved closer.

  Tears leaked from Georgia’s eyes. “I got in.” She lowered her hand.

  “What?” Mom shook her head.

  “The University of Vermont.” Georgia blinked, blinked, blinked. “I got accepted.”

  “I thought you were wait-listed,” I said.

  “I was.” Georgia put her hand over her mouth again, then dropped it. “I guess enough people declined.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

  Georgia shrugged. “When I called, they said I was near the top of the waiting list, but I thought… I thought they were giving me a line, you know.”