I imagine our lips touching . . . and . . . nothing.
Both of them – it’s like kissing my sleeping bag. What is up with that? I have to want to kiss someone. Okay, I’m going to close my eyes and whoever’s lips I see are going to be the lips of my fling.
Oh. No.
I just saw the lips of . . . Tommy?
Friday, July 20, 12:30 A.M.
It’s late. And I’m in my room. Alone. Kicking myself. Fine, since it’s impossible to physically kick oneself, I am instead kicking my sagging mattress. SLAM.
I didn’t meet Pierre. And I didn’t meet Vlad. After Tommy’s lips popped into my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about how sweet Tommy is, and about the look on his face when I ducked during the parade in Paris.
My second big epiphany of the trip was this:
I like Tommy.
Really like him. Did I always like him? Probably not. But just because I never thought of him that way, doesn’t mean he couldn’t BE that way. Maybe the idea just needed time to seep in. Like suntan lotion.
So of course I couldn’t hook up with Pierre or Vlad. Not now, when I know I have real feelings for Tommy.
Which is a bit of a problem. Considering that Tommy barely talks to me anymore. And the look he gave me tonight—it was pretty much open disgust. He hates me. And on top of that, he’s obviously into Penny. And on top of that, he’s still Becca’s twin brother! So even if he forgives me and stops liking Penny, I still can’t go for him. See how messed up my life is?
I hate France. I hate everything French. I hate French songs, I hate French Fries. And most especially I hate French kissing. Not that it matters because in all likelihood I will never do it again.
Oh, crap, now I’m crying and I hear a key in the door—
1:10 A.M.
I’m sitting in the hotel lobby, on the ratty purple couch.
Why?
Becca and Harold caught me crying my eyes out. “What’s wrong?” Becca asked, running over to me.
“E-e-everything,” I blubbered.
“Harold, I’m sorry, I have to talk to Lindsay,” she said to him. “We’ll hang out tomorrow.”
“But we only have two more nights together!” he cried.
“But she’s my best friend,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Tomorrow.” Then she climbed up to my bunk bed. “What happened?”
By this time I was practically hyperventilating. How could I tell her?
“You have to tell me,” she said.
“I can’t!” I wailed. What was I supposed to say? I think I have the hots for your brother? I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
She placed both her hands on my shoulders. “Is it about Tommy?”
KABAM! “How did you know?” I gasped, eyeing her warily.
“How did I know that Tommy was in love with you? Are you kidding me? I’ve known since third grade.”
DOUBLE KABAM! “What?”
Then she laughed. “He’s always had a thing for you. Why did you think he insisted on coming on this trip?”
Whaaaaaaaat? “Why did you never tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to weird you out,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I knew you didn’t like him that way and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Becca rolled her eyes. “But then he had to try and kiss you on Bastille Day—”
At this point I nearly fell off the bed. “You knew about that?”
She nodded. “Never mind knew—I saw. I would have beaten him up, but he did a solid job of beating himself up. He felt awful. He hadn’t been planning it or anything, but then he thought that maybe you felt the same way…”
“But I—”
“I know you didn’t. He’s my brother and I love him to death, but you’re my best friend and I love you too. I want both of you to be happy. I hated that you two were suddenly all awkward around each other. That’s why I lied and told you he was hooking up with Penny with a Y. So you wouldn’t feel weird. I know how you get about these things. ”
I did a double take. “Wait a sec. Are you telling me that he isn’t hooking up with her?”
“No. Never. For some reason he thinks she’s sweet, but he’s not interested in her. He only has eyes for you.”
“But she was out all night! Who was she with?”
“Who knows. Vlad? Or Pierre possibly. Harold said he’s a major player. He hooks up with all the girls on his teen tours. The rumor is that he’s already made out with Abby, Max and even Kristin.”
Vile.
“But anyway,” she continued, “don’t worry about my brother. His feelings are obviously upsetting you, so I’ll talk to him again. I saw that he was giving you his googly eyes again at you at dinner, and he’ll have to stop that. I don’t want you creeped out. We’ll work around this. I don’t want you to get all freaked out on me. When we get back to the city, everything will go back to normal, we can all try and forget any of this ever happened and then—”
“But I don’t want to forget,” I blurted out.
She paused. “You don’t?’
“I think I’m in love with your brother,” I whispered.
Now it was Becca’s turn to almost fall off the bed. Except, she did fall off the bed. She did a weird summersaulty backward thing and landed on her butt on top of my open backpack. “Ow.”
“Jeez, are you okay?” If that had been me, I would have needed another trip to the hospital.
“Yes. I think.” She lifted one of my many t-shirts up from under her. “Your clothes broke my fall.”
And that’s when my guava rolled out of the sleeve and across the floor.
“You found it! You’re my hero!” I squealed.
She picked it up and tossed it into my hand. “Can we get back you loving my brother, please?”
“Right. Is that bad?”
She broke out into the biggest smile I have ever seen. Pretty impressive for someone who just fell off a bed. Then she shrieked: “We’re going to be sisters-in-law!”
I started taking faster breaths. Bigger breaths. Trying to. Couldn’t breathe. Needed air. “But. What. If. It.” I wheezed. “Doesn’t . . . work out?”
She put her arm around me. “Linds, take a deep breath, okay?”
I tried. From our window we could hear people laughing outside.
“If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out. You break up. You can’t live your life afraid of things breaking down.”
“But…that’s what I do.” That’s what I’ve always done, I realized. I’ve lived my entire life in fear of breaking my legs. My toes. My heart.
But for good reason. “But I did break my toes,” I mumbled to myself.
She raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“I mean, what if it doesn’t work out? What if we break up? What if I break his heart or he breaks mine and then I can’t be your maid of honor anymore?”
She nodded, and carefully considered my point. I love that she knew exactly what I meant. “We’ll have to consciously try to keep our relationship separate from your relationship. It’s complicated. But doable. There’s a difference between being careful and being afraid.”
“Yeah?”
“Didn’t you come on this vacation to learn to take risks?”
I nodded.
“So what are you waiting for?” she asked. “Go tell him.”
Becca said he was still out with the rest of the group. I didn’t want to leave the premises hunting for him in case I somehow missed him, so instead I parked myself on the tattered couch in the lobby. My heart was thumping like rain against a window. I guava-fied to calm myself down. Maybe my guava had stayed hidden until I had found the person worthy of being kissed.
Oh God! I see them. Hear them. Penny’s giggles. Max and Kristin’s flashes. I can see him through the glass door. I feel sick. Afraid. Should I run? Hide? Can I do this?
Saturday, July 21, No-Clue-What-Time-It-Is-Since-We’re-Crossing-Time-Zones-Again P.M.
I’ve already h
ad three glasses of airplane apple juice and I desperately have to pee. But I don’t want to move.
Tommy’s sleeping with his head on my knee. The plane is relatively empty, so we have a row to ourselves. Becca and Harold are in the seats in front of us. They’ve already made plans to meet up over Labor Day weekend. They’re going to try long distance.
I hope they make it.
Sorry I haven’t written . . . but I’ve been, well, too busy to write.
When Tommy finally walked into the lobby, I thought my heart would explode.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Waiting . . . for you.” I mumbled. “Can we talk outside?”
He looked confused, obviously, since we had barely spoken since Bastille Day. But he shrugged, said good night to (a disappointed-looking) Penny and motioned me to the door.
We walked down the beach and over to the water without talking.
We both sat down on the rocks, our feet out in front of us. The stars were out in full and their light was reflected in the water and against the darkness of the rocks.
“I . . . I . . .” I was terrified. Frozen. I had no idea what I was supposed to say.
He reached over and tapped my broken toe. “How is it?”
“It hurts,” I said. “But I’ll live.” And that’s when I thought about what he had asked me about on Bastille Day. About why I was so obsessed with having a fling. “You were right,” I said, staring ahead at the lapping water. “I was afraid.” I feel his eyes on me and turn toward him. “I wanted to have a fling to prove to myself that I could take risks. Which is dumb. Since it’s relationships that scare the scrap out of me.”
“I know,” he said softly.
I looked at his strong chin, and his big eyes, and his tasty lips. His broad shoulders . . . carrying a backpack around certainly agreed him. Hey. Who knew? American boys could be pretty hot, too. I inched closer to him. “I’m kind of a scaredy cat if you want to know the truth.”
His turn to inch closer to me. “Are you afraid now?”
My palms were sweaty and my heart was going haywire but felt pretty confident it wasn’t from fear. “No,” I said. “Are you?”
He grinned. “Well, the last time I tried to kiss you, I ended up on the pavement. And these rocks don’t exactly look like softer.”
I laughed. And then I thought, what the hell. And I went for it. I closed the space between us in under a second and kissed him. Brave, huh?
And the kiss was perfect. It started gently. His lips were soft and smooth. It was weird for the first few seconds—I kept thinking, omigod I’m kissing Tommy!—but then I stopped thinking entirely and we were kissing and his hands were on the back of my neck and mine were in his hair and on his back and under his shirt and . . . well, it was good.
Until he suddenly pulled away.
I panicked. He had changed his mind. He didn’t really like me! I wasn’t a good kisser. I had bit his tongue. “What’s wrong?” I forced myself to say.
“A rock has buried itself into my elbow.” With a grin, he plucked a pebble from his arm.
I laughed. With relief. “You scared me. I thought . . .”
“Thought what? That I was going to change my mind about you?”
I shrugged, feeling small and scared. “Maybe.”
“I’ve liked you for ten years, Lindster. Do you really think you’re getting rid of me that easily?” He peeled himself off the beach and helped me up. “Are you okay to walk?”
I took his hand. “Definitely. I know a great lookout where we can watch the sunrise.
We walked and kissed and talked. About relationships. About my mom. About his parents’ divorce. About being afraid. About being brave. About how happy Becca was going to be. About French cheese.
We finally walked back into the hotel, holding hands, at six thirty the next morning. And held hands at breakfast. We held hands on the train to Monte Carlo. We held hands at the good-bye banquet dinner in Monte Carlo. We held hands on the train back to Nice. We held hands while saying goodbye to Pierre. We held hands during takeoff. Max and Kristin took pictures.
The lights in the plane just went out. I can’t believe the trip is over. It went by so fast. I’m going to miss everything. The cheese. The trains. I think I might even miss Joanna’s singing. But I’m also happy to be going home, fling in tow.
Hah. Fling. Who am I kidding? I may have gone looking for a fling but what I found is so much better.
C’est la vie!
☺
About the Author
SARAH MLYNOWSKI is the author of Milkrun, Fishbowl, As Seen on TV, Monkey Business, and Me Vs Me as well as the teen novels Gimme a Call, Bras & Broomsticks, Frogs & French Kisses, Spells & Sleeping Bags, Parties & Potions, Ten Things We Did (and Probably Shouldn't Have) and How to Be Bad, which she co-wrote with Lauren Myracle and E. Lockhart. Sarah is also the author of the tween series Whatever After, and co-writer of the first ever guide to writing chick lit, See Jane Write.
Sarah's books have been translated into twenty-one languages and optioned to Hollywood. She was born in Montreal but now lives and writes in New York City. Visit her at www.sarahm.com.
Also by Sarah Mlynowski
Adult
Milkrun
Fishbowl
As Seen On TV
Monkey Business
Me Vs Me
Teen
Bras & Broomsticks
Frogs & French Kisses
Spells & Sleeping Bags
Parties & Potions
Gimme a Call
How to Be Bad, with Lauren Myracle and E. Lockhart
Ten Things We Did (and Probably Shouldn't Have)
Tween
Whatever After #1: Fairest of All
Whatever After #2: If the Shoe Fits
Whatever After #3: Sink or Swim
Non-fiction
See Jane Write, with Farrin Jacobs
Singles
Know It All
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Tuesday, July 10, 7:22 P.M.
No-Clue-What-Time-It-Is-Since-We-Keep-Crossing-Time-Zones p.m.
Wednesday, July 11 6:00 a.m. France Time!
A few hours later
Still Wednesday, July 11, 9:15 A.M.
Ten Minutes later
1:00 P.M.
Thursday, July 12, way, way too early. Like 5:00 A.M.
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A Nice Fling is Hard to Find Page 5