“Oh, no,” I said. “We need him.”
“Tell you what,” Anna said. “I’ll call him. I know exactly what to say.”
“Thanks.” Before I walked away, I asked her, “Do you have any extra mustard for my friend?”
“Sure. Sure I do.” She handed Carissa three packets. “You’re okay,” she said to Carissa.
Carissa took the mustard. Under her breath she asked, “Why do I want mustard packets?”
Quietly I said to her, “Just say thank you.”
“Thanks!” Carissa exclaimed. “I love mustard!”
“Who doesn’t?” Anna asked, and she slapped Carissa hard on the back, making her wince.
We left Anna and CiCi, and I walked right into a familiar-looking woman who was attached to a big wooden tray.
Thirty-Three
Honey!” It was the woman I’d been certain had been planning to bake me in her oven but instead had rescued us with a tractor. She’d tied a wooden tray to herself with straps around her waist and neck. It was covered with soda bread.
“Oh, m’dear Meghan. How are you? How did you do on your search for those people?”
“So much better than I ever hoped.”
“I’m glad for ye.” She tried to reach into the pocket of her apron, which was difficult because of the tray on her stomach. “I have your gadget. It’s in my pocket. Can you reach it?”
“My phone! Oh, yay! I really missed it.”
“I was going to try to call you on it, but I couldn’t figure it out.” I was so happy to have it back. She also gave us each a loaf of soda bread.
As we walked away Carissa said, “She was nice.”
“Yeah. After I figured out that she wasn’t going to eat me, then I liked her.”
“What?”
“Long story.”
In the distance we heard someone yelling, “Ah! Ey! Oy!” And then something flew into the air.
“Let’s check that out,” Carissa said.
It was pizza dough being tossed high and made into a flat circle. “I know him!” I exclaimed.
“You seem to know everyone,” Carissa said admiringly. “You had a busy couple of days without me.”
When Enzo saw me, he called out, “American girl!”
I waved and went over to his table.
“You wanna try my pizza?”
“Sure,” I said. He put a slice on a plate for Carissa and me.
“I hear that the hostess today is an American. Maybe someone you know?”
“Well, I don’t know everyone in America. But I happen to know that person very well,” I said with a smile.
Just then there was a tap, tap, tap on the microphone. A man in a tall green-and-white Cat in the Hat–style hat stood in front of everyone. “Excuse me.” His words bounced all over the top of the hill. “It’s time for the celebration to begin. It’s my pleasure to announce this year’s lucky hostess—all the way from the USA—from Wilmington, Delaware. Miss Meghan McGlinchey.”
Everyone clapped for moi. I hadn’t really prepared a speech for this, but I stepped up anyway. I looked out at all the people in the crowd who stared, waiting for me to say something. Owen and Gene clapped and whistled. Carissa and Finn stood at my side.
I said, “I’ve had a great time in your country over the last few days. I met new and wonderful friends that shared so much with me, so thank you all very much.” Everyone was listening—nothing like the school gym. “My father came to Ireland to meet his sister Colleen for the first time here today at this Spring Fling. But I have a very, very big surprise for him.”
I watched his face redden and his mouth gape open.
“Dad, this is your sister Colleen.” I pointed to the woman at the table. She approached him, and they embraced. Everyone at the top of the hill clapped. “But there’s more.” Colleen and Dad let go of each other. “You also have a sister Elizabeth and a sister Mary.” The other women at the table approached Dad and smothered him in hugs. The hill clapped and clapped more. Tears rolled down Dad’s face. “And all these people over here, Dad”—I pointed to a group of twelve kids and three men—“these are your twelve new nieces and nephews, and three new brothers-in-law.” The crowd exploded in applause the way that I’d imagined the school gym would with my election speech. “I wouldn’t have found these people if it hadn’t been for the kindness of all the strangers I met over the last few days. Thank you, Ireland. And welcome, spring!”
CiCi and her dancing friends must have known that was their cue, because they began to jig on a rolled-out wooden floor.
Quilly grabbed my arm as I stepped down from the podium. “Nice speech.” He handed me a pair of hard-soled Irish shoes. “Put these on. I’m deliverin’ you to the floor.”
“I don’t think so,” I said shyly.
“You want to do it the hard way?” He peered over the top of his sunglasses.
“No.” I put the shoes on and followed him to the tapping sound.
CiCi saw me and said, “Come on, come on, come on.” She pulled me into line with the girls, and when they stomped, I stomped. Before I knew it, I was kicking in step. Everyone clapped and cheered. The retreaters—now liberated—were the loudest of all. I looked up and smiled at all of my new friends and family who watched me dance.
We stayed at the Spring Fling all day. Eventually, probably out of hunger, Eryn made it to the top of the hill. CiCi ran over to her. “Wait! Are you another sister? You look just like the McGlincheys.” She hugged Eryn, who really didn’t like to be touched. “You know, I think people get grumpy when they’re hungry. Come on!” CiCi dragged her away. “You need to meet Paddy Flanigan. He makes the very best cookies.”
My dad was spoiled by three older sisters who had missed nurturing him through his childhood. I’d never seen him so happy. Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Mary took the baby for the whole day, and my mom was finally able to jig a little herself. At one point Dad mouthed “Thank you” to me from afar. He didn’t say I was his favorite daughter, but he probably thought it.
After a full day of dancing and celebrating, we eventually hiked down the hill and toppled into our saggy castle beds.
Thirty-Four
Saying good-bye to Castle Ballymore was tough. Saying good-bye to the people in Castle Ballymore was really, really tough.
“I’m going to miss you guys,” I said to Owen and Gene. They smothered me in their burlap-smelling hugs. Both of them cried. They hugged Shannon even longer and harder than they had me. They pecked Carissa and Piper on each cheek and hesitantly patted Eryn on the back.
My whole family and Carissa got into the airport shuttle. We found Carissa’s parents already waiting for us at the airport.
“I’ll e-mail you,” I said to Finn.
“And I’ll e-mail you back,” he said. “I’m so glad I met you, Meghan.”
“Me too,” I said. He held my hand between both of his for just a second. I thought he might kiss me, but I guess this wasn’t my lucky day.
Before getting into the shuttle, I gave him a ladybug. “Just in case luck is real, I want you to have some of it. I have one too. They come in threes. And, well, Quilly has the third one, which is a little weird, but don’t pay attention to that part.”
“Thanks.” Finn smiled.
The shuttle drove away down the narrow, bending road, past the low rock walls and the fields of green speckled with white fluffy sheep. I glanced back and waved one last good-bye.
Thirty-Five
Six months later
Saint Anthony’s feast day was a big deal in Wilmington.
Americans didn’t celebrate with festivals, street parties, or random jams the way the Irish did. I had been in full-scale party withdrawal since returning home, so I counted the days until this Italian festival.
It took up four square city blocks and was an amazing display of homemade Italian cuisine, from antipasto to ziti. Singers, dancers, and comedians occupied the many stages. There were rides, carnival games, and parades.
This year it would be even more spectacular because we’d rented a section of the piazza for a party—a McGlinchey family reunion. My dad sat around a table with his three sisters. They looked at pictures, shared stories, and laughed. You could see the resemblance among them in the way they looked and moved. Even after years and oceans apart, they were family.
My cousins were there too. They all waited in line with Carissa, Piper, and me for our favorite ride, the Cliffhanger. On this ride, you lay on your belly, and the machine lifted you up and flew you around like you were Superman. I loved it because I could see the whole Saint Anthony’s feast day event from up high, with the backdrop of Wilmington’s Little Italy. It was nothing like Dublin. It was home.
The Cliffhanger lifted me, and I began to fly, totally free, with the mid-Atlantic summer wind in my curls. Carissa and I held hands until the wind was too strong. My screams caught on the air and sailed away, maybe over the ocean, maybe all the way to Castle Ballymore, to Finn.
From up there I could also see the dunk tank that the student council from my school had donated. Each year the class president chose the color that we painted the tank. This year I’d chosen green. That’s right. I’d become class president. Carissa had demanded a recount when a fistful of ballots had mysteriously turned up under a rock in the school courtyard.
BLING!
Someone had nailed the bull’s-eye, and Avery Brown splashed into the tank.
Finn.
Not a day had gone by when I hadn’t thought of him.
As I flew through the air, I scanned the crowd below, wishing he was here too.
Suddenly I saw a flash of sandy blond hair.
Could it be?
When the ride ended, I ran ahead of Carissa. “Hey,” she shouted after me. “You gonna barf?”
I ignored her and kept running.
“Finn?”
The guy turned.
It wasn’t him.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I thought you were someone else.”
Carissa caught up. “What’s up with you? Where are you going?”
“I thought I saw him,” I said.
“Him? Finn? Again?”
“Yeah. But I was sure this time.”
A familiar voice from behind me said, “Well, would you look at the time? It’s 12:10.”
I turned and saw Finn. He was dressed like an ordinary guy in cargo shorts, a white T-shirt, and sandals.
I stepped closer. “It really is you.”
Carissa said, “Hello, castle dweller.”
I gave her a look that said, Scram.
“Jeez,” she said, backing up. “I’m going.”
“I didn’t expect to see you,” I said, turning back to Finn.
“Surprise!”
I laughed. “Good one.”
The band behind us started playing the newest hit from The Warehouse Boys.
“I love this song!” Carissa yelled. She started dancing around. The crowd grew louder with the music.
I leaned into Finn. “It’s really good to see you.”
He took my hand. “I had to come here to ask you something that I didn’t get a chance to in Ireland.”
The fountain next to us turned on, spraying water high into the air. Then a thousand little white twinkly lights wrapped around floral garland turned on. It looked like fairies carrying flowers.
“What?”
“Do you still think that letter was bad luck?”
Then I had the best snow globe moment yet: Finn took my chin in his hands, closed his eyes, and gently touched his lips to mine. He held me tight. It was—how can I explain this?—awesome!
Maybe that letter was pretty lucky after all.
Pack your bags and get ready for another international adventure!
1
I traced my finger over the gold emblem of my new passport. It was blank, but it would have its first stamp very soon. A stamp that said FRANCE!
My brothers were playing in a lacrosse tournament overseas, which meant that I got to go to . . . wait for it . . . Paris!
While the boys were off playing lacrosse, Mom and I planned to tour the entire city—the City of Lights. That’s what they call Paris. What I wanted to do most of all was to take a boat ride down the Seine—that’s the river that flows through the center of the city. My dad had to stay behind for work, so he would miss all the fun. Dommage! That’s ‘bummer’ in French, I think, or it’s ‘too bad’ or ‘scrambled eggs.’
Giddy with excitement, I placed the passport back onto the middle of the kitchen table so everyone could see it. It had my name, Gwen Russell, my picture and birth date, which said I was thirteen. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked Mom for the umpteenth time.
“Yes, it is. It’ll look even better with a stamp in it.” She looked at her cell phone. “The boys just texted. They’ll be home soon with pizza.”
By “boys” she meant my three older brothers. There are four kids in our family. I was the youngest and the only girl, the only one who stepped on the mat when she got out of the shower, the only one who took her shoes off at the door, and the only one who’d never traveled overseas. But not for long.
I pulled up the latest Shock Value video on my tablet and turned the sound waaaay up. I grabbed a broom, played air guitar, and sang along. I didn’t sing when the boys were around because they told me I was terrible, but when they weren’t around, I belted it out. I knew every word to this song.
Shock Value was only the most amazing band. I dreamed that one day I’d get tickets to one of their concerts. I wanted to see Winston up close. He’s my total fave of the band. Maybe because he’s the youngest, but also because he’s the cutest with a capital C. But I doubted I would ever get to see them in person since tickets to their shows are, like, a bajillion dollars. A girl can still dream, and I do. I’m not the only one nuts about Shock Value. My brothers and parents love them too.
When the video was over, I played ict again with the volume lower. I jumped over the couch with a notebook in which I wrote song lyrics. I called it my Lyrics Notebook. Creative, huh? I jotted:
I’m going to Paris.
Café au lait.
I can’t wait for France.
To stroll along the boulevards.
I admired my work. Okay, so maybe these weren’t the best lyrics, but I was getting better. I hoped that one day I’d write a song for Shock Value.
As I studied my notebook, the door to the garage slammed open, and Josh (seventeen), Topher (sixteen), and Charlie (fifteen), walked in, each carrying a pizza box. The kitchen instantly filled with the smell of boy sweat and garlic. They stacked their slices three high, grabbed extra-large Gatorades, and headed toward the stairs, where they would play hallway lacrosse in between showers and burping.
“Come on, Gwen,” Topher said on his way up. “We need a goalie.”
The goalie was the one who kept the ball from rolling down the stairs.
“I’ll be there in a little bit.” I pointed to my mom. “Girl talk—you know.”
“No. I don’t know.” He flew up the stairs two at a time.
I sighed.
I said to Mom, “Tell me again about the flight.”
CRASH! It sounded like the ball had knocked something over.
“We’re leaving tomorrow evening and we’ll fly all night on the red-eye,” Mom said.
“AWW!” I was pretty sure one of the boys had caught an elbow to the gut.
As the hallway lacrosse game continued above my head, I put my earbuds in, played a Shock Value song, and imagined myself in front of each fab sight in Paris. My mom and I really needed some quality girl time. ASAP!
2
I had never been on a plane ride that long before. I felt like I had just slept in a shoe box, but one glimpse of Paris and I didn’t care.
As we zoomed through the streets in the taxi, the highway and industrial-looking areas near the airport gave way to the Paris I had always imagined. The city was alread
y alive with people in the middle of their morning routines. I could see the beautiful (and potentially fall-inducing) cobblestone streets lined with beautiful buildings that just screamed Paris—and definitely didn’t look like anything I saw in Pennsylvania! All the storefronts had chic-looking everything.
Finally we arrived at our hotel. The Hôtel de Paris lobby was small, cozy, and warm—maybe too warm. In a modern city of glitz and fashion, the Hôtel de Paris felt like a time capsule from another century. The lights of the antique chandelier were dim, and a candle on the check-in desk reminded me of wildflowers. The drapes were heavy and dark, the furnishings something out of a museum.
After a long nap (in four-poster beds) to recover from being up all night watching airplane movies, we walked the boys to the hotel restaurant for dinner with their team while we joined some fellow tourists gathered in the lobby. Mom and I were taking a special tour of Paris that night after dinner.
Mom skimmed over our itinerary. “We’re in group C,” she said, pointing to a sign.
It was a diverse bunch of about a dozen people—old, young, men, women, all different nationalities, shapes, and sizes. They flipped through brochures and unfolded maps.
A guy who looked a little older than me, wearing a shirt with the hotel’s logo, came over. He was cute in a soccer player-like way—a few inches taller than me, sun-bleached hair pulled away from his face and tied into a ponytail. “Etes-vous Américaine? Are you American?” His accent was adorable and totally added to his cute factor.
“Yes. I’m Gwen Russell.”
“Ah, someone was looking for you.” He scanned the people in the hotel lobby and pointed to the familiar face of Brigitte Guyot. I’d met Brigitte in Pennsylvania when she and her family were living in the US for work that her dad was doing with my dad. We had all hung out and become friends. She was like the big sister I never had. But then her dad’s job moved them back to Paris.
Henri added, “You are going on the night tour to la Côte d’Albâtre Étretat. It is . . . er . . . egg salad.”
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