“But, dahling, once we get back on our feet, we’ll take a nice family trip to Europe,” her mother added, quickly scooting a coaster under Mr. Lambert’s glass before he could set it unprotected on the oak side table and leave a water mark. “Won’t that be fun?”
Did they not see how vastly different those two options were?
“Great,” Louise said dully. “Can I be excused now?”
“I hope you understand. I’m sorry, chicken.” Her father looked genuinely pained as he took off his square wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I really am.”
“I know.” Louise nodded, her face getting hot. And she did. She didn’t want to seem like a spoiled only child, but she also couldn’t help but think this was entirely unfair. While the rest of her class was in Paris bonding, laughing, and creating a million inside jokes that “you just had to be there for,” she would be alone, sitting in her bedroom bored out of her mind, obsessing over the freshly baked croissants she wasn’t eating. The more she thought about it, the bigger the lump in her throat got.
“But at least we still have our good looks,” her father joked. Louise didn’t crack a smile. Who exactly was he referring to? she wondered angrily, tucking a flyaway frizzy hair behind her ear.
She slammed her half-eaten bowl on the glass coffee table with a clatter and ran out of the room before she started crying. She needed to talk to her best friend.
“I’m not going,” Louise sobbed into her oversized eighties red lip phone, angrily pacing her room as far as the tangled cord would allow without the jack being yanked out of the wall.
“No!” Brooke screamed. Louise pulled the phone away from her ear. Ouch. She wished she had speakerphone on this old thing.
“I know. They suggested we take a family trip to Europe when my dad gets another job.” She paused, still not able to comprehend how clueless parents could be sometimes.
“No!” Brooke screamed again, directly into Louise’s brain. “That is so unfair.”
“That’s what I said,” Louise confirmed glumly. They were both quiet for a moment, letting the bad news sink in. “And all this time, I could have been taking Spanish,” she added, thinking of the interminable hours she slaved over her French irregular verbs and vocabulary. For nothing.
“Well, I guess it could be worse,” her friend reasoned diplomatically. “I mean, at least you won’t have to deal with a seven-hour plane ride with Billy Robertson kicking the back of your seat.”
“I guess,” Louise mumbled. Somehow that was small consolation. She had actually been looking forward to the seven-hour flight—it meant she was actually going somewhere. “Well, try not to have too much fun without me.”
There was a long pause. That was all there was to say. For once, Brooke was speechless.
CHAPTER 6
“Attention, class,” Miss Morris gasped, as if those could very well be her last words ever. “Today we are going to take a trip to France.”
Louise looked around her quiet history classroom filled with blank faces. If it was medically feasible to sleep with your eyes open, then 75 percent of this class was definitely getting some quality REM time right now. Miss Morris was quite possibly the only person on the planet who could offer up a trip to France and get absolutely no reaction whatsoever. Not even a raised eyebrow. She had probably planned this lesson in conjunction with Madame Truffant’s field trip, but this was definitely not the expedition abroad that Louise had been wishing for.
The white-haired history teacher wasn’t exactly dressed for a voyage to Europe, Louise noticed, eyeing her navy blue boiled-wool jacket and knee-length pencil skirt. A slight variation on the uncomfortable-looking suit she wore every day, regardless of the season… or decade. Miss Morris was definitely not influenced by current fashion trends, and, unfortunately for Louise, she was probably the only other person at Fairview Junior High who wore vintage, just not in a good way.
Louise glanced down at her blank loose-leaf notebook page and began to draw an old-fashioned high-heeled shoe with a big diamond buckle. It looked… French? She wasn’t sure; she would have to research that in her vintage fashion book when she got home.
“If you think we are in dire economic straits now…” Miss Morris said, pausing to erase the remnants of yesterday’s notes off the chalkboard. She was practically the only teacher in the whole school who refused to embrace the whiteboard and insisted on writing everything out on the green chalkboard in her tiny, practically illegible script.
Yes, I do, Louise thought over the deafening sound of the second hand creeping its way around the institutional clock.
Click, click, click.
“Then you clearly haven’t read your homework about the French Revolution,” her teacher continued drily. Oops! Louise was usually totally on top of her assignments, but last night she had been a little… distracted. She had stayed up until after midnight obsessively looking at pictures of Paris online—the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Tuileries Gardens, the Champs-Elysées—since her computer screen was as close to France as she was going to get at this point.
“Throughout the country, the French people of the eighteenth century were plagued with a nationwide famine and malnutrition. There was an exorbitantly high national debt, only made worse by an unfair system of taxation, which heavily penalized those who could afford it the least. The common working people were struggling to survive, while the royal monarchy lived a lavish and luxurious lifestyle behind their gilded palace doors.”
Louise didn’t want to think about some revolution that happened to other people hundreds of years ago. She couldn’t stop thinking about her own dire economic situation that was happening right now. What else was going to change now that her dad wasn’t working? So far she was going to miss the class trip. Just repeating those words in her head made her eyes hot and stingy. She was missing the first opportunity that seemed full of potential for amazing things to happen in her actual life. She looked around the room and saw her nemesis, Billy, lying on his open textbook with his eyes closed, drooling. In the classrooms of Fairview, Connecticut, the potential for amazing things happening seemed totally nonexistent.
“In 1789, seven thousand armed working-class women marched to Versailles carrying cannons to demand that the king and queen address their concerns about the bread shortages. The queen of France, Marie Antoinette, and her family were exiled from their home at Versailles in the middle of the night in fear for their lives. The royal family was later put on trial and imprisoned under harsh conditions. Ultimately, Marie Antoinette was executed by guillotine in front of a bloodthirsty mob. Her severed head was held up high above for all in the screaming crowd to see,” Miss Morris continued in her same flat monotone. Say what? Louise snuck a look around to see if anyone else in the class was catching this. She saw a few surprised faces of her previously sleepy classmates start to perk up.
“This young queen, who originally hailed from Austria and whose marriage to King Louis XVI had been used by her mother as a strategic negotiating tool with France, had now become the symbol of the excess and frivolity of the doomed French monarchy. Her murderers were generous enough not to parade her bloodied head through the streets of Paris on a spike, as they did to her dear friend the Princesse de Lamballe. The poor Princesse de Lamballe’s detached head was first taken to a hairdresser, ensuring that everyone, particularly Marie Antoinette, would recognize her.” Now all eyes were facing the front of the classroom, watching their elderly teacher, who looked even tinier standing behind her large oak teacher’s desk, lecture matter-of-factly about the most gruesome murders Louise had ever heard of. Even Billy Robertson had wiped the drool from the side of his mouth and was eagerly leaning forward, not wanting to miss a word.
“The former queen of France was thrown into an unmarked grave, her once beautiful face now separated from her delicate slim torso, alongside her husband, Louis XVI, who was killed in the same cruel manner a few months prior.” Louise’s mouth dropped open in shock. Way
gross.
BRIIIIIINGGGG. The bell rang and no one moved. Miss Morris had finally grabbed their attention.
CHAPTER 7
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to go on this trip to Paris?” Louise asked, placing a low-fat strawberry Stonyfield Farm yogurt on her otherwise empty lunch tray. “Since sixth grade,” she answered before Brooke had a chance to respond.
“Diet much?” Brooke asked her with a raised eyebrow as she helped herself to some sweet-potato fries, which looked as though they had been baking under the infrared heat lamp for eons. They had previously concluded that sweet-potato fries were the perfect combination of vitamins and fast food. “And Louise, no offense, but sixth grade was last year.”
“Brooke, I’m depressed. I’m not supposed to be eating.”
Brooke rolled her eyes and grabbed an extra helping for Louise. “What inane fashion magazine told you that ridiculousness? Are you reading old issues of Cosmo again?” she joked.
The overcrowded lunchroom, which also doubled as an auditorium during nonlunch hours, was bustling and buzzing with pent-up energy. It was hard to hear her best friend talk, and she was standing right next to her. The overlit room was configured with the maximum number of both long and round tables, arranged in a way that made walking from one side to the other feel like navigating a labyrinth. A blue-and-gold banner of Ozzie the Otter, the school mascot, hung above the doorway, reminding everyone to recycle their milk cartons. Louise caught Todd and Tiff laughing across the crowded room, standing against the far wall in the first hot-lunch line together. When Tiff tossed her straight blonde hair flirtatiously over her shoulder, Louise was forced to look away. Could she be more obvious? Louise thought that she and Todd had had a good time at the dance together, but maybe she was too late in being nice to him after all.
“Since I was eleven years old, it’s been, like, the only thing I’ve looked forward to,” she continued melodramatically, not letting Brooke change the subject. “And now I’m going to have to be in school when practically no one else in our grade is. I’ll probably have to eat lunch with Miss Morris. Can you think of anything worse?”
“No,” Brooke replied honestly.
Louise felt like she was going to throw up, and she wasn’t sure if it was because the lunchroom smelled even more strongly than usual of its nauseating combination of ammonia cleaning products, garlic, and burned Tater Tots or if she was that upset. Louise and Brooke weaved their way past the long rectangular tables with their attached red circular stools as they took their usual round corner seat by the window, deftly avoiding a spilled pool of low-fat Italian salad dressing—an embarrassing moment just waiting to happen.
“And I’m sure Tiff will be going,” Brooke continued, sweeping a pile of crumbs off their table with a crumple of paper napkins. The janitors didn’t clean up until after the last lunch shift, so the tables were always gross and sticky by this point in the afternoon.
“Can you please not make me feel so bad about this?” Louise pleaded as she dunked an orange fry from Brooke’s tray in the pool of ketchup. Fine, the greasy fries did make her feel a little better.
“Sorry, maybe she’ll get the flu,” Brooke responded, snapping back into supportive-best-friend mode. “Or food poisoning,” she continued, pointing accusingly at her brown plastic lunch tray filled with the typically inedible Fairview food. “Which is totally a possibility here.”
“True,” Louise agreed with a sigh.
“Anyway, think of it this way. You’ll have a whole week to wear whatever crazy vintage ensemble you want without any fear of me making a single sarcastic remark. It could totally be worse.”
“How?” Louise challenged, pointing a deep-fried potato spear at her friend accusingly.
“Someone could have died?” Brooke finally suggested, cracking a smile.
“Thanks,” Louise said flatly.
“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” Todd dropped his scuffed skateboard and plunked down in the empty hard plastic chair next to Louise. His lunch tray was completely filled with two hamburgers, curly fries, a fudge brownie, and chocolate milk—a typical boy’s lunch. Her stomach did a little somersault when the sleeve of Todd’s sweatshirt brushed against her bare wrist.
“Aren’t you going to eat with Tiff?” Louise asked, quickly moving her arm away. Brooke stomped down hard on Louise’s canvas sneaker. “Ouch,” she mumbled.
Todd looked at her, confused. “Why?” he asked, seemingly totally clueless.
“Never mind,” she replied quietly. Maybe she was being a little bit paranoid.
“So, Paris… how awesome is that going to be?” Todd asked. If he could have said exactly the wrong thing, that would be it.
“I’m not going,” Louise blurted out, biting hard on her lower lip.
“Bummer,” he said, scarfing down a fistful of fries. Louise’s mind immediately began overanalyzing that one mumbled word. Was he actually upset or was he just saying that? She watched him devour his hot lunch in the un-self-conscious way that only boys could. Louise could never get herself to eat a school hamburger. The texture was just too gross to think about. During the school day, she considered herself a vegetarian.
“Matt!” Todd yelled, jumping up from his seat. “Yo, did you see that kick-flip I did earlier today by the bleachers?” He shoved the rest of the burger in his mouth. “See you guys later,” he said through a mouthful of chewed food as he grabbed his skateboard, and left Louise and Brooke sitting at the table with his half-eaten tray of food. As though they were supposed to clean up for him?
“Yeah, bummer,” she replied. Louise was so confused. Maybe it was too unrealistic to think that she and Todd could be anything aside from what they already were. Which was what, exactly?
CHAPTER 8
If Louise wasn’t prone to acts of melodrama, she would be forced to admit there actually was one other thing she had been looking forward to besides the seventh-grade class trip—the Traveling Fashionista Vintage Sale. It was coming up this weekend, and it couldn’t have arrived at a more perfect moment. Maybe instead of traveling to a different country, she could travel back to a different era again. Like, permanently—not counting being on the Titanic, Alice Baxter’s life wasn’t so bad. It was actually pretty fabulous, come to think of it. Louise prayed there was more than one magical dress in the shop. And that she hadn’t made up this whole thing in her head. If the time traveling did really happen, she was a little nervous that she might end up stuck in another risky predicament, but the fear was pushed aside by the fact that right now she needed a long vacation from her life.
The invitation said this sale wasn’t at the Chapel Street location like it had been last time, hence, she guessed, the traveling part. Well, at least one interpretation of it. The new location definitely added to the enigma of the experience. You couldn’t just pop in and pick up a vintage quilted Chanel purse whenever you wanted; they had to choose you. Number 37 Spring Street was another unfamiliar address in her small town, which was weird, as Louise thought she knew every square inch of the place by now. She typed the coordinates into her iPhone and waited for the highlighted route to appear. But nothing did except an error message. According to her GPS, 37 Spring Street in Fairview, Connecticut, didn’t even exist?!
“Mom, do you know where Spring Street is?” Louise asked, bounding into the kitchen.
“What, dear?” Mrs. Lambert was staring off into space as she sat at the enormous blond oak kitchen table that was strewn with paperwork. A delicate blue-and-white china teacup was poised in midair as though she had forgotten halfway that she wanted a sip of Earl Grey.
“Spring Street,” Louise repeated. These days, her mom was even more distracted than usual, which was saying something.
“That’s funny, I noticed it just this morning on my errands,” Mrs. Lambert replied, coming back down to planet Earth and placing the cup carefully on its saucer. “I think it’s a new street—well, more of an alley, really, by the back entrance to the post off
ice. Why do you ask?”
“There’s another vintage sale there today. I thought I could get something for Brooke’s thirteenth birthday party next weekend. She’s doing a fancy-dress theme.”
“How lovely,” her mom replied absentmindedly.
Lovely? Was she even listening to her? For once in her life, her mother wasn’t putting up a fight about vintage. Louise felt like she had spent the past year constantly defending her thrift-store purchases to her mother. Louise assumed it was her posh English upbringing that made it impossible for Mrs. Lambert to fathom why her daughter would actually choose to shop at a secondhand store. And considering that Louise had fainted at the last sale, she had assumed that this visit would be a much tougher sell.
So why wasn’t she upset with her now for bringing in those old clothes contaminated with their ancient germs and possibly killing off the family with scarlet fever or bubonic plague or some other old-fashioned disease like her mother always said? Something really must be wrong. She wished her mother would snap out of it and act like her old self again. This robot mom was starting to give Louise the creeps.
“I guess I won’t have to get any new outfits for the Paris trip, right?” she asked wistfully, hoping that somehow she could persuade her distracted mother to change her mind.
Mrs. Lambert’s gaze suddenly snapped back into focus. “You know where we stand on this issue. I’m sorry, I really am, but the answer is still no,” she replied firmly, nervously playing with the single strand of classic pearls around her neck. Louise wondered if her mother, with her fancy childhood of au pairs and maid service, had ever been told no about anything at Louise’s age. Definitely nothing this major. This trip was crucial for Louise’s social development. She had to make them understand that.
“It’s not fair!” she blurted out.
Time-traveling Fashionista at the Palace of Marie Antoinette (9780316202961) Page 3