At dinner that night, I told Eric and Dane I was going out with them the next day. Dad looked ecstatic, and even Eva looked relieved to hear I would be leaving the apartment. But Camille looked like she’d swallowed a pumpkin.
“Where are you kids headed tomorrow?” Dad asked.
“The Musée d’Orsay,” Eric said, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth.
A museum. That was doable. Besides, I actually wanted to go.
I set my own alarm for the next day, making sure I was up in time to get ready. Today we took one subway to get there, the train stopping right outside the museum. Only three of Camille’s friends joined us this time—Marine, the blonde, aka Camille’s partner in crime; Marine’s brother, Julien, who looked a year or two younger than me; and Sarah, who seemed pretty quiet, even in French. I kept waiting for more of Camille’s friends to show up, and if we’d spoken a single civil word since we met, I might have asked her. Instead I kept looking over my shoulder to see if anyone else was coming.
Okay, so maybe I was looking for a dark-haired guy with mesmerizing blue eyes.
We spent several hours touring the museum, and I couldn’t help thinking that when I was in grade school, we had enjoyed field trips to the art museum for the simple fact that we got out of school. Now we were purposely here, staring at oil paintings of Greek gods and goddesses, who of course were naked. Dane kept laughing and making snide comments about the women’s physical features in the paintings. Eric was going along with it, although not as wholeheartedly as his friend.
I shook my head. “You two are disgusting. Grow up.”
Jenna may have wanted me to flirt with Dane, but if he didn’t think Greek goddesses were up to his standards, I had nothing to offer him. And I was starting to think he had little to offer me. Camille, on the other hand, smirked at their antics like they were naughty schoolboys.
She could have him.
Since the museum went relatively well, I decided to risk another excursion. The next day we met Camille’s friends at the Jardin du Luxembourg again. I brought a book this time so I had something to do while everyone ignored me. Dane sat next to Camille again, and I noticed that Marine and Sarah seemed to be giving Eric a lot of attention. Mathieu was conspicuously absent, or at least his absence was noticed by me. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to see him—to apologize? But I couldn’t ignore the fact that part of me liked him. How stupid was that? He was on the enemy side. In the end, I decided it was better he wasn’t there. My life was confusing enough as it was without adding Mathieu Rousseau into the mix.
I was lying on my stomach reading when I heard someone call out his name. I turned my head to see him walking toward us, his backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart fluttered, and I tried to contain the happiness bubbling up inside me.
He sauntered over to our group with a big grin on his face, but his smile dimmed in wattage when his gaze landed on me.
Not only did he not like me, he was annoyed by my presence. Great.
Dane leaned toward me. “Hey, Sophie. There’s the guy you pissed off.”
“Don’t remind me,” I groaned, but even though I turned back to my book, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I was on the periphery of the group, and he sat on the side opposite of me with several guys, one of whom was Julien.
They left me alone for the next half hour, but then Dane snatched my book out of my hands.
“Whatcha reading, Sophie?”
I sat upright in disbelief. “None of your business! Give that back!”
Wearing a stupid grin, he started to flip through pages, losing my spot. “It must be really good. A nuclear bomb could have gone off and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Give it back, Dane!”
“No. I want to know what’s got you so interested.” He stopped turning pages and started to read. “He pulled me close, his mouth nibbling my ear.” Dane looked at me with a grin. “I didn’t know you liked to read porn, Sophie.”
Camille and her friends began to laugh.
My face burned as I jumped to my feet. It wasn’t porn. It was a PG-13 YA romance, but that didn’t make it less embarrassing.
Dane flipped through several more pages and began to read. “He took off his shirt and I couldn’t avert my eyes.” He laughed. “Would you like me to take off my shirt? I’ll let you look.”
I was going to kill him. He’d teased me before, sure, but this felt malicious.
“Give my baby sister her book.” Camille’s smile was gone. Her tone let me know she wasn’t trying to protect me, and I already knew she didn’t consider me her sister.
“Why?” Dane asked, leaning back on an elbow. “I’m just getting into this.”
I lunged for him, but he rolled onto his stomach. “I’m not done reading.”
“Give it back to her.” Eric’s voice was cold and serious, but Dane’s smile only grew wider.
Camille snatched the book from Dane’s grip. She slowly began to flip through the pages, then glanced up at me. “Really, Sophie. You read this nonsense?”
“Give. It. Back.” I walked toward her, but Marine stuck out her foot just enough to catch mine as I passed. I fell face-first onto the grass, Camille’s friends scooting backward out of my way. Mathieu remained still, watching as I hit the ground, my flailing hand knocking over a paper cup of coffee. The lid flew off, and the drink splattered all over Mathieu’s white T-shirt and jeans.
Everyone gasped, and I stared up at him in horror.
“M-Mathieu . . .” I stammered as I got to my hands and knees. “I’m so sorry.”
Camille began to laugh, which finally worked loose Mathieu’s tongue. I had no idea what he was saying, but I knew he was pissed. Not that I blamed him. I heard both my name and Camille’s as he pointed at us, spitting out his French vitriol.
I sat up and pleaded, “Mathieu. I’m sorry.”
He stopped talking and turned to me. He heaved out a sigh, then stood and walked away.
“Sophie,” Marine said sweetly. “Are you okay?”
I considered responding the way she deserved, but I’d already made a spectacle of myself.
Camille tossed the book, and it landed in the grass beside me. “Sharing is learned in primary school here, Sophie. Did you fail that subject in school?”
“Enough,” Eric said, his tone letting Camille know he was done. I was grateful for his help, but it was obvious that he resented the need to offer it. Eric was used to being popular. He was finding his place in Camille’s hierarchy of friends, and every time he was forced to defend me, his ranking dropped lower.
Camille groaned and got to her feet, speaking to her friends in French. Marine rolled her eyes, and a couple of her friends protested whatever she said to them, but the others sent me looks of sympathy.
“Come along,” Camille said. “Let’s go.”
I stuffed my book into my purse and stood, eager to get back to the apartment and my keyboard.
At least I wouldn’t be able to hear Camille’s taunts when I was wearing the earphones.
CHAPTER Eleven
WE SPENT THE weekend as a family with Eva and Dad. I kind of felt sorry for them—dealing with four sullen teens couldn’t be fun. Eric was pissed at Dane and Camille was pissed at all of us, giving everyone the silent treatment. When Eva demanded to know what happened, none of us spilled.
Dad made an effort to talk to me, but I didn’t make it easy. I hated pretty much everything about my summer so far—my new stepsister and her stupid friends, the cramped apartment, the frustrating keyboard, and most of all I hated my father for forcing all of this on me. I was supposed to be at home, hanging out with Jenna by the pool, getting a boyfriend who wasn’t a total jerk. I was supposed to be having fun and preparing for my piano competition.
“I know about the bans.” The two of us were sitting at the kitchen table while I ate a piece of toast slathered in peanut butter.
His face paled.
“And I know your real wedding was
the afternoon we came. Instead of taking us with you, you left Eric and me wandering around Paris trying to stay awake.”
He cleared his throat and looked down at the table. “Camille couldn’t come because of her finals. It seemed more fair that way.”
A lump filled my throat. “Fair,” I choked out. “Why in the world would you try to start being fair now?”
His gaze jerked up. “Sophie, I know I’ve hurt you, but I’m trying.”
“Hurt me? Talk about the understatement of the year.” I stood, staring down at his pleading face. “You’re the one who left me. Forgive me if I don’t consider it fair that you didn’t see fit to invite us to your real wedding.”
I put my plate in the sink and stomped over to the keyboard, where I spent most of the weekend when Eva and Dad weren’t making us hang out as a family. My frustration grew with every session. Part of playing was hearing the music, and the keyboard’s electronic sound was throwing me off. But I only had seven more weeks. Just seven more weeks before I could return to my real life.
Eric and Dane were back to normal by Sunday night, and Camille and Dane seemed to have made up too, but Eric still seemed wary of her. Camille and me? There was no love lost there. It was hard enough sleeping in the same room with her. Thankfully, she barely spoke to me.
On Monday, I planned to stay in the apartment, but Eva—who was fully aware of the tension between us—left me with no choice. She ordered me to go with them.
As Eva headed for the door, she looked back at her daughter, who was sitting at the kitchen table eating a croissant. “Tell Mathieu I have his form ready. I enjoyed seeing him on Friday morning at my office.”
A fire raged in Camille’s eyes. “Must we always speak English in our own home?”
Eva gave her a look of challenge. “Yes.”
Camille got up and stomped over to the sink with her plate. She shot me a glare as she passed.
I had no idea where we were going. I could have asked, but it was obvious Camille was purposely keeping it from me.
That should have been my first clue.
As soon as we were on the subway, Dane started talking to Camille in French. Eric joined the conversation, leaving me to my own devices.
We changed trains at the same station I’d gotten lost at before, but I was learning the tunnels and felt more comfortable by the time we got onto the next train.
When we got off the train at Denfert-Rochereau, the first thing I saw was a line circling a building across the street. The sky was overcast and a gloom hung in the air. The building was so small I had no idea how many people could fit inside.
“Marine and Julien are already here,” Camille told Dane. “So we won’t have to wait for more than an hour.”
By now I’d learned that lines were expected in Paris, but I still had no idea what we were even seeing.
“What is that place?” I finally asked.
Eric shot me a look that said I was crazy. “The catacombs.”
My eyes flew open. “The what?”
“Catacombs,” Dane said. Then a grin spread across his face. “Oh, that’s right. Dark tunnels and tight spaces . . . and then there’s the bones. Are you scared, Sophie?”
I knew about the catacombs in Rome. They were the places where Christians were buried in early Roman times. I figured Dane was trying to freak me out about the bones. It was probably full of a bunch of sealed tombs like the mausoleum where my grandfather was buried.
As we stood in line, it began to drizzle. Only a handful of Camille’s friends were there—Marine, Julien, Sarah, and a new boy named Thomas. They all gave me a look of disdain before turning their attention to Camille and the boys. Part of me was disappointed Mathieu wasn’t there, and part of me was relieved. Every encounter I’d had with him had ended in disaster, and the last two had ended with Mathieu furious. He had to hate my guts, not that I blamed him. Yet I couldn’t help remembering that afternoon outside the restaurant and the connection I’d felt with him on the subway platform. Would I see that guy again?
Then, just when we were a few feet from the entrance, Mathieu approached us with a wary look in his eyes. Thomas greeted him in French and Mathieu smiled, although he seemed to go out of his way to ignore Camille and Marine.
Camille said something to him, and he turned to look at her before nodding and turning back to his friend. I couldn’t help wondering if she’d given him her mother’s message.
We entered the building and Eric paid our entrance fee at the counter. After we went through a turnstile, we began to descend a spiral staircase. I assured myself that this would be better than Notre Dame. Still, I briefly considered turning around and leaving, but the family with three little kids in front of us shamed me into staying. The grade school and preschool-aged children didn’t look scared. I needed to suck it up. Besides, these stairs were wider and not as steep as the ones at Notre Dame. I could handle it.
When we reached the bottom, I was ridiculously proud of myself. I was still feeling pretty good as we started through the tunnels, but then Dane and Eric started talking about how deep underground we were.
Dane’s face lit up. “I read about the Parisian catacombs before I came. The ceiling’s curved to help hold the weight. Before, the tunnels used to collapse.” He said it like it was no big deal. “Entire buildings would just disappear into the holes.”
That caught my attention.
“See the black line at the top of the ceiling?” He pointed above our heads. “There wasn’t electricity down here until about thirty years ago, so they used torches to find their way around. Especially when people used to sneak in here at night to party.”
Camille shivered. “I can’t imagine being down here in the dark. What if there was a power outage?”
Dane grinned and wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her against his side. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you in the dark.”
She giggled, and her friends groaned at his cheesiness. While part of me wanted to gag, the rest of me was preoccupied with the thought of the ceiling crashing down or the power going out. Trapped inside tunnels deep in the ground.
I will not panic. I assured myself neither was going to happen, otherwise they wouldn’t let thousands of people traipse around down here.
“You wouldn’t be in the dark.”
I turned around, surprised to realize Thomas was the one who had spoken. This was the first time I’d heard him speak English, although he had a heavy accent that made him a little hard to understand. “You could use the light from your phone.” He held up the lit screen to demonstrate, then he winked.
I nearly gasped. Was he making fun of me or actually being nice?
“I didn’t know you could speak English,” I murmured as I turned around. Dane still hadn’t dropped his hold on Camille.
“Of course he knows English,” Mathieu grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he shot a glare at Thomas. “Everyone here knows English. You’re the only one who doesn’t speak French.”
I narrowed my eyes as I glanced up at him. While his statement was true, he didn’t have to be so rude about it.
The group trudged through for what seemed like miles of tunnels, probably because I kept thinking about the lights blinking off and the ceiling caving in. The places where water dripped from the ceiling and the slippery floor didn’t help. I had to admit I was impressed when we stopped to look at a carving in the rock. One of the builders had created a miniature replica of an ancient building. Other than that, the rest of our trek was just a long walk through a stone passageway. After a half hour, I was feeling proud of myself for making it so far without freaking out.
And then we hit the real catacombs.
We came to a larger room with pillars that led to a doorway. Black rectangles with large white diamonds framed the sides. Above the doorway, the rock had been smoothed and engraved with a French phrase.
Eric came to a halt and translated out loud, “Stop! This is the empire of death.”
“Duh. It’s an underground graveyard,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed. I knew what catacombs meant, or at least I thought I did. This was a place where people were buried.
We passed through the opening. Eric, Dane, and the girls were in the front; Thomas, Julien, and Mathieu were behind me. I’d barely made it through the doorway when I realized my error.
The walls were literally stacked with bones.
“How cool is this?” Dane asked, his eyes wide in wonder.
My eyes were wide too, but not with wonder.
Panic washed through me. I was surrounded by hundreds—no thousands—of dead people.
I stopped in my tracks, trying to catch my breath.
These weren’t just pieces of plaster you could buy at a store for Halloween. These had been real, previously living and breathing people, and now they were just bones in an underground crypt. The empty eye sockets of hundreds of stacked skulls stared at me, taunting me with my own mortality.
One day I would be one of those dried-up skulls.
I felt an arm around my back and shrieked.
“Relax, Sophie,” Thomas said softly. “It’s okay.”
I jerked my gaze up to his, expecting to see him gloating. I saw only sympathy.
“They freaked me out the first time I saw them too,” he whispered in my ear.
Camille stood next to Dane, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Thomas.
They had a stare-off for a few moments before Thomas took a step away from me. She gave me a triumphant smile.
She’d told her friends to stay away from me. It didn’t require much of a mental leap to figure out that she’d told them to be mean to me too.
I’d had my share of encounters with bullies, and I’d never had a problem standing up for myself. But no one had ever hated me this much—and for no real reason. It made it worse that there was nothing I could do to escape her. At least not for the next seven weeks.
I was living in hell.
We continued on. If I thought the previous tunnels were long, these seemed to stretch on for an eternity. How many different ways could you stack bones? Human bones. It seemed disrespectful and morbid. Yet we kept trudging onward, passing through tunnel after tunnel until the tunnel we were in bended and doubled back.
One Paris Summer (Blink) Page 8