One Paris Summer (Blink)

by Denise Grover Swank

  My eyes filled with tears. “I think I’m going to stay home this afternoon.”

  “Soph, I’m sorry. I just don’t want him to hurt you.”

  I tried to hold back my tears. “I know. Merci.”

  He looked surprised by my accidental slip of French, but he shook it off. “Why don’t you and me hang out this afternoon? Just the two of us, like our first day here.”

  I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  More tears burned my eyes. Mathieu had asked me the same thing before our magical night at the Eiffel Tower. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s start with lunch. I’m starving.”

  I grinned. “You’re always starving.”

  “Hey! I’m a growing boy. But it’s too expensive here. Let’s go to the Latin Quarter.”

  “Sure.”

  We took the Metro to the Latin Quarter, then found an alley that catered to tourists. The owners and employees stood outside the various open-air restaurants like circus barkers, offering enticements like free drinks and half-price entrees. We picked an Italian restaurant.

  “Won’t Dane be upset if you don’t join them?” I asked after we were seated at a table on the patio.

  “Nah.” He picked up a breadstick and took a bite, watching the tourists pass with their bags of souvenirs. “He’s obsessed with Camille.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged, pretending indifference, but I could see it bothered him.

  “For what it’s worth, Marine is totally into you.”

  His gaze jerked back to me. “What?”

  I laughed. “Did you really not know?”

  He grimaced. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. Does that make you sorry you stayed with me?”

  “Nah.” He took another bite of his breadstick.

  “What are they doing today, anyway?”

  “They’re going to a cemetery outside of town to see Jim Morrison’s grave.”

  “Why would they want to see his grave?”

  He shook his head. “Duh, because he’s a classical legend.”

  “Mozart. Bach. Rachmaninoff. Those are classical musicians,” I teased. We’d had this conversation before. Eric loved classic rock.

  He was silent for a moment. “And this school where Mattchew’s mother teaches . . . what would you learn there? Would it be like a high school with music classes?”

  “I’ve heard of the university conservatoire, but I didn’t know it had a lycée program.”

  He gave me a blank look.

  “High school. I only found out when he told me about the lycée program last week, but I didn’t give it serious consideration until his mother actually invited me to audition.”

  “Would she let you in if he asked her to?”

  “I doubt it. They both said it was a very competitive program. The audition is invitation only.” I sighed. “But even if I did want to go, there’s little hope of me getting chosen. Mathieu’s mother might have gotten me the audition, but I would have to really bring it to win the spot.”

  He kept his gaze on me. “But you want it.”

  “I don’t know.” I shifted in my seat and leaned forward. “I mean, it’s a huge honor to be invited to audition, and it’s a prestigious university, but it’s Paris—”

  “Which you no longer hate.”

  “True. I’ve started having fun with Thomas and Sarah . . . when she thinks Camille’s not looking. And the city is beautiful. But when Jenna gets here on Sunday, I want to spend time with her. If I audition, I’ll have to beef up my practice time to more than four hours a day. I might have to learn some new pieces, which is insane. I won’t have as much time to spend with her.” I shook my head. “What am I thinking? This is crazy.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I guess it depends on why you’re doing it.” He gave me a pointed look.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to audition at all. Maybe I should call it off.”

  “Liar.”

  My eyes flew open wide.

  “You want to audition, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The question is, do you want to spend your last two years of high school in Paris, France?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  “I don’t know that at all. Dad’s here.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “So?”

  “So? If he’d asked you to come with him to Paris a year ago, you would have thrown all your clothes into a couple of suitcases and taken off without a good-bye.”

  I twisted my mouth into a grimace. “No way.”

  “You would have. I think part of why you’re still so pissed at Dad is that he didn’t take you with him. He went on this adventure and left you behind. If you saw him all the time, you would have a better chance of fixing you guys. I don’t think this summer is enough.”

  “I hate you right now,” I mumbled, taking a sip of my water. What I really hated was that he was probably right. About all of it. “When did you get so smart?”

  “I’ve always been smart. You were just too stupid to notice.”

  I grinned. “Whatever.”

  “Look,” he said, leaning forward and turning serious. “If you decide you really want to go to school here, do it for you, not Dad. Not Mathieu. Do it because it’s your dream. Mom gave up her dream to make Dad happy, and I’m pretty sure that’s a part of the reason they’re divorced.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Mom wanted to go to medical school, remember?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “She got accepted, but then gave it up so Dad could do a fellowship in Paris.”

  “Why didn’t they just have a long-distance relationship?”

  “She was pregnant with me.”

  “Oh . . .” How had I never put this together before? “Thanks, Eric.” He’d helped me more than I could have ever expected.

  We walked around a bit after finishing lunch, and on a whim we ended up racing remote control sailboats against each other at the Luxembourg Gardens. Ever competitive, Eric ended up racing a group of little kids, but one of them handed him his butt on a platter. I died laughing when Eric realized the kid was eight years old.

  “The look on your face!” I said as we stopped to buy ice cream cones on the way to the Metro station. “I wish I’d taken a picture so I could blow it up. I’d post it on the bathroom wall so I could see it every time I sit down to pee.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Yuck it up. But I still say I had a crap boat. I mean, come on. You almost beat me. How else can you explain that?”

  I burst out laughing. We got our cones and started walking, and I looked up at him as he took a bite. “Eric . . . thanks for today. You’ve been . . .” I paused. “I haven’t had this much fun all summer.”

  “Not even with Math-Eww?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “It’s a very close second.”

  He pumped his fist into the air. “I’m the champion at something.”

  My smile softened. “Yeah. You’re the champion of something, all right.”

  And I was pretty sure my brother had helped me make a decision I hadn’t planned to make.

  Which meant I really was crazy.

  CHAPTER Twenty-Six

  “OKAY,” JENNA SAID. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. What do you mean you’re breaking up with Mathieu?”

  I was pacing outside the apartment building while I talked on my phone, looking like the crazy person I’d apparently become. I’d spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about whether I wanted to do the audition for Mathieu or for me. I’d come to the conclusion that it was for me, especially since our relationship was still so clandestine. If I actually got into his mother’s program, I would have to move to Paris, and there was no way our secret relationship could stay secret forever. Besides, I really liked him, and if we continued to see each other, I was certai
n I’d end up with a broken heart. He still hadn’t asked Camille for her blessing, and at this point, it was obvious he wasn’t going to.

  “Now that I think of it,” I said, “I’m not sure there’s anything to break up. We just walk to and from his apartment and eat breakfast together. How do you define that? Oh crap. We’re breakfast buddies,” I said, horrified by the thought. “We’re like that movie your mom made us watch.”

  Jenna laughed. “The Breakfast Club? No. You’re not in trouble.”

  “Not yet. All the more reason to end it.”

  She turned serious. “But I can tell you really like this guy.”

  “I do,” I said, fighting tears. “But I don’t like all the lying and sneaking around. I deserve better.”

  “Yeah. You do,” she said quietly. “You’ve really changed over there. You’re more sure of yourself. Two months ago you wouldn’t have even considered breaking up with a breakfast buddy.”

  It was nice to hear this confirmation of something I had already felt. I laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “That’s because I never had a breakfast buddy before.”

  “Look at it this way. Maybe you’ll change your mind about Thomas if Mathieu’s out of the way.”

  “Maybe.” But I doubted it.

  “What will you do about practicing on his piano?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to keep playing. Is that wrong?”

  “No, I don’t think so. That’s how becoming breakfast buddies all began. But he might not be open to it.”

  “He’s a really nice guy. He’ll let me keep practicing.” It was true, which made my heart ache even more.

  “Tell me again why you’re breaking it off? Oh, yeah. The whole sneaking around thing.”

  “That seems reason enough to end it.”

  “Yeah. You’re right,” she sighed. “But I really wanted to meet him. Can you wait until after I get there on Sunday?”

  “No. I think I need to end it straightaway. Like a Band-Aid. But you’ll probably meet him. If he lets me keep practicing at his place, maybe you can go with me. You can read or something while I practice.”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t sound too thrilled.

  “He has a brother. He’s fifteen and totally cute.”

  “I don’t think we’re old enough to become cougars.”

  “Maybe he’s only a few months younger,” I teased. “I think you should reserve judgment until after you meet him. Did I mention how cute he is?”

  “You’re terrible,” she groaned.

  “The worst.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Soph. I know you really liked this guy.”

  Once I had made the decision, I wasn’t sure how to end it. I didn’t want to wait until Wednesday to tell him. That would be agony. I needed to do it as soon as possible. But should I call him or meet him in person? If he were my boyfriend, breaking up over the phone would be wrong. But what was the rule for breakfast buddies?

  I sent him a text.

  Can you meet me tonight or tomorrow morning? It won’t take long.

  He answered back in seconds.

  Are you in trouble?

  His response ripped my heart open even more.

  No. I’m fine. But we need to talk.

  I had no idea if the significance of those four words would be lost in translation, but if his slow response was any indication, he got it.

  OK

  7:30 tonight at the patisserie where we get breakfast

  OK

  I went upstairs and found Eric. Camille and Dane were back and the guys were playing a video game. I leaned into his ear. “I need to go out for about a half hour tonight. Around seven twenty-five. Will you cover for me?”

  He kept his gaze on the screen, but his jaw tightened. “No.”

  “I think you’ll approve of my reason for going. I’d like to take care of it as soon as possible.”

  His head jerked up and his eyes widened in question.

  I sucked in my bottom lip and nodded.

  He tossed down his controller and stood. “I’ll be right back. I have to talk to Sophie.”

  “Dude, you just spent all afternoon with her.”

  “I’ll just be a minute. Keep your pants on.” He followed me into the kitchen. “Are you breaking up with him?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you need me to go with you?”

  Where had all this sudden concern come from? I wasn’t the only one being changed by Paris. “No. But I don’t want anyone to know where I went.”

  “Just say you went down to MonoPrix to get tampons or something.”

  I laughed. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

  A smug grin spread across his face. “See, I’m more than just a pretty face.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to make a big deal about me leaving. I’ll just slip out. If anyone asks where I am, tell them the cover story.”

  “Fine. Now I’ve got to get back to the game or Dane’s going to steal all my ammo.”

  Dad and Eva came home soon after that, and everyone went their separate ways after dinner. I caught Eric’s attention and motioned toward the door. He gave me a nod and turned his attention back to the game.

  When I reached the corner across the street from the pâtisserie, I could see Mathieu sitting at a table, his hands folded on the table and a serious look on his face. He stood to greet me as soon as he noticed me crossing the street.

  “Do you want anything?” he asked.

  “No.” I’d been amazingly calm about this decision, but now that he was here with me, I was having second thoughts. The thought of breaking things off with him, of never seeing him again, was heart wrenching. Jenna was right—I really liked him. But we couldn’t let this undefined thing between us continue.

  “Would you like to sit?” He motioned to the chair across from where he was sitting.

  I didn’t want to sit—it seemed like it would just delay the inevitable—but it would be awkward to do this standing up. So I sat down and placed my hands on top of the table, waiting for him to take his seat.

  “My mother was very impressed with your playing,” he said quietly, looking down at my hands. “Are you really planning to audition?”

  “I think so, but I don’t know for sure yet,” I said softly. “I need to talk to my parents.” Those were going to be tricky conversations.

  “Maman needs your email address to send you the information. You can text it to me and I’ll forward it to her.”

  I nodded and cleared my throat. I decided to give this one last shot. “If I audition and get accepted, what does that mean for us?” He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “What happens with you and me?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Will we still be like this? A secret?”

  He closed his eyes. “Sophie.”

  And there was my answer.

  “We can’t do this anymore, Mathieu. I can’t do this anymore.”

  He grabbed my hands and held them in his.

  “I don’t like the secrets and the lies,” I said.

  That got his attention. “What lies?”

  I shook my head. “Mathieu, I’ve had to lie to cover this up. I even had to lie tonight to come here.” I looked into his eyes. “That’s not me.”

  He was silent for several seconds. “Okay.”

  For a split second I let myself think that meant he chose me. Then I pulled my hand from his. “Is this good-bye?”

  He looked into my eyes. “I still want to be your friend, Sophie. We started out as friends.”

  I wasn’t sure it was possible now that I was hearing him say it. “We tried that. Look where it got us.”

  He looked out at the street, then back at me. “If you decide to audition, you will need to practice.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair to you.”

  “Sophie,” he pleaded. “This is my fault. You shouldn’t have to give up something you
love because of me.”

  “Mathieu . . .”

  He shook his head, his mouth set. “No. I’ll fix it. Have Eric bring you on Wednesday and I’ll leave after I let you in.”

  “Mathieu. I can’t let you do that.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “It’s not your decision. It’s mine.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said. “I understand why you can’t let Camille know.”

  “I wish I understood.” He got up then, and turned around and walked away.

  I managed to hold back my tears until he was a block away. Maybe this was for the best. If it hurt this much to lose him now, how much worse would it have been in August?

  CHAPTER Twenty-Seven

  EVERYONE SLEPT IN the next day. The banks were closed for Bastille Day, so Eva was home from work. So was Dad, and we all went out to lunch. While we waited for our food, Eva asked Camille, “Are you going to the Eiffel Tower for the fireworks?”’

  Camille cast a glance at Dane. “Yes. We’re meeting my friends there.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Eva gave him a patient smile. “William, I told you, it’s perfectly safe. Camille and her friends have gone for the last two years.”

  Apparently this had already been a topic of conversation. One I didn’t know anything about, but Eric didn’t look surprised.

  Eva saw my confusion, then said, “There is a big celebration at the Eiffel Tower and the Champ de Mars. There is a huge crowd, but many young people go.”

  My father frowned. “After Sophie got lost last week, I think she should stay home.”

  “I wasn’t lost,” I countered. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go with Camille, but I wanted to make sure the option was open. “I just chose not to come home. Besides, I have a cell phone now. You can call me if you have a sudden panic attack that I might be dead.”

  “Sophie!”

  “William,” Eva said in a soft voice, “police and security are everywhere. It’s only a few blocks away. They will be perfectly safe.”

  “Come on, Dad,” Eric said. “Let us go.”

  He thought about it for a moment, and then nodded his head, a reluctant look in his eyes. “All right, but there will be rules.”

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “Of course.”