I don’t know what to say. I am out of ideas.
“We cannot meet again,” she adds.
“What? Why not?”
“Le Patron saw me talking to you last time. He asked me who you were.”
“What did you tell him?” I ask.
“That you are just a dumb tourist with lots of money in your pocket. And that I had to chat with you for a few minutes. Until I could pick your pocket.”
Except for the part about me having lots of money, Selina is right. Because aside from giving her money from time to time, I feel dumber than ever. I don’t know what to do.
I wander back toward Clara’s table. I keep looking from side to side. Maybe one of the men around us is Le Patron.
I think about something Selina just said. Her aunt’s house is in Toulouse. I’ve heard of that city before. I google it on my phone.
Toulouse is a five- to six-hour drive from Nice. To Selina, that must seem like a whole world away.
“Jean-Luc!” Marcel motions me over. “Henri will be waiting for us. Let’s go!”
Marcel is right. Henri is pacing back and forth in front of Chez Rosa when we get there. With his big catering job coming up, he’s been extra edgy.
“Hurry!” Henri says. “The socca is waiting.”
He’s hardly finished speaking when the Vespa sputters and cuts out.
“Broken down. Again!” Henri clenches his jaw.
I run inside and grab the tool kit. Marcel pulls out wrenches and screwdrivers and oil and other stuff. Tools are strewn across the stone path while he fixes and adjusts and tightens. Meanwhile I lift the empty socca trays from the back of the trailer.
I’m reaching deep into the drum when an idea hits me.
I know how to help Selina escape!
But to pull it off, I’ll have to trust Marcel and Henri. And Selina will have to trust all of us.
I’ve seen how she trembles and how her face turns pale whenever she mentions Le Patron. But I think this plan could work. Still, gaining Selina’s trust will be the toughest part of all.
I don’t tell Henri and Marcel my plan right away. I just say that I have something important to discuss with them later. When we all gather in Henri’s apartment, I close all the windows before I start to tell them about Selina being forced to rob people.
Henri keeps interrupting me. “That has been happening here?”
“Oui,” I say. “Right here in Old Nice.”
“In my city!” Henri’s face is bright red. “We must help that young woman.”
“How about the police?” Marcel asks.
“No police,” I say. “Selina refuses. She won’t last a minute if the police get involved. We need to help get her away from here as quickly and quietly as possible.”
I pause to take a deep breath before I tell them the next part.
“The best time to help Selina escape is the night of the Exposition.” I turn to my uncle. “I don’t want to make that night more complicated, Henri. I know it’s a big event for you. But there will be lots of diversions then. It’s the perfect time to get Selina out of town without Le Patron noticing.”
Henri doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Then that is what we must do. We will get her away from that man. He is a blight on our city. In some ways, it is good my dear Rosa is not alive to hear of this.”
“I know, Henri,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Marcel leans forward in his chair. “What do you need me to do?”
“First of all, neither of you can tell anyone. If word gets out, Le Patron will hurt her even more. Or he’ll take her somewhere else. Either way, she says she won’t survive. And I believe her. I’ve seen what he’s done to her. The bruises. The cigarette burns.”
“Mon Dieu!” Marcel says. My god!
“Exactly,” I say. “Le Patron has seen Selina and me talking. He’s getting suspicious. So I’m going to meet with her just one more time. After that I need you to take over, Marcel. I need you to be Selina’s messenger and driver.”
“Anything,” Marcel says. “I will do it.”
“Thanks. To both of you,” I say. “Here’s what we need to do.”
I describe the next steps. I even tell them that Selina’s escape feels personal to me. That I care about Selina. That her well-being has somehow become tied to my little sister. And how helping Selina makes me feel like I’m making up for some stuff I’m not too proud of.
“I think my little sister would want me to do this,” I say. “Thank you both for agreeing to help. The first thing I have to do is slip Selina a note telling her our plan.”
I flop back into my chair. “But first I have to find her again.”
Chapter Twelve
All week, I keep an eye out for Selina. I have the note in my pocket the whole time. But I don’t see her anywhere. Not at the market, in the cemetery, along the promenade or at the shopping center.
I decide to check the train station. It was crazy busy when we met there before. I hope that also makes it the safest place for Selina. I just need to talk to her for a few seconds. Then I’ll slip her the note that has the details about the escape plan.
While I hang around the train station, I try to think like a pickpocket. If I needed to rob people, where would I go?
Probably where people are distracted, while they’re checking schedules and routes. And where they’re pulling out their wallets to pay for their tickets.
I turn toward the ticket machines. Some police are strolling through the station. They’re wearing guns and looking from side to side. I can’t have them watching me or thinking I’m a person of interest.
But am I a person of interest now that I’m trying to help a pickpocket?
I take a deep breath. I try to do exactly what everyone else around me is doing. A guy standing next to me looks like he’s around my age. When he moves closer to read the schedules, I do the same thing. And when he lines up to buy a ticket, so do I. But Selina is still nowhere in sight. So when I get to the front, I pretend to take a phone call. I step out of the lineup.
While I walk back through the station, I pretend I’m checking the schedules again. I also scan the entire station. At the far end, some tourists are standing in a large group. They’re wearing matching name tags around their necks. A tour guide is giving them instructions.
I scan the group. A small woman is weaving among them. My knees nearly give out when I see that it’s Selina.
Deep breath, Jean-Luc.
I slowly make my way over to her. “Selina,” I mutter. “I have a plan to get you away from here. To help you get to your aunt’s place in Toulouse.”
“What? What are you saying?” Selina hisses the words.
I look up at the schedule. Don’t make eye contact, I remind myself.
“I have a plan. My uncle and my friend and me. We can help you escape.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Selina shaking her head. “It’s not possible,” she says. “Le Patron will never—”
“I just hope you can trust us.” I fix my eyes on the nearest ticket machine. “I absolutely believe we can do this.”
Selina flits sideways. My heart nearly stops. She’s running away—and I haven’t given her the note yet!
I’m holding my breath until she weaves back toward me.
“I need to keep moving,” she murmurs. “Le Patron is watching me more closely than ever. I gave him the receipt. Still…”
“Pick my pocket.” I keep my face turned away. “The instructions are there. Plus some money.”
“Le Patron knows who you are,” Selina says. “It’s dangerous talking to you at all.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This is the last time we’ll talk. My friend Marcel—the guy I work with who drives the scooter—will drive you. You’ve seen Marcel, right?”
“Oui,” Selina mutters.
“If you want to do this,” I say, “Marcel will drive you partway to your aunt’s house.”
Selina turns toward som
e people behind us. The next thing I know, a brown leather wallet flashes. Selina slides it into the side pocket of her skirt. I’m sure nobody else noticed. I hardly saw her steal the wallet myself, and I was watching closely. Selina is one hell of a pickpocket!
“Take the note from my pocket,” I say. “I hope you’ll trust me. Everything is in the note.”
“Why are you helping me?” she whispers.
I swallow hard.
“I’ve made some big mistakes,” I mutter. “Especially after my sister died. I need to do something right for a change. And I want you to be safe.”
When I turn back, she’s gone. So are the note and the cash from my pocket. I think she heard me. And I hope she decides to trust me after all.
I’ll know soon enough.
Chapter Thirteen
Assume that Le Patron is watching us all the time.
I’ve hammered those words into Marcel and Henri. We’ve also gone over the plan about a hundred times. There’s a lot to think about. We need to make and deliver enough socca for everyone at the Exposition. And we need to time everything with Selina’s escape.
Because the Exposition is happening tonight, we stopped delivering socca to the market earlier than usual. While I mix up more socca for tonight, I’m trying not to yawn. Last night I did a midnight drive in Fabio’s truck. I left it near the Exposition. Then I took Henri’s ancient bike from the back of the truck and cycled back to the apartment. I’m extra sleepy after all of that. Then again, I wouldn’t have slept much anyway. I’m too wired about the plan.
Marcel has managed to get the scooter running better than ever. So I’m not at all surprised when the scooter putters and dies outside of the shop. Marcel made that happen right on cue.
Henri and I step out of the socca shop.
“Again that machine breaks down!” Henri shouts. “Tonight—when I have more socca than ever to deliver!”
I run forward to help Marcel push the scooter to the shop.
“Take it to the side!” Henri says. “Marcel, you must fix it. And do it right this time!”
We back the scooter into the alley beside Chez Rosa. With the trailer deep into the alley, I leave Marcel to work on it. I step back inside with Henri.
While the batter rests, all my worries about Selina rise to the surface—just like the bubbles in the socca batter. I still don’t know if Selina is going to show up at all.
What if she’s too afraid? What if she doesn’t trust us? Or even worse, what if Le Patron has figured out that something is up?
But I can’t think about everything that could go wrong. I need to make my best socca ever, like Henri taught me. The Exposition really matters to him. The whole time I work, I can feel his eyes on me.
Henri starts warming the pans. As always, it’s blazing hot inside the shop. While the socca cooks, I pace around the shop, my shirt sticking to my sweaty body. I keep checking to see if the socca is done. Finally Henri gives me a nod.
Oh, thank god!
I burst through the crowd passing by the shop. At this time of day, many people are going for late-afternoon glasses of wine and beer.
“Marcel,” I call, “the socca is ready. Have you fixed the scooter?”
Marcel is sprawled under the motor—a wrench in his hand. “Just finishing the last touches.” He stands up and starts the engine.
Henri steps out of the shop. “Good work, Marcel,” he says. “Jean-Luc will help you load the socca. Then you will drive to the Exposition—slowly, do you hear me? No revving the engine. That is why my poor Vespa keeps breaking down.”
Marcel hangs his head. “Oui, Henri,” he agrees.
I go back into the shop. I return holding trays of socca. I take the trays into the alley with Marcel.
“Open the drum for me,” I tell him.
Marcel lifts the cover. It conceals us even more from the street. We exchange glances. In that moment, I can hardly breathe.
Then I hear a faint rustle deeper in the alley. I don’t think anyone notices. But if they did, all they would see is a young boy wearing a cap, a jacket and a loose pair of pants.
While I help block the view from the street, the “young boy” slips into the drum. Then Marcel covers me while I tuck the socca trays into a crate I had shoved against the alley wall.
Marcel replaces the lid. We secure it to the drum with a cord. Then Marcel tugs his backpack onto his shoulders.
Courage. The word is on my lips as Marcel pulls away, towing the trailer behind him.
The minutes pass slower than ever as Henri and I finish making the socca for the Exposition. I pause when a vehicle pulls up outside the shop.
“Bonjour, Clara,” Henri calls to her from the doorway. “Marcel has gone ahead to the Exposition. We have just the final batch of socca to load into your truck.”
We carry tray after tray outside to Clara’s truck. We ignore the people on the street who are struggling to squeeze past. Nobody seems to notice this final batch is larger than anyone might expect.
After we have it all loaded, Henri and I climb into the truck. Clara winds slowly through the narrow streets. She picks up speed once we leave Old Nice.
Henri is sitting next to me, his jaw set in a firm line. He wanted to tell Clara about Selina. But I reminded him that Selina is at greater risk if more people know. He finally agreed to wait.
Signs for the Exposition loom up ahead. As we pull into the hotel, I’m twitching in my seat. A man in a security uniform motions for us to stop.
Henri leans forward. “We have food for the Exposition,” he says. “Socca from Chez Rosa. My assistant arrived earlier on a scooter.”
Henri gives his name. The man motions us forward.
While Clara circles the hotel, I’m craning my neck. Sure enough, the scooter is sitting in the staff parking area. I’m desperate to talk to Marcel. But we won’t see him for four more hours. That will give Marcel time to pick up Fabio’s truck and drive Selina to Marseille—the next big city. From there, she’ll take a train to her aunt’s place in Toulouse. Marcel will drive back to us in Nice later tonight.
Clara is looking around. “Where is Marcel?” she asks.
I pretend I don’t hear her. Before she can ask anything else, I dash to the back doors of the hotel. Inside, a tall woman with her hair in a tight bun is directing people around.
“Excuse me, madame,” I say. “We have arrived with the socca.”
The woman gives me a nod. Then she turns toward the people working in the kitchen. “We need carts,” she says. “Vite!”
In an instant, people appear with carts. They wheel them to Clara’s truck, then roll them back inside with the socca.
“Do you need me to stay and help?” Clara asks.
“No, merci,” Henri says. “The Exposition has hired servers. I am here only if anyone wishes to learn more about socca. Or about my shop in Old Nice.”
Clara nods. “Have a good evening, Henri. Everyone will love your socca,” she says. “You have earned this honor tonight.”
The whole time, I’m trying not to look at the clock. Instead, I watch as the staff place name cards and vases of flowers on the tables. They arrange the food for the buffet. Soon guests are streaming through the door.
But what’s this? Marcel has just skidded into the room too! My heart nearly stops. I go and tug him out into the hallway.
“Marcel!” I say. “You’re not supposed to be here yet! What happened?”
“She panicked.” Marcel pauses to take a breath. “She kept saying he’d be looking for her.”
Le Patron. “Tell me everything,” I say.
“When we arrived here, I parked the Vespa between some cars so nobody could see her,” Marcel continues. “I told her it was safer to come with me. That we could get away from Le Patron much faster. She finally got in Fabio’s truck with me.
“I gave her the backpack with her next disguise and the money for her train ticket. After we passed Cannes, she asked me to stop for her to use a
washroom. I waited and waited. But she didn’t come back. I knew she had taken off.”
I gasp. It feels like all the air just got knocked out of my lungs.
Henri joins us in the hallway. Marcel tells him what happened. Selina only made it an hour out of Nice with Marcel. My legs are shaking.
Henri lays a hand on my shoulder. “Your friend will be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I say.
“Not for certain,” Henri says. “But she is a survivor. Also, she has money and a disguise.”
I think back to last week at the train station. To how smoothly she lifted the man’s wallet. Her pickpocket skills might help too.
All I can do now is hope she is still making her way to Toulouse.
Chapter Fourteen
With the Exposition behind us, Henri and I settle back into our old routine. We get up early. I help Henri make the socca. I go back and forth to the market. Then I hang out with Marcel.
I’m finishing the first batch of socca for today when Henri turns to me.
“You can take the rest of the day off,” he says.
“Really?” I realize I’ve been so focused on making money for Selina that I haven’t thought about taking a day off.
Marcel bursts into the shop minutes later.
“Jean-Luc is leaving work early,” Henri tells him. “After this week, we will have to do without him. So this will be good practice.”
“What will you do today?” Marcel asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Any ideas?”
“You could explore the coast,” Henri says. “Villefranche is beautiful.”
Marcel nods. “And that beach…oh là là!”
“How do I get there?” I ask.
“Walk through the gates of Old Nice,” Marcel says. “Then turn left and walk past the port. Follow the stone path along the sea. It will take you right there.”
I grab my backpack from the apartment. Before I pass through the gates, I stop at the market.
“Jean-Luc,” Clara calls. “Why aren’t you working?”
“Henri gave me the day off.”
“Bravo!” Clara says. “You have earned that!” She arranges an extra-large portion of socca on a piece of waxed paper.
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