by Melody James
As I catch up with her and Marcus, I spot Mr Chapman and Miss Davis staggering out of their boat. Miss Davis leads Mr Chapman along the platform and through the exit gate. Mr Chapman’s holding his eyes like they’re about to pop out.
Savannah dashes to meet them. ‘Are you OK?’
Marcus is hopping about behind her. ‘What’s up, Mr Chapman?’
‘Is he OK?’ I look at Miss Davis anxiously.
Miss Davis throws back her hood. Every hair is still in place and she’s flushed and smiling from the ride. ‘He put his contact lenses in backwards this morning,’ she explains. ‘He’s only just realized.’
Mr Chapman leans over, blinking wildly. ‘No wonder I kept tripping over things,’ he mumbles. ‘I thought I’d gone blind.’ He straightens and wipes his red eyes with a handkerchief. ‘There,’ he says with relief. ‘I’ve got them out.’ He wraps two tiny contact lenses in his hanky then slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to wear these for the rest of the day.’ He hooks the heavy horn-rims on and looks at Miss Davis.
She smiles at him. ‘They suit you.’
He stares at her, a faint look of surprise on his face. It must be the first time he’s seen her clearly all day. ‘Gosh, you’re looking pretty today, Madeleine.’
Miss Davis blushes. ‘Thanks, Jim.’
Savannah squeezes my arm. She’s grinning like a maniac. ‘Come on, Gem. Let’s find Treacle.’ Yanking Marcus by his hood, she scoots away. ‘Have a good day!’ she shouts back to Mr Chapman and Miss Davis. ‘See you on the coach!’
She throws her arms over mine and Marcus’s shoulders. ‘Marie Claire might not be Jessica Jupiter,’ she announces. ‘But that was a pretty good outcome.’
Marcus is looking confused. ‘What just happened?’
‘Remember the horoscope? Don’t keep your eyes in your pocket?’ Savannah explains. ‘It meant his glasses.’ She tousles Marcus’s hair affectionately. ‘It’s a good job boys aren’t in charge,’ she tells me. ‘The human race would die out.’
Twelve rides and four hot dogs later, I’m exhausted. I’ve given up worrying about my hair.
Jeff and Treacle are leaning against each other as we head back to meet the rest of the school party beside the entrance. Marcus and Savannah have stopped to suck face.
I spot Cindy and Sam milling round a plastic Astérix. Sam’s staring at clouds while Cindy peers into a compact mirror and brushes on lipgloss. Barbara and Rupert are talking animatedly beside them.
I approach. ‘Where’s David?’
‘He’s spent all day taking photos of Astérix characters for his scrapbook,’ Barbara tells me. ‘I think he’s planning to use them to create his own graphic novel.’ She pats Rupert on the arm. ‘I’m so glad Rupert decided to join our group. He’s such a great companion.’
I try not to let my jaw drop too far. Rupert the Bore? A great companion? I paste on a smile. ‘Yeah.’
‘I hope you had fun, Gem.’ Rupert searches my gaze as though looking for clues. Was he hoping to make me jealous by hanging out with Barbara all day?
Cindy slaps shut her mirror compact. ‘Rupert and Barbara have been inseparable.’ She looks adoringly at Sam. ‘I’m just lucky I had you to hold my hand on the scary rides.’
I wonder what ride could be scary enough to make the Ice Queen shiver.
Sam flexes his fingers. ‘I think you broke a few.’ He glances at me. ‘Did you have fun, Gem?’
I look back for Treacle and Savannah and catch sight of Mr Chapman and Miss Davis wandering dreamily towards the exit. ‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling suddenly pleased. ‘It’s been great.’
So what if I haven’t got Barbara and David together yet. There’s still one more night and the journey home. And Barbara’s glowing; her new hairstyle is framing her face so it’s as pretty as a picture. Once David has stopped obsessing over cartoon characters, how could he not notice her?
There’s a warm wind blowing and we’ve opened the French windows onto the tiny balcony outside our room. Treacle’s plaiting her hair ready for bed and Savannah’s carefully smearing on a face pack, as she sits on my moth-eaten quilt.
I lean out and breathe the Paris air. The smell of food makes my mouth water. Madame Sacré Bleu’s meagre supper of egg and chips has left me hungry. Fortunately, Treacle’s filled her pockets with sweets and crisps from the theme park.
‘Are you joining the midnight feast, Gem?’ she calls.
I take a last breath. Even the car fumes smell magical.
‘Coming.’ The trees lining the pavements are lit by street lamps. I can see the vibrant green of budding leaves close to the bark. Another fortnight and the city will be laced with emeralds like a queen.
I drag myself away and scuff across the carpet in my bunny slippers, wrapping my dressing gown tighter round me. Savannah pats the bed beside her and I leap on it and sit cross-legged while Treacle unpacks her hoard of goodies.
‘Did you see Sal and Ryan on the water splash?’ Savannah shoves a handful of crisps into her mouth.
‘I know!’ Treacle’s eyes goggle. ‘Ryan was practically sitting in Sal’s lap.’
I laugh. ‘Sal didn’t seem to mind.’
‘She was probably using him as waterproofing,’ Savannah suggests.
None of us look convinced.
‘What was she using him as at the candyfloss stand then?’ Treacle wonders. ‘A toothpick?’
I shudder at the thought of touching tonsils with Ryan.
Savannah leans forward. ‘So, Gem, you never told us what happened in the Eiffel lift. You were stuck for an hour with Rupert. Any sparks?’
I spear her with a look. ‘Savannah, I’m not going to say it again. I am totally not interested in Rupert. The only way he could get sparks out of me is to hook me up to a generator and pull the On switch.’
Treacle’s shoulders droop. ‘Are you ever going to hook up with anyone, Gem?’
I bristle. ‘What’s the rush? Am I cramping your style?’ I see hurt flash in her eyes. ‘Sorry, Treacle. I know you’re just thinking about me, but really, I don’t need a boyfriend. Homework and the webzine keep me busy enough.’
Savannah smoothes the bump in the conversation. ‘Have you planned what you’re going to write about Paris for your webzine article yet, Gem?’
My thoughts immediately spiral off as I drift through memories of the past two days. The streets and shops, windows piled high with cakes and chocolates, cars and traffic, buildings and people – so many people – rushing and chattering. In French.
Treacle pokes me. ‘You have to write about David and the frog’s leg!’
‘And Rupert pulling out your chair.’ Savannah stifles a giggle with her hand. ‘I wish I’d seen that.’
‘And this crummy hotel,’ Treacle adds.
‘And getting stuck in the lift.’ Savannah pushes on with the catalogue of catastrophes.
I hesitate. ‘But I wanted to write something serious.’
‘Leave the serious stuff to Will,’ Savannah advises.
I picture my Journalist of the Year Award slipping away. ‘I don’t want to spend my life writing fluff.’
‘It’s not fluff,’ Treacle argues. ‘It’s real. It actually happened. You can’t get more serious than that.’
Perhaps they’re right. Maybe I should forget the romantic guidebook I’ve been typing in my head and focus on the reality of a school trip to Paris. My readers are students after all. They’ll probably enjoy the frog leg story way more than a textbook description of the Arc de Triomphe.
And it hasn’t all been mishaps. Suddenly I remember staring at the starry picture in the Louvre with Sam. Amid all the hustle and bustle and disasters, it stands out as a perfect moment. But I can’t write about that. It was my moment. And Sam’s. I don’t want to share it with anyone.
Savannah screws up her empty crisp packet and tosses it across the room. It lands beside the bin. ‘I’m tired.’ She rolls off the bed and h
eads for the door. ‘If I miss any juicy conversation, I want a full account at breakfast.’
‘OK.’ I salute.
Treacle waves goodbye as Savannah heads out of the room. ‘Night, Sav. Sweet dreams.’
Treacle’s looking sleepy too. I start clearing the junk food debris off the quilt. As I dump it in the bin, Treacle snuggles down under the covers.
‘Are you tired, Gem?’ she yawns, her eyes already closing.
‘Yeah.’ I flick off the lamp and slide under my duvet. I leave the windows open and the sound of traffic rumbles comfortingly below.
Treacle’s snoring in minutes. I would be too, but I need the loo. I cross my legs and wonder if I can make it until morning. The bathroom’s all the way down the hall and I’m feeling too cosy and sleepy to move. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift. They wander through the streets of Paris and stop beside a fountain. A big fountain, gushing water. I try to drag my thoughts clear, but the splashing, foaming torrent has me transfixed.
I sit up crossly. It’s no use. I’ll have to use the bathroom if I’m going to get any sleep.
I tiptoe through the darkness, tripping elegantly over Treacle’s rucksack and landing like a ballerina beside the door. I curtsey to my invisible audience, who are applauding my skill and grace, then slip out into the corridor. The fire door at the end is ajar. I nip into the bathroom, go to the loo and nip out.
The fire door’s still open.
Should I close it?
I creep to the end of the corridor and grab the handle. Peeking through the gap, I see Sam sitting on the metal staircase outside. He’s scribbling something on a scrap of paper on his knee. The door creaks as a gentle breeze catches it and Sam turns round. Hastily, he shoves his paper into his jacket pocket.
I stiffen. ‘Sorry—’ I start apologizing for spying. ‘I was just—’
‘It’s OK.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m just sitting.’
I hesitate on the threshold. I want to ask him what he was writing, but I don’t want to seem nosy.
‘It was a song,’ he says, reading my mind.
‘Sorry,’ I say again. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
He looks at me now. ‘Don’t apologize.’
‘Sorry.’ I blurt out another one. I’m probably getting on his nerves. I start to back away.
‘Come and sit with me,’ he says suddenly.
‘No. Really. I should get to bed.’ I feel suddenly awkward; I’m wearing my bunny slippers. And the pink fluffy dressing gown Mum’s promised to replace on my birthday.
He glances at my slippers. ‘Would it help if I laid a trail of carrots?’
I grin. ‘Maybe.’
The awkwardness melts way. I step through the door and sit down on the iron steps beside him. A warm breeze stirs my hair.
Sam nods towards the horizon. Paris is sparkling in front of us, stretching out until it disappears into the dark world beyond. ‘It’s pretty inspiring.’
‘Yeah.’ I drag my gaze from the glittering city.
Sam’s staring at me with moonlit eyes. ‘How’s Ben?’
I blink with surprise. He remembers my brother’s name. ‘He’s OK.’ I hope. ‘I’ve bought him a chocolate Eiffel Tower.’
‘He’ll like that.’ Sam rests his elbows on his knees and stares ahead.
‘He’ll love it,’ I grin.
‘He’s lucky to have such a nice sister.’ Sam stares at his feet. Is he trying to tell me that’s how he thinks of me – as a sister? It’d explain why he asks me out and then trails after Cindy like her number-one fan.
‘He’s easy to be nice to,’ I answer.
Sam suddenly frowns. ‘Don’t you ever worry that you’re too nice?’
I pull back. ‘Too nice?’ How can anyone be too nice?
Sam gazes out at the city. ‘You let people take advantage of you.’
‘What do you mean?’ I’m confused.
‘You let Will steal all the credit on that piece about Dave Wiggins.’ He looks down at his hands. ‘And you let Cindy take your place at the Spider Monkeys gig.’
He thinks I’m pathetic. My heart twists in my chest. ‘Don’t forget I’m just a Year Nine.’ I stare fiercely at the cityscape. Inexplicable tears are pricking the back of my eyes. ‘Which means I’m kind of invisible.’
‘I don’t think you’re invisible,’ Sam says softly. ‘I just wish you’d stop acting like you were.’
His arm touches mine. My breath stops. Then he looks at me. I see past the starlight dancing in his midnight eyes and see a gentle warmth that makes me want to kiss him. He holds my gaze for a second, then moves closer.
‘Help! Help!’ Suddenly a scream shrieks from below.
Sam’s on his feet in a second and clanging down the iron fire escape. I chase after him. Someone’s screaming on one of the floors below. Sam stops at a fire door. The screaming’s howling beyond it. Sam starts hammering. ‘Let us in!’
The door swings open as I catch up and Cindy’s standing in the corridor, eyes wide. She stares at Sam, then at me and her face hardens. It’s like watching water freeze.
Sam pushes past her. ‘Is everyone OK?’
‘It was just Barbara having a nightmare.’ Cindy puts her hands on her hips and watches me slink in after Sam, like she’s watching a cat drag in a dead bird.
Footsteps hammer on the hotel stairs and Treacle and Savannah appear at the end of the corridor. ‘Gemma!’ Treacle rushes towards me as though I’ve been rescued from terrorists. She flings her arms round me. ‘When I heard the screaming and saw your bed empty, I thought you’d been kidnapped or murdered or something.’ She’s squeezing me hard.
Cindy glares at me. ‘She had been kidnapped, by the look of it.’ Her gaze flicks accusingly towards Sam. ‘What exactly were you doing on the fire escape?’
Sam shrugs. ‘Just sitting.’
As he answers, Barbara staggers through the door of her room, hair dishevelled, eyes bright with fear. ‘I’m so sorry I frightened you.’
Feathery white mules start down the stairs towards us, like a pair of swans coming in to land. Above them Madame Papillon wavers unsteadily, her face white with cream and her hair strapped under a net. She looks like she’s heading a zombie invasion. ‘What’s going on here?’ she squawks.
Cindy takes charge, barging past Savannah and facing Madame Papillon head on. ‘Barbara had a nightmare.’
‘I was in the lift again,’ Barbara pants. ‘We were going higher and higher and the doors had been nailed shut. Then the wire snapped and a huge frog’s leg drops from the ceiling and just starts growing and growing—’ She stops, choked.
Cindy hurries to her friend’s side. ‘Poor Barbie,’ she coos. ‘It was just a dream.’ She slides me a look. ‘You imagined the whole thing.’
Barbara collapses into her arms and sobs quietly. Madame Papillon throws her hands in the air, exasperated, and flutters back upstairs.
Sam’s shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, like a vicar at a rave. ‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ he mumbles, backing towards the stairs. He reaches them, grabs the banister and makes his getaway.
Savannah pushes through Treacle’s hug and squeezes me hard. ‘You scared us,’ she scolds. ‘Where did you go?’
I stare at the frayed carpet. ‘To the loo.’ I remember Sam’s arm touching mine and feel a blush rising.
Cindy crashes into my thoughts. ‘You girls should go back to bed.’ She’s talking like we’re six years old.
Treacle throws her arm round my shoulders and leads me towards the stairs, but Cindy hasn’t finished.
‘If you bump into Sam again, Gem, tell him I tried the bracelet on and it fits perfectly.’
‘Bracelet?’ Barbara stops sobbing and gulps in surprise.
‘Sam bought it for me on the Rue Rue Véron,’ Cindy says triumphantly. ‘As a surprise.’ She nudges Barbara back into their room and slams the door behind them.
I feel cold. And embarrassed. Where Sam touched me burns. I’d im
agined the whole thing. He does just think of me as a sister. It’s Cindy he wants. Why else would he buy her jewellery?
Like a burst balloon, I flap upstairs.
‘Are you OK?’ Treacle follows, Savannah on her heels.
‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘It’s Paris that’s the problem.’
‘What’s wrong with Paris?’ Savannah asks in surprise.
‘It makes you imagine things that aren’t real.’ I’m scribbling out my rose-coloured article for the webzine and rewriting the headline. Paris: City of Broken Hearts and Crushed Dreams.
Savannah and Treacle are already at the breakfast table as I reach the dining room. I’ve been trying my best to turn my candyfloss hair into soft curls. Cindy’s comment about the bracelet is still sitting heavy in my chest, so I’m determined to look my best. There’s no way I’m giving her the satisfaction of thinking I actually care if she’s dating Sam. We’re heading home after breakfast and the thought of seven hours on a coach watching her gloat is too much to bear.
Jeff’s the first to spot me and waves. Treacle turns and smiles. ‘You’re looking pretty,’ she says as I reach the table.
‘Thanks.’ I stand, rooted to the spot, trying really hard not to look at Sam. He’s sitting beside Cindy, pinned back in his chair by her full-on attention. Barbara’s beside her and David is sitting at the other end of the table, about as far from Barbara as he can get.
My spirits sink lower, filling my boots. I’m going to be squelching around in misery any minute. Paris has been a disaster. Jessica Jupiter has failed to spark love in the romance capital of the world. I glance at Mr Chapman and Miss Davis gazing at each other over their teacups. Savannah’s done a better job of matchmaking than me.
Just when I think I can’t feel any worse, I spot Rupert, weaving between tables towards me. I grab my chair before he can get his hands on it. The last thing I want is to end up sitting on the floor.
‘Gemma.’ He fixes me with wide puppy eyes.
I feel sick. He’s going to ask to be my travel buddy on the coach again. I flick a switch in my brain that turns my heart to stone. There’s no way he’s going to hog my attention all the way home. ‘Rupert, I’m sorry, but I really can’t—’