Beyond Ficlets

Hanging on your words

Tue, 12 Aug 2008 04:17:23 GMT

Topic: Humor/Romance
Genre: Original
Characters: Real and fictional people.

Description: This may be my favorite chapter. There's a lot of me in it. ;)

Chapter 7: June 9, 2006, Continued
Unexpected Understandings

The metro ride back to the hotel was full of much anticipation on my part. But to my delight, Madame asked me to step aside and talk to her when we arrived home. Without preamble, she quietly instructed me on how to get to the market on Champs Elysées as everyone else filed to get onto the elevator.

“And Senora Diaz and I discussed it. We thought that maybe Jocelyn should go with you—“ I was momentarily thrown into despair “—but decided someone should stay in your room while you’re gone. So as long as you’re comfortable with James going along with you...”

I could finally understand the look in her eyes. She wanted to be the one exploring Paris with me that night. Wouldn’t it be every French teacher’s dream – to spend time in Paris with her best student? I tried harder to hide my excitement.

James wandered over to us in his unhurried stroll. Jones looked at me pointedly. “You’ll need to get eighteen of those little luggage locks with the keys or the combination. Actually, go ahead and get twenty.”

“Okay.”

“You have cell phones, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” James answered suavely. Jones’s expression softened, impressed.

“Be safe.”

“Of course.”

She took off in the opposite direction of us outside the hotel, headed for the police station on foot. James and I sauntered in his leisurely pace down a flight of stairs to the ticket counter.

“Your shadow didn’t come with us,” he said as we slid through the gates to the platform.

I smiled. I knew he meant Stephanie. “Yours didn’t either,” I said.

“Mike?” He was smiling, too.

“No, I guess he’s your protégée.”

“And is Stephanie your little sister?” he asked.

I shook my head. We sat on a dirty bench in the nearly-deserted platform. “I didn’t know her before I came on this trip. I just thought she needed someone making sure she didn’t get lost.”

“Mike just follows me,” he said, seemingly not bothered.

“And he snores too loud, right?” I chuckled.

“I have a confession,” he said. “I kind of only said that because I thought you would want
other company besides your teacher.”

A sighed in mock relief. “You saved my life,” I said, making him smile.

“She thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

“I’m just really into learning French. I think she misunderstood. What language did you take? I mean, you’re already graduated, right?”

“Yeah. Turned eighteen a few months ago.” I internally celebrated my triumph at correctly guessing his age. “But I took Latin for all four years.”

“Latin! They don’t even offer that at my school.”

“Yeah, I went to a little private school. Very traditional.”

I was glad that our conversation was not awkward. It felt so easy to talk to him, especially with all my barriers down. I couldn’t help it; I felt safe with him.

“So was it your chivalrous upbringing leading you to believe I would need a body guard to go grocery shopping tonight?”

Shit, I thought. Maybe it was too early to bring out my unique sense of humor. Not many people get it.

But James, he didn’t skip a beat. “I live for moments like these,” he said. “Hours in the gym.”

I laughed abruptly, totally not expecting his perfect retort. There was no need to worry about my true self coming out. He was quicker than the average good-looking guy.

“So I think I have a good idea how we can get to know each other,” I said. “Tell me a secret. Something you would never tell a stranger. And I’ll tell you one back.”

He took a split second to think. “I cry every time I watch The Lion King.”

Again, I wasn’t prepared for his response, but had my own ready. “I hate mangoes so much that I leave if there’s one in my presence.”

“Mangoes?” he asked. “Really?”

I shrugged. “Your turn.”

“Okay, I’ve never been to Florida.”

“Not even Disney World?”

“Been to Disney Land. I’ve got family in California.”

“That’s bizarre. Anyways...let’s see...I know. If I could learn any instrument, it would be the banjo.”

He smiled.

“You play banjo?” I asked, incredulous.

“Mostly guitar,” he said.

“I knew it.”

“I would want to play pipe organ.”

“That’s amazing,” I said. “I’ve been tentatively learning organ.”

“So you already know piano?”

“You do your homework,” I commented. “Yes. Taken lessons since I was about seven.”

“Your turn,” he pointed out.

I thought hard for a moment. “Got one. I think that you remind me of a really good acoustic song. With really good lyrics.”

“That’s flattering,” he said quietly, smiling. “Then you remind me of a piano etude.”

“Was that before or after you knew I played piano?”

“Definitely before,” he said. “I could tell you were much more complex than the rest of them. And you could keep my attention.”

“And that I’m incredibly difficult?”

“Haha, not for me.”

“Sometimes you’re very pretentious,” I joked. “But also flattering.”

Our train arrived, so we boarded along with barely a handful of other people. The game continued as we sped down the tracks.

“My turn? Okay I got one. It’s a real secret.” He watched me expectantly. I just knew I could be honest. “Sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m onstage than in real life.”

He stared for a bit; serious, understanding. “Not right now, though, right?”

I nodded.

“Mine’s real, too. Sometimes, I hate living in Maple Ridge. I tried running away before, and I can’t wait to move out now.”

We looked at each other. Both of us had just revealed things I was sure we had never told anyone else. It was like we were making a pact. A weird feeling in my stomach made me realize I had butterflies.

“I can’t think of anything to beat that,” I half-whispered. He smiled shyly.

“I got one for you,” he said. “You’re actually a single parent high school dropout.”

I smiled wide. “How’d you guess?” I quipped.

“Okay, my turn. Something I wouldn’t tell just any stranger.” He paused slightly. “Your rosy cheeks are very pretty.”

My hands immediately shot up to my cheeks. “Was I blushing?!” I asked, feeling the blood rush to my face. The butterflies were now swarming.

“Only a little,” he said. “But you have naturally rosy cheeks. And I think it makes you that much prettier.”

My hands were still feeling my warm cheeks. No one had ever given me that kind of compliment. I just gawked at him for a little, until we arrived at our stop.

The thrill of adventure stopped our game. We were preoccupied by the now very crowded street, trying to find the store. I wasn’t sure if I was glad the game was over; on one hand, I was not sure of the direction our secrets were taking, but on the other hand, I wanted them to continue in the revealing way we had started.

The sun was close to setting – it must have been almost ten o’clock. A thrill unrelated to exploring Paris rushed through me when he grabbed my hand to lead me through a crowded area in front of a club.

“I’m your body guard, remember?” he said.

I had no argument.

The grocery store was in such an odd location that we very nearly missed it. It was also one of the oddest grocery stores I had ever been to. Never mind the very strange assortment of food, but the split levels and just the general arrangement of things was really throwing me off. None of the aisles lined up, and things were sorted into rooms. It was like they were trying to fit an entire Super Wal-Mart into a much smaller space. One of the smaller, cramped rooms was like a dime store, and I figured it would be the best place to start.

We combed row after row for anything related to locks or suitcases, winding around awkward display cases of knick-knacks.

“This is the weirdest place I’ve ever been,” I said.

“It’s like a garage sale,” James replied, picking up a randomly placed slinky.

“Oh, this is useless. We have to ask someone.”

We found a counter at the back of the room where a balding man was sorting magazines.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur...J’ai besoin de...crap.” I had forgotten the word for “locks.” “J’ai besoin des locks? Pour les baggages?”

The man looked confused. “Loque?” he said, hesitantly. “Ou loquet?”

I knew those weren’t the right words. “No, pour fermer une valise?”

“Serrure? Ou fermer á clef?”

“Oui!” I said excitedly. I recognized those words from some distant vocabulary lesson, and hoped they were right.

He led us down the messiest aisle and pointed to an array of what looked like school supplies. I thanked him and he went away.

“What the hell just happened?” I asked aloud.

“It sounded like you were having a conversation in French,” James said.

“No, I think I was having a misunderstanding in French.”

“Hey, look.”

He was pointing at what were unmistakably luggage locks. Why they were paired with school supplies, the world will never know.

We grabbed as many handfuls as possible and dropped them in a nearby handcart.

“Now that that’s done,” I said. “Want to look at the food? I think Jocelyn is starting to starve.”

We wandered up and down the biggest of the rooms, and also the one with the most shoppers. We laughed at the strange food selections, trying to decide what Jocelyn would be able to handle with her finicky palate. James picked up a box of what looked like a combination between rice cakes and Twinkies, convinced that she would go for it.

“That looks like vomit,” I laughed.

“I think Mike would like it.”

“And Ray. But no, I think Jocelyn would go for something with peanut butter...”

We searched the aisles up and down, but no sign of peanut butter. A middle-aged man passing us in the aisle stopped when he caught our conversation.

“Well what a relief to hear some American voices,” he said. We smiled politely at him. “Looking for peanut butter?” We nodded, also politely. “Not gonna find any here!” he laughed jovially. “Americans are the only peanut-butter lovers in the world!” and he took off down the aisle, shouting “Good luck!” at us. James and I were gasping in attempt to keep our laughter silent.

We decided to just get her an assortment of familiar-looking cereal, which included Pops and Rice Crispies. We were about to leave when I remembered something. “What about your ear plugs?” I said.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “If Jones asks, all I have to say is that we couldn’t find any.”

So he really did come shopping just to be with me. I decided I was okay with that.

The street had a different kind of energy now that it was dark. James still held my hand as we crossed the street to the Metro stop, and refused to let me carry the bags with the locks, under the “bodyguard” pretense. I was okay with that, too.

I am firmly of the belief that sharing a new experience with a stranger will lead to a closeness that cannot be defined. That was James and I, venturing off on our own to a strange place. I had just been introduced to him three days ago, and we had our first real conversation not two hours ago. But the signs were there of an acquired closeness, both physical and otherwise. I noticed that we sat closer on the Metro ride home, our knees almost knocking each other, and our shoulders definitely in contact. And our conversation was that of friends, and not anything near acquaintances.

*Excusez-moi, monsieur...J’ai besoin des locks? Pour les baggages?: Excuse me, sir...I need “locks”? For luggage?
*Loque: rag.
*Ou loquet: or watch.
*pour fermer une valise: to close a suitcase.
*Serrure: lock.
*Ou fermer á clef: or suitcase lock.

Ay ay ay!

Mon, 11 Aug 2008 01:06:38 GMT

Topic: Humor/Romance
Genre: Original
Characters: Lots of 'em!

Description: Time for the sixth installment! This one's a quickie, so enjoy ;)

Chapter 6: June 9, 2006
Essential Expeditions

“Ay ay ay!”

Gio’s unmistakable voice greeted Jocelyn and I as we entered the lobby at exactly eight o’clock the next morning. We had been told to meet for breakfast at eight no matter what Pílar’s little notice board said. Judging in the tone of Gio’s voice, whatever was on the board did not make him happy. His girls were all around him, too, hissing like angry cats. Sure enough, “Free Time” was written on the note.

Diaz appeared in the elevator behind us, and Gio unnecessarily got her attention. “Diaz! Did you see this!”

“What’s the matter, niño?” she asked, much like a concerned mother.

“She’s left us in the dust again!”

“I know. She wrote that after you all had gone to bed.”

There were continuous angry outbursts as more of us filled the lobby. It was like Gio was leading us all to riot, his loud voice carrying over all of ours.

“Three days in a row, she gives us the ridiculous ‘Free Time!’ Like we would be able to do anything on our own if Ms. Jones hadn’t been here before! And come on – that’s not fair at all!”

“I know, sweetie—“ Diaz tried.

“She doesn’t even do anything! She’s a pillar!”

And suddenly amid the angry mob a bunch of people burst into laughter, myself included. Diaz had that familiar twitch in her lips, but scolded Gio all the same. She somehow ushered us all into the breakfast room, where barely anyone ate. I could see the deepest inset of culture shock: everyone was tired of the bread and coffee. Beside me, Stephanie was describing how much she was craving a bowl of cereal.

Madame Jones had reluctantly thought up some new places we could go. But walking to our
first destination, it was as if a cloud of resentment hung over us.

Well, at least most of us. I couldn’t deny that I was annoyed at Pílar’s lack of enthusiasm, but I could not shake the feeling of contentment I had to just be in the city. I probably would have been happy to simply walk around doing nothing all day.

A few others seemed to feel the same. Ray seemed to be on my same wavelength; happy enough to be here. Danny was as easygoing as ever, lightening people’s moods just by being next to them. James, too, had no change in attitude, and stayed mild and even-tempered the way I had grown fond of.

By midmorning we had lazily made our way to the banks of the River Seine. I had grown tired of everyone’s moaning, and took to walking with the only two who seemed to feel the same as me: Ray and James. I felt lucky enough to sit between them when we boarded the little boat that would take us on a water tour of Paris. My mood grew even brighter as we marveled at the beautiful buildings and bridges, most of my pictures with Ray’s and James’s heads in the corners. We were shocked by the nude sunbathers and weirded out by the gypsies that lived in tents.

I was not too excited to leave the happy little environment on the boat, knowing that everyone’s bitterness would soon overwhelm me. Some more people had left the little dark cloud when we found yet another crepe stand, but others were even further disappointed that it wasn’t a full lunch.

So we walked and walked, searching for a lunch that would appease everyone. A sandwich stand somewhere near Notre Dame carried enough of a variety; everyone else just got more crepes.

I thought Madame Jones had run out of ideas until we got off at the next Metro stop: Les Champs Elysées. I had read so much about this place, but it was still more magnificent than I pictured. People everywhere, shopping and dining in their peculiar dark fashions and with cigarettes hanging off of their lips.

I had no desire to do any more shopping (having already bought the most beautiful dress in the world), and so when our group split in half, I went with Madame and about ten others to sit at a sidewalk café.

I felt that I really understood these little cafes. It was something so intriguing to me to sit there and watch people pass, just to notice the strange idiosyncrasies and quirks that everyone is bound to have. In the heart of Paris, though, everything was multiplied. Lovers walked by, glued at the hands or lips, oblivious to anyone else in the world. Sophisticated business men passed, talking quietly on cell phones in myriads of different languages. Tourist groups were easily spotted with their bright clothing and cameras. I was instantly glad our group was so downtrodden at the moment; we normally would have stood out like a giant sore thumb on the hand of Paris.

I shared an Orangina with Stephanie at our little outdoor table, having ordered it in well-practiced French. Madame beamed at me for the entire afternoon.

We arrived at the hotel with an hour to go before dinner. I could tell something was not quite right as we shuffled into the lobby, eager to lie down in our beds for a bit. Everyone from the shopping group was blocking our path upstairs, watching the exchange that was going on at the front desk.

The youngest woman of the Georgia chaperones was standing there, I only recognized her because she was the only other chaperone who ever came with us out of the hotel. She was trying to stay patient as she explained something to the harassed-looking woman at the desk. The only little snippet I caught of it sent Madame Jones straight to the desk.

“It was a little black bag that had all my jewelry in it—“

“What’s going on?” Madame asked, also trying to keep patient.

The woman turned to explain. “We just got back about fifteen minutes ago. I went to go put a new bracelet I got with the rest of my jewelry, and I couldn’t find it anywhere. I looked through the entire room. Then I had the kids go check all their stuff – it all seems to be there.”

Madame spoke in rapid French to the woman behind the counter, who soon went to a back room, emerging with a tiny young woman who appeared to be the maid.

It was the quietest any of us had been since the beginning of the trip. I could see Madame Jones’s face turning red, and she had the rest of us search our stuff and report back downstairs.

None of us had anything to report, but while we were waiting for the woman at the desk to call someone (possibly the police), Madame told me that her new and very expensive cell phone was missing.

For some reason that I didn’t understand, the police weren’t going to come. Madame kept firing angry questions at the maid, making the young woman recoil into extreme confusion and fear. How could we tell if she was guilty?

But no matter what was going on, we were going to miss dinner with Pílar if we didn’t leave soon. And though no one really wanted to go, having had their fill of French cuisine, it was already arranged.

I was still concerned about our stuff in the hotel. I didn’t have anything of real value to me, aside from some money hidden in my duffel bag, but just leaving it all there unprotected was worrisome.

I told this to Madame Jones and Senora Diaz on the Metro ride, and they both shared my sentiments, but didn’t have any real solution. Madame was planning on stopping by a police station that night; she wanted to tell the story herself, in person. But she said she wished she could get out to some kind of store to buy us all locks for our luggage.

“I’ll go,” I said at once.

Jones was doubtful. “Where? The only place I could think to buy anything like that would be that grocery store over by the Champs Elysées. And I wouldn’t want you going by yourself, not at all.”

“I know how to get there,” I said, looking at Senora Diaz hopefully. Maybe she could convince Jones to let me go?

“Uh, I don’t know,” Jones hesitated.

Time to pull out the big guns. “Don’t you remember the project you had us do in French III? The one where we had to learn the Metro system? Well I learned it all then. Plus, I really need to get some Woolite to wash my jacket.” The last part was an outright lie – I just wanted to go somewhere on my own for once.

Jones looked at Diaz, who seemed to read her mind. “I really would prefer to stay at the hotel with the kids,” Diaz said. “I’m not going to be like some chaperones who don’t know who’s watching their kids.” She glanced pointedly at the Georgia chaperones, who all sat there like lumps.

Out of the figurative left field, a voice from behind me said, “I’ll go with you.”

I turned, trying not to show the surprise on my face. James was looking at us with no sign of awkwardness. I could hear the wheels turning in Diaz’s and Jones’s brains. In fact, I could see what Diaz was thinking – her eyebrows had shot straight up.

“I needed to get some earplugs,” he said, completely convincingly. “Mike snores.”

I found this funnier than it was meant to be, and had to work exceedingly hard to keep from laughing.

Madame Jones sighed. “We’ll think about it,” she said to Diaz. I knew what their dinner conversation was going to be about.

We found Pílar and Margarita outside of an obscure little restaurant that looked more enticing than anything so far. We were led down to a basement dining area by trendy young waiters who were eager to talk to us in English. It was like the French version of a hip pizza place.

And though nobody had much to complain about (the food was actually very appetizing), that soon changed.

A group of young American tourists had joined us down in the basement; their group slightly smaller than ours. It broke my heart to see them – obviously having the time of their lives, while our group was recovering from two full days of abandonment. Their tour guide soon joined them; he was young, American, and extremely enthusiastic. He stopped by each table to talk to his group, sharing inside jokes and answering every question thrown at him.

No one in our group missed this. We sulked through the rest of our dinner, and spirits were pulled even further down when Madame stood to address all of us.

“Just to let everyone know, I’m going to be stopping by the police station tonight to tell them in person about what happened at the hotel. We’re also going to send some people out tonight to buy locks for all of the luggage. So if you could please raise your hand if you don’t already have a lock.”

Nearly everyone raised their hand. I hoped Madame caught the glint in my eye, reminding her that I wanted to be the one to go shopping. Especially if it meant with James.

Voulez-vous...

Fri, 08 Aug 2008 23:53:11 GMT

Topic: Humor/Romance
Genre: Original!
Characters: Many :)

Chapter 5: June 8, 2006, Continued
Convenient Conclusions

Unfortunately, Jocelyn had reached the bed before me, and lay sprawled across it, already sleeping. Wondering if I was ever going to sleep again, I wandered downstairs to the lobby in hopes of catching a quick game of Egyptian Ratscrew.

There was still a line to use the public phone, and as I passed it I could hear Jade shouting at one of her parents to put more money in her debit account. I couldn’t help myself, and glared at her as hard as I could, hoping to melt her into a puddle of something on the floor.

My spirits were lifted, though, when I peered through the front glass of the lobby. Sitting on the curb were the two familiar frames of James and Mike, silently listening to their individual iPods. Just then, as I contemplated joining them, something inside of me broke, and I came to a realization:

What did it even matter? What would be so horrible about having a good time in Europe, if it happened to be with James or not?

And as I got closer to the door, the comprehension continued to flood me. It was extremely likely I would never see these people again; not any of them. As soon as I got back home I was going to leave for college. The full extent of these facts was pumping me with confidence and a desire to have the best damn time of my life.

I sat beside James on the dirty curb, smiling. Baby steps, I thought.

He took out one of his little earplugs and handed it to me wordlessly. “Chili Peppers?” I guessed. He grinned bigger, showing me the extent of his very even, white teeth. Remarkably good teeth.

“No, but I think you’ll like it.”

“That’s very presumptuous,” I said while smiling, and took the little earpiece. This was going well.

Two minutes into the song had me sitting there in shock. I liked it so much that I couldn’t believe I had never heard it before. I had a soft spot for piano, and whatever this music was incorporated the instrument so tastefully amid the guitars and drums.

“The Hush Sound,” he said. “My cousin in Chicago sent it to me.”

I breathed a “Wow” as the final chord of the song ended, and fluidly moved into the next one. In contrast to the first song, “Echo,” this one was a light acoustic piece called “The Artist.” “What band is this?” I asked.

He looked amused. “Same band.”

“It’s so different, but still so good,” I said. We were quiet as the song ended and moved to the next, “Carry Me Home.”

“I have to be honest,” I said. “I didn’t expect your taste music.”

“I didn’t expect you to sing Chili Peppers in the metro.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

Mike was staring at us. “What are you listening to?” he asked.

“Hush Sound,” James answered.

“Ugh.” Apparently Mike wasn’t a fan.

“What are you listening to?” I asked.

“Timbaland.”

“You would,” I retorted.

Our assembly was starting to gather in the lobby, and seeing the three of us outside, also felt comfortable doing the same. Madame Morton led us all onto the Metro, and we met Pílar and her ridiculous flower a short while away.

I breathed a sigh of relief, for the restaurant was most obviously French. We again had an entire room roped off. As we sat at tables of six, Stephanie beside me and Shay in front of me, Diaz stood for our attention.

“As you know,” she began resignedly, “those of you allowed to, that means, if you are over sixteen or if you have parental permission, will be given two opportunities to taste wine.” There was an outbreak of excited chattering: tonight was the night. “One time in France, one time in Spain. I suggest you try one of each kind, white and red. The waiters will come around now for your choices.”

She sat next to Pílar, who looked grateful at not having to speak to us. I shook my head.

I knew I was going to order the red wine on both occasions, I already knew my preference. I guess that was the upside of having a family in love with wine.

I watched as each person took excited sips as soon as the glass was in his or her hands. The reactions at my table were all the same. Their bitter faces made me laugh. But in the opposite corner of the room, Gio sat with Callie, Angelica, Sheri, and Marissa. They had all downed their glasses immediately, and were laughing loudly. So, so stupid.

I artfully tasted mine, and liked it, but knew that it was very cheap.

“You like that gross stuff?” Stephanie asked.

“Only the red kind,” I said. “I guess blush is okay, too. But I hate white wine.”

“How old are you?” Shay asked, curious.

“I’ll be eighteen on the last day of our trip.”

They all looked impressed, and most of them began passing their glasses down to me.

“No, no, no!” I said. I thought for a second what would happen if I got drunk. “It might taste better with the food. And I don’t want any of that white crap anyway.”

I was sorely mistaken about the food. Moments later, we were presented with salads that had similar dressing to last nights’. The only two at my table who finished their bowls were Ray, of course, and Shay.

We got to talking, mainly about the food and wine. It was easy to see that Shay was one of the most intelligent people at our table. She seemed much older than her fifteen years.

“I plan on eating my way across Europe,” she said, slowly sipping her wine. The graceful way she did it made her look at least thirty. “I’ll eat anything they put in front of me. You never know what you’re going to like.”

Shay kept to her promise when our entrees were served, but only hesitantly. They strange food looked so unappetizing that we all just stared at it, trying to figure out what it was. Three large, pizza-like dishes were in front of us. At least, pizza was the closest thing we could come up with. Where the cheese would be on top of the crispy, flat bread was what looked like some kind of onion mixture. In the center of the circle was a little tower of some kind of white, potent cheese.

“It’s not that bad,” Shay said. I couldn’t help but noticed she was really taking her time with it. “I think it’s onions and cheese mixed together on top. And the middle part might be goat cheese.”

Stephanie groaned, and pushed the tray further away from her. I glanced at Jocelyn down the table. She looked absolutely revolted.

I tried two tiny slices, but could force it no longer. Dessert was a sweet relief. Everyone ate the flakey, raspberry-filled pastries, but still wanted to get out of their as soon as possible.

The conversation turned to how this was probably all Pílar’s fault.

“First an Italian restaurant,” Stephanie said, “and now this nasty dinner.”

“And the hotel! She had to be the one to pick that place.” Jocelyn reminded us.

“I still don’t like how she’s left us to fend for ourselves for everything except dinner,” Shay said.

“Yeah, I don’t buy the whole ‘Free Time’ thing,” I said.

Our conversation was constantly interrupted by the too-loud laughter of Gio’s table. Something gave me the strange suspicion that they had gotten their hands on more wine.

Everyone was so happy to leave that I don’t think they noticed when Pílar parted with us. Madame Jones was now leading our way, and Senora Diaz was headed to the back of our group to tell off Gio and his girls for being ridiculously loud.

But I was listening when she went to them, and what she said made me like her even more. “Listen, I know you probably had that wine on an empty stomach, but Jones doesn’t need to see you being intoxicated, so keep it down.”

Gio burst out laughing, louder than before. “Oh, Diaz!” he said in that funny way of his.

“Oh, niño,” she responded.

“Niñoooo!” he shouted with mirth, causing the girls to explode with laughter.

“Ay ay ay,” Diaz said, walking away from them, trying not to laugh.

Gio imitated her again. “Ayyyy ay ay!”

They kept it up the entire way to where we were going, which turned out to be the Eiffel Tower again. But this time we walked all the way so that we had to look directly up to see it.

I had to admit, it was fantastic. Before I came here, I thought it was cliché to be excited about the Eiffel Tower. That’s what everyone visits in Paris, right? But it’s dizzying complexity made it hard to look away.

“Who wants to go to the top?” Madame Jones asked us excitedly.

“You can go to the top!?” Stephanie asked. Jones almost snarled at her for her ignorance. I protectively put my arm around her, and pointed to the elevators sneaking their way up the tower’s legs.

“I don’t want to go.” The voice was solid but fearful, and I somehow didn’t recognize it. Turning a little, I saw that it was Marissa, the quietist of Callie’s little gang. She was blanching.

“That’s fine, honey,” Diaz said. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Jones was not at all happy about this. “No, Liz, you’ve never been up before, I’ve been three times—“

“And you will enjoy it the fourth,” Diaz responded with finality.

Jones huffed, and turned to stomp away and get the tickets, but her exit was foiled when she realized she had to count how many of us there were.

Stephanie was practically writhing under my arm, making me realize I really had to go to the bathroom. I asked her if she needed to come along, and she quickly said yes.

When I asked Diaz if it was all right for the two of us to go to the bathroom, I suddenly had a group of ten standing behind me. Apparently, they all had to go, too.

Diaz said it was fine if we all went, since Madame Jones was going to be in line for a very long time.

The area under the tower was vast with people, and we didn’t know where to find the facilities. The twelve of us walked around in a huge circle, me as the leader, to find some kind of sign or authority figure to ask. Finally, a round man in what looked like a police uniform was strolling by, and I quickly stopped him.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur,” I said in my politest voice. The man grinned. “Où sont des toilettes?”

He pointed and mumbled something I didn’t understand, so I just said “merci” and led us in that direction.

“That was really good, Ellie!” Stephanie told me, and to my surprise, everyone echoed her sentiments.

“Yeah, you sounded like a French person!”

“Thanks you guys,” I said, blushing, “but it wasn’t any big deal.” I’d known how to say that since French I. Apparently, Stephanie did not.

Everyone was now practically skipping to the direction we were headed. The wine had effected our bladders rather quickly, and most of my little group were claiming they were about to pee their pants if we didn’t find a bathroom soon.

Promising little signs led us from under the tower, around a winding sidewalk, and down a flight of stairs. Everyone groaned; there were thick iron bars closing off the entrances to the toilets.

Wondering why on earth the public bathrooms would be closed at a huge tourist attraction, I took my followers back under the tower and out the other side to the street that ran past.

Out here, the exciting Paris nightlife was beginning. Tons of people were walking around, holding hands or taking pictures. A man and a woman in their wedding clothes were having pictures taken at a carousel across the street.

But we were on a mission, and I was determined to accomplish it without getting us lost. We walked at an extremely fast pace until a little plaza opened up. I knew it was a long shot, but I brought them all inside and asked politely if we could use the bathroom. The man at the counter was not happy about this, and kicked us out rather forcefully. I was embarrassed, but everyone else was laughing.

We now practically ran further down the street until it started to wind and go downhill. Finally, shouting with laughter, I spotted a public toilet on the side of the street.

It was, in fact, a very public toilet. It was like a port-o-potty at a fairground: one little stall in a seemingly inappropriate place (on the side of the road). The letters at the top said “WC,” and I knew that stood for “water closet.”

Everyone kindly let me go first since I had found the place for them. But when I finally stepped inside it and locked the door, it was all I could do to actually use the thing.

Everything, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the sink, and unfortunately the toilet, was soaked. I cringed, and took a deep breath.

When I left it, shuddering in horror, the door slammed behind me, and a very loud whirring noise erupted from inside. Jade was next in line, and was angrily trying to open the door. I suddenly realized the place was cleaning itself, and if the water on all surfaces was any sign of it, it would be very clean with it was done.

The door opened, and sure enough, everything was dripping. I could hear Jade making disgusted noises at the wetness inside.

The only major problem with this bathroom was that it was just the one. I knew we had been gone for nearly fifteen minutes, and at the rate we were going, it would be another half an hour before we got back to the tower. I was not looking forward to Jones’s reaction to our absence.

The four guys with us, Danny, Ray, James, and Mike, had decided to let the girls go first. It was a nice gesture, but apparently Danny and Mike couldn’t hold it anymore. I heard them relieve themselves behind the structure while Jade was inside.

“That’s disgusting, you know!” I yelled to them from the other side. “And probably illegal!”

“Well, a man has to do his business!” Danny called back.

I brought out my bottle of hand sanitizer and assaulted them with it as soon as they rounded the corner. I felt like a mom.

As the six remaining patrons visited the stall, Jade and Stephanie were at another little tourist stand a few feet away. I watched them, waiting for everyone to finish. Every time Jade would pick something up, Stephanie would grab one for herself to look at. The process went on for minutes: Jade looked at a visor, Stephanie looked at a visor. Jade picked up a bracelet, Stephanie picked up a bracelet. Finally, Jade was trying on a tacky pink jacket with “Paris” in sparkly letters across the front. I rolled my eyes as Stephanie tried one on, too.

They bought their matching jackets and kept them on. I was at least grateful that their new twin look kept Stephanie’s arm from being around me. I did not want that glaring tourist arrow pointed at me.

Overall, I was proud of myself for taking a group of kids gallivanting through the city. Ray walked beside me, now. He had a question for me.

“Ellie,” he said. “How do you hit on a girl in French?”

The audacity of the question from this gentle bear was hilarious to me. “I don’t really know how to flirt in French,” I admitted, still amused. “But I think just being able to speak to a girl in French would impress her enough.”

“Really?” he asked hopefully. “What would I say?”

“Um...You would start out by saying, bonjour, mademoiselle.”

He repeated it five times. “Okay, got it.”

“Then, you would say, comment allez-vous?”

“Comment allez-vous... Comment allez-vous... bonjour, mademoiselle, comment allez-vous...”

He said it under his breath the entire way back to the tower, where we found the rest of the group. Jones looked frantic, as I had expected.

Before she could explode at us, Stephanie saved my ass. “Madame!” she said excitedly. “Ellie can speak French so good!”

Jones’s look changed. She was no longer shooting daggers with her eyes. “Where were you guys?”

I knew that Diaz had probably told her we had gone to find a bathroom, but she wanted to sound angry nonetheless. I patiently explained to her that the public bathrooms were closed, and the closest thing we could find was the w.c., and since there were twelve of us it took a while.

She accepted this. I realized it must have taken us a while indeed, as the sun was now close to setting. This meant it was near nine or nine-thirty at least.

We now happily made our way to the top, squeezing into the large elevators on the three different levels. The top level was my favorite. I spent most of the time up there by myself, just staring out, singing to myself.

“They will see us waving from such great heights...”

The sun was truly set now, and the city was starting to emit its own glow. Suddenly, a million lights were flashing all around me, illuminating the tower. I was finally happy to be in the city of lights.

*Excusez-moi, monsieur, Où sont des toilettes?: Excuse me, sir, where is the bathroom?
*merci: thank you
*bonjour, mademoiselle, comment allez-vous: hello, miss, how are you?

Push-up braaaa

Tue, 05 Aug 2008 21:22:26 GMT

Topic: Humor/Romance
Genre: Original!
Characters: Same as before :)

Description: Yeah, baby! Get ready for some decision making, shopping, and a face full of...you'll see. :)

Chapter 4: June 8, 2006, Continued
Ego Exposed

The buildings surrounding us were ancient to my American eyes. Their gargoyles peered down at us from every rooftop, their neatly preserved stone almost crumbling in front of us. It was such a strange contrast to look down from these monuments to see motor vehicles frantically speeding past, and super-fashionable French people hurrying to work.

Madame Jones was suddenly next to me. She gestured at the building I was facing. “This is the old Paris Opera House,” she said with a know-it-all smile. “What Phantom of the Opera was based off of.”

I practically melted. “Can we go inside?!” I asked at once.

“Désolée*, mademoiselle,” she said. “It’s not really open to the public.”

I gawked at the building, taking endless pictures, some with Jocelyn and Stephanie. Everyone else seemed to be getting antsy, so we moved on.

The exchange station was a necessity if we were going to be shopping, and it took a good half an hour out of our morning. Noreen was happy to bore us all into the fine details of exchange, which she was wrong about nevertheless. I didn’t even want to correct her. She was just too annoying.

We had to trek another block or so to get to our first real destination, Les Galleries Lafayettes. We stopped under the portico of this giant building, given instructions to shop to our heart’s content for three full hours, and meet at the top level for lunch.

If any of us thought that three hours would be far too much time, we were very much mistaken. As soon as we walked in, everyone’s attention was drawn upward to a marvelous stained glass circular roof that had to be at least seven stories high. Each of the seven levels were open, like balconies spiraling up to the magnificent ceiling.

In essence, the place was one giant department store. The first level was cosmetics and jewelry, and Jocelyn, Stephanie, and I were drawn to the enticing perfume samples. We collected all the ones we could find.

Floors one through three were women’s clothing. It was a staggering amount; the selection too wide to even attempt in one day. Yet we were still drawn to the fascinating clothes. We covetously ran our fingers through the most expensive clothing we would ever touch, taking pictures with wildly avant-garde mannequins.

The fourth floor was the biggest toy store I had ever seen. Most of our classmates were found here, playing with the various French toys. We joined along in the fun, pulling ourselves away only because our time was limited.

The fifth floor was men’s clothing, and though the fashions were suave, we did not spend any time there. The sixth floor seemed to be a giant gift shop, where we encountered some more of our classmates. Just for tourism’s sake, I bought a black hoodie with “Paris” embroidered on the front.

Jocelyn and I wanted to go back through the women’s clothes in the time we had left, so Stephanie stayed behind in the gift shop with Jade and Noreen. I could only hope they would keep an eye on her the way I did.

Trying on clothes was somehow extremely cathartic. In order to experience all the excitement of Les Galleries, I think I pushed my struggling thoughts to the back of my mind. This familiar action of checking prices and finding fitting rooms was letting those thoughts creep back to the front.

As I placed a daring tube top back on the shelf, knowing I’d never have the guts to wear it, James’s face came to my mind’s eye. I felt so stupid to let my subconscious get away with such a slip. I never really had “crushes” on boys...I was holding out for something real. What was more transparent than this, a boy I had barely met?

It killed me to think that I was going to make a call home that night.... “Oh, Paris is great…and there’s this amazingly cute boy and I’ve been trying to get pictures of him when he isn’t looking...”

That was even too ridiculous for me. I hung a flowing black dress back on its rack, my mind buzzing. I felt like a decision was weighing on my brain like a seesaw: I could force myself to avoid him, as to not let his comfortable good looks get in the way of my sight-seeing; or I could make him the object of my sight-seeing...

No, no, no. I was telling myself how wrong it was to treat a guy like a piece of meat, when suddenly, I stopped in my tracks.

I had just pulled a soft gray dress off of a rack, and it was so unique, so...me, that I just stood and stared at it for a moment. It had a complicated set of knots in the front that turned into delicate straps over the shoulders, and a gorgeous beaded flower in red and gold on the side. Jocelyn looked over, and urged me to try it on.

It was obviously made for me. It fell gracefully to my mid-thigh, and hugged every curve in exactly the right place. Clothing never looked this good on me.

“Ellie, you have to get it,” Jocelyn said when I modeled it for her.

Though I knew she was right, I had to look at the price tag. “Ugh, 60 euros*...”

“Whatever, I’ll lend you some if I have to, but you have to get it!”

I squealed happily and brought it to the nearest register as soon as I could. I practically screamed “Merci!” at the cashier as she handed me the merchandise.

The time was just about right for us to head upstairs for lunch, and I made a split-second decision not to show the dress to anyone. This was easier said than done. I didn’t count on the bag with the store’s name being so gigantic, and of course Madame Jones took sight of it. After Jocelyn and I got some food from the buffet, Madame beckoned us over to hers and Senora’s table to see what I bought. Both teachers loved the dress, and it unfortunately led Madame to relapse into memory of the first dress she bought in Paris. After she described the outrageous amount she paid for it, and the fact that it still rests in her closet, untouched, Senora Diaz suggested I wear it sometime on the trip. I was keen to agree with her, and told her I wanted to wear it right then.

From what I could tell, most of our group had joined us and were eating close by. I saw Stephanie sitting safely with Jade and Noreen; they were all putting in matching earrings. The three Georgia girls were near them, and took up two whole tables with their shopping bags. Of course James and Mike were there, making me realize that I hadn’t quite made up my mind about anything yet...

And then I saw something that surprised me in a pleasant way. At the table beside Mike and James was their classmate Scott, sitting with none other than Danny. This Danny was again different; not the obnoxious joker or subdued boy, but now a genuine-looking, delightful guy. He seemed to be bringing out the best in his timid roommate Scott, who was laughing and looking more confident than I had yet seen. James and Mike looked congenial, as well.

Madame drew my attention back to our table. She looked at me in a way I recognized; it was how she looked when she thought she was going to be giving me a treat. “You wanna see something cool?” she said in her artificial teenage voice.

It was all I could do to not slump my shoulders and say, “I guess,” but I summoned the courage and tried to look excited.

She led me, Jocelyn, and Senora Diaz up a flight of stairs behind the buffet line, and I at once realized it was cool. All around us was an awesome view of Paris, and though it was far off, we could finally see the Eiffel Tower. Stephanie had snuck up to join us, I guess she had gotten used to following me. I asked Madame to take a picture of the three of us and Senora went to gather everyone else.

It took over an hour for everyone to take their picture with the Eiffel Tower. This was mainly because Callie insisted on getting twenty different angles, and then realized she needed just as many with her jacket off.

The mood among us was light and happy. Madame was in her best mood thus far when she told us she was taking us on her own kind of tour. The Metro was not nearly as crowded as it had been in the morning, so it was a much easier process boarding, in which Gio did not almost lose fingers.

Everyone was cheerfully chatting about their purchases as we sped town the tunnels. Stephanie was again resting her head on my shoulder, and Danny was on my other side, looking content.

“Hey, Ellie,” he said to me, “you’re a singer, right?”

I was slightly taken aback by the question. He saw my expression and quickly explained my unasked question, “I saw you in the musical at the end of the year.”

“Oh, wow. I’m glad you came out to see it.”

“Definitely. You were good. But you like to sing, right?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite thing.” There was no denying.

“Then let’s sing something. Right now.”

I laughed. So many people, upon finding out that I am a singer, will try and force a song out of me, which is probably one of the most embarrassing instances to admit to. But Danny asked it in such a way that he made me want to do it.

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to sing?”

“Oh, I dunno. How about...the Chili Peppers?”

I laughed again. I tried to keep my gaze away from James, who was sitting right across the aisle from us. “Chili Peppers sounds good. What song?”

He started bobbing his head, “Scar tissue—“

I joined in. “That I wish you saw...”

And we both stopped at the same time, paused, and laughed. “Do you know the words?” he asked.

“No! I thought you would!”

“Let’s try it again. Maybe it’ll come to me.”

“Scar tissue that I wish you saw...push-up bra...”

And I cracked up again. Danny kept going.

“Scar tissue that I wish you saw... Bathroom stall...broken jaw...”

“How could I know and love that song and never know the words?” I said.

I was incredulous at the answer I got. A low, smooth voice was singing the right words under his breath. “Scar tissue that I wish you saw, Sarcastic mister know it all, Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you ’cause, With the birds I’ll share...”

I stared blatantly at James, who was grinning, and Danny joined in. “With the birds I’ll share this lonely view...”

All I could do was smile, slightly open-mouthed, as they finished the chorus and moved onto other Chili Peppers songs. Could anything surprise me after this?

The answer to that was a resounding “yes.” Madame unloaded us all at some random stop halfway across the city and had us walking down an unnamed busy street. On every side of us were darling little outdoor cafes, and ahead of us was a monument of some guy on a horse that I assumed was the first stop of our tour.

Little sidewalk stands full of touristy items began to appear as we headed to the statue. Madame was in a wonderful mood, and didn’t even mind when half of our group stopped to buy tacky little souvenirs from the stands. She didn’t even notice the Kama Sutra stand that Sheri and Callie were perusing. I hid my disgust to avoid a scene.

We were now pretty close to the statue, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out who it was modeled after.

“Is it Napoleon?” I ventured a guess out loud. I was the only one still stuck on this; I though four years of French would help me to come up with more than just “Napoleon.”

Madame Jones called my name, and I turned to my left to face her. But instead of exasperatingly asking if the statue was Napoleon, I got a face full of Eiffel Tower. It took me a second to figure out how I had missed it in the first place: the street was lined with tall buildings that suddenly broke off to give the breathtaking view of the tower, the closest we had been yet.

Soon everyone was shouting and pointing. The rest of our group had caught up. Our first group picture was in order.

The rest of the afternoon was spent milling around the little square we were in, checking out the vendors and just walking around. Almost everyone tried crêpes and loved them, except for Angelica, who claimed the chocolate and banana one made her sick.

Seeing that we were all tired, and that Angelica really wanted some Tums, our dutiful chaperones led us back to Mister Bed with a few hours to go before dinner. The time was perfect for making phone calls home and organizing new purchases, and of course, napping. Having received so little sleep last night, Jocelyn and I were especially up for the last option, but somehow time was spent so quickly showering and phone calling that by the time we could just lie down and sleep, I only had half an hour before leaving for dinner.

*Désolée: sorry.
*From what I can remember, 60 euros converted to about $45 US in 2006? I think?

SING ALONG

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 17:29:56 GMT

Topic: Humor/Romance?
Genre: Original
Characters: Too many to name

Description: Yay! Chapter 3! ...Proofread, this time. But it made me realize that not much actually happens in this chapter. Haha. The excitement comes later, I guess. :)

Chapter 3: June 7, 2006, Continued, to June 8, 2006
Tasteless Tourists

“What the hell is that?” Sheri proclaimed from the back of the group.

I admit, I was inclined to ask the same thing. We had met up with Pílar at an intersection east of Sacre Coeur in front of a Metro station. She was smiling at us, holding a revolting Technicolor plush flower with a smiley face in the air. I snuck a glance at Senora Diaz, who was holding back laughter. Madame Jones looked confused.

“Hello,” Pílar said. “This is Margarita,” she gestured to the absurd flower. I noticed one thing aside from the stupid flower, though, and that was the slowness and deliberateness of her speech. I realized with a jolt that she was probably not very fluent in English. “Please follow her for you to not get lost.” Suspicion confirmed.

I stared at Jocelyn, who sarcastically said, “Well at least she could introduce her flower if not herself.”

I was trying so hard to keep myself distanced from the group. I knew if I didn’t associate myself with them, I would get along fine as a tourist in Paris. Margarita would make that impossible. And when I didn’t have Margarita lighting my way, Stephanie would cling to my arm and point at things while asking what they were in a loud voice.

Needless to say I was glad they had roped off a section for us in the restaurant, but that didn’t distract any of us from the fact that it was an Italian restaurant. I somehow wound up sitting at a table with Jocelyn and Ray. All three of us, though strangers, were able to unite under our confusion of being led to an Italian restaurant in the heart of Paris.

I learned quickly that Ray would eat whatever food put in front of him. Jocelyn and I passed him our salads almost as soon as we got them; they were covered in a strange sauce that reacted with my gagging mechanism. The spaghetti they served next was decent enough, but yes, the fact that it was spaghetti was practically unforgivable in my book. Ray asked three different waiters if he could have more.

The dessert was by far the best part. It was some kind of frozen mousse, and even Jocelyn was happy enough with it to eat the whole thing.

Though tired, I was ecstatic to take our first Metro ride back to the Mister Bed. It was a small miracle that all thirty of us managed to get on the same train car. I guess a Sunday night on the outskirts of Paris wasn’t destined to be too busy.

Stephanie was resting her head on my shoulder, and Jocelyn was sitting across from me. I felt so at peace.

“Ellie, why are you humming to yourself?” Stephanie asked me sleepily.

“Oh,” I said, stopped humming, and did not answer. The truth was as embarrassing and weird enough to avoid answering. As a singer, I found myself constantly singing my emotions. I guess I was happy enough sitting on the Metro. I was actually humming Sinatra.

Pílar shot off the moment we got off at the stop outside our hotel room. Senora Diaz, however, had other plans. Spotting the McDonald’s in the little plaza next to our hotel, she gazed back at us all and silently beckoned whoever wanted to go to follow her. I looked at Jocelyn and knew that she would want to go. I gained a small satisfaction in watching Madame Jones storm off back to the hotel, appalled that we were eating at such a place in the middle of Paris. I was a little perturbed by it, to tell the truth, but I was more willing to spend time with my new fellows.

It was endearing to see Ray order two cheeseburgers and Jocelyn get a side of French fries. As we left, Senora Diaz, ever the leader, pointed out to any of us that needed to do any shopping could go over to the indoor plaza next door. It appeared to be open, even though my cell phone told me it was nine o’clock at night. The sun had not yet set.

A girl named Shay and I needed batteries for our cameras, and Jocelyn tagged along with us. Half of the remaining students followed, just to check it out. Callie & co.; found a shoe store and were almost kicked out of it upon entering.

Shay, Jocelyn, and I kept quiet as we waited in front of the little technology shop for camera batteries. I tried addressing the clerk in French, but was heartily distracted when a familiar boy whose name happened to be James passed by in the reflective surface in front of me.

“Ellie,” Jocelyn prodded. She had a knowing grin. Shay was blissfully unaware, simply looking at different batteries.

We accomplished what he had gone there for and were finally feeling the pull of jet lag to our hotel beds. Deciding it wasn’t worth looking at the other shops, we headed back in relative quiet. I took the time to organize my thoughts.

....Had I not come all the way to Europe expecting a quiet, meaningful experience? Would I let myself be distracted by something such as an inexplicable infatuation by a boy I did not know? I could see it in my mind’s eye: would I allow myself miss out on the Eiffel Tower, or the bull pins of Spain, just to catch a few glimpses of James? I was unsure.

My musings were interrupted when Jocelyn elbowed me in the ribs and smiled mischievously. There was the topic of my thoughts, entering the hotel lobby right behind us. He was alone, which intrigued me. Jocelyn’s giggles were covered up by Shay, who was pointing at a piece of paper tacked on the wall next to the elevator. “I guess that’s ours?” she said.

It was something of a schedule. The top of it said EF Tours: Paris, Barcelona, Madrid. Right beneath that was a place where Pílar had written her name and tomorrow’s date. All the schedule portion said was Free Time until 6pm, when we would meet at the hotel lobby for dinner. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. Obviously, Senora Diaz had thought the same, and had attached a note that said to meet for breakfast at 8am.

The four of us barely fit in the elevator, and discreetly discussed our concerns about this whole “Free Time” idea. James mentioned that he doubted his chaperones would bother taking his group anywhere on their own. Jocelyn beat me to the punch, and with a smile in my direction told him he was sure their group could tag along with ours.

Though we were exhausted, Jocelyn and I found the energy that all teenage girls find after a long, interesting day: that which would allow us to gossip and share secrets into the night.

Our first and most obvious point of discussion as we changed into pajamas was the lack of anything from our tour director.

“I think she’s from Spain,” Jocelyn was saying as she faltered over our luggage. We had nowhere else to put it but in the tiny aisles around our bed. “She only speaks to Ms. Diaz. I bet she has her translate everything.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I replied. “Madame Jones is going to be pissed in the morning. I just know it.”

“She’s irritable, isn’t she?”

“‘Irritable’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Speaking of the devil. Someone had knocked on our door, and after struggling through the mess to answer it, we saw Senora Diaz and Madame Jones looking tired.

“Hi, girls,” Senora Diaz said. “We didn’t know if everyone had seen the sign downstairs—“ Madame Jones rolled her eyes “—so we wanted to tell you all to meet for breakfast at eight.”

“Yeah, we saw it,” Jocelyn said. “Is Pílar really just leaving us to do whatever all day?”

“I’m afraid so,” Senora replied. “But we’re going to do what we can. Don’t worry.”

“Yes, we’ll be staying up all night to plan something for you,” Madame Jones said, with an icy touch of spite.

I wanted to keep her happy if she was going to be the one guiding us all day, so I said in my pest teacher’s-pet voice, “Thanks so much, Madame. I’m sure we’re going to have a great day.”

She grinned sarcastically, her mood shifting suddenly. I might have made the situation a little better for us all. They bid us to get sleep, and went to tell the rest of our group.

I closed the door and immediately whispered, “I am so happy I will never have to see Madame Jones after this trip.”

When we decided it was safe to talk at normal levels, Jocelyn and I went through our detailed thoughts on every person in our group. We talked about Danny’s radical personality reversal, Jade’s incessant nagging voice, Noreen’s incredible bossiness, all the way down to Callie, Sheri, Marissa, and Angelica’s eventaul breakdowns into chaos.

As we talked about the high heel incident (which I was fully able to describe the hilarity of), I picked one of my tops out of the “closet” and held it up to me.

“Do you think I should wear this tomorrow?” I asked her, like we were old pals already. And I knew, somehow, that I could trust Jocelyn’s decision, even if she didn’t really bother with her own clothes.

Instead of answering me, though, her mischievous grin crept up her face. “You want to look nice for James?” she said, and giggled.

I couldn’t help it, and giggled with her. “So what if I do?” I joked, not able to keep a straight face.

“Ooooh!”

“Oh, it’s no big deal, I just think he’s incredibly cute.” But I was still smiling.

“You two would look so cute together,” she said. “You’re both so...willowy.”

I gave her a skeptical look. “Willowy? No one has ever called me willowy.”

She just laughed. “Sure they do. Behind your back.”

We were both giggling insanely now, surely fueling each other into madness after an extremely trying day. But somehow our energy was at its highest, and we kept talking into the night.

I learned that Jocelyn and I were very similar, only with varying differences. We both loved learning and worked hard for good grades, except where I was number ten in my class, she was number three in hers. We both loved traveling and it didn’t bother us one bit that we had no close friends in the group. We were both easy to get along with, and could take a leadership role if necessary. We weren’t very girly, Jocelyn more so than me. I convinced her that she would have to wear the dress she brought for the Flamenco performance when we got to Spain, and hopefully I would be able to tackle her always-pulled-back hairstyle.

We were talking about our extreme clumsiness when I noticed the clock said it was 3am. We turned the lights off, but in our giddiness we kept talking for at least another hour.

*

The unfamiliar alarm buzzed us awake a mere three and a half hours later. We both groaned as we stirred around under the covers. The day seemed entirely too daunting after just three and a half hours of rest.

But there we were, the responsible ones, getting ready on time when we knew no one else would. With horror I realized I had left my contacts in, something my very dry eyes would not be able to cope with. I was stuck to glasses for the day.

As we predicted, we were some of the first down to breakfast. It was held in a side room off of the lobby on the ground floor, with bare minimum furnishings and absolutely no decorations. Breakfast itself, though, was to my taste. There was a large selection of coffees, cappuccinos, teas, and hot cocoa; and lots of fruit, yogurt, and bread.

The bread was shocking to all of us. The outside was so hard and crusty it took monumental effort to break it open with one’s teeth, but once inside it was extremely light and fluffy. Jocelyn was ecstatic about it; bread was one thing she did eat. Gio was amused, and kept bouncing his roll on the Formica tabletop with loud knocking noises. Stephanie was repeatedly stabbing hers, so to soften it.

At quarter after eight, Callie, Marissa, Sheri, and Angelica all privileged us with their presence, and Senora Diaz could finally explain the real schedule.

“Madame and I have come up with a little tour for today, since we don’t want you all sitting around and doing nothing. Madame has been to Paris a few times, so she’s going to be our leader.” Madame was scowling. “I want you all to remember to be safe, and stay with the group. I see some of the Georgia kids here with us, if you guys want to come along your chaperones are fine with it.”

I looked around and saw the three Georgia boys (my heart sped up a little), and three of their female classmates that I couldn’t tell apart.

On my other side, Sheri was asking Senora Diaz if she could stay at the hotel. I overheard them arguing about it for a minute, until the word “shopping” was thrown in, and the argument stopped.

We left in various little clumps to the Metro station right outside the hotel. The process, which had been so easy last night, was disastrous. Every inch of platform was covered with morning commuters on their way to work. All of them were smoking cigarettes and wearing incredibly sophisticated clothing. I looked down at my jeans and top, feeling insignificant. If we were really going shopping today, I would have to get my hands on some real Paris fashion.

It was quite a feat making sure none of our group was left on the platform when our train got there. Gio actually held the doors open so that Stephanie and Jade could slip through, and just as they did, the doors slid too closed, less than an inch away from taking his fingers.

I was shunted between two domineering Frenchmen who looked down their big noses at me, though I was just as tall. I understood this behavior, and accepted it.

However, I was the only student who did. My group mates, even Senora Diaz, were confused as to why we were all getting such rude stares. They tried to make up for it as Americans usually do: by getting louder and louder, trying to ease the tension. The only result was that the man next to me actually scoffed. Callie and Angelica were discussing this in loud voices.

“Why are they staring at us?”

“Don’t they realize how rude that is?”

I shook my head in shame. I was sure that almost every single person on the train could understand them. Madame Jones was beside herself. I could see her frantically trying to keep her anger at a minimum level. She had a tour to lead, after all.

When our stop finally came, Senora Diaz was forced to yell “Get off now!” down the train so that everyone from our group would hear the message amid the masses of French people. We managed to all get off, Gio narrowly missing his fingers again so that I could slip through.

I grabbed Stephanie’s hand, knowing I would be the only one watching out for her, and did my best to follow Madame’s bobbing head through the crowd. I knew my height would make it easier for people to follow me.

We surfaced in a bustling square full of people and cars going in every different direction, and for the first time I thought, “Wow. We are in a huge, foreign city.”

READY STEADY

Wed, 30 Jul 2008 03:28:27 GMT

Topic: Humor
Genre: Original
Characters: Me and a bunch others

Description: The second installment of my bogus eurotrip. This chapter is much longer than the first, and for you lucky readers, future chapters will also be this long. Translations are at the end of each chapter! Learn some French while we're at it!

Chapter 2: June 7, 2006
Limited Lodgings

Waking up on the plane was extremely confusing; for a moment I didn't recognize Jocelyn. But then I heard Gio’s hearty laugh, and remembered everything. A sharp pain in my neck made me move very slowly as I turned my head to look at him. Apparently everyone was feeling the same pain, most of the passengers were rubbing their necks.

I had no idea what time it was. Jocelyn was trying to explain the time difference to me, but I really was so confused and practically still asleep that it went in one ear and out the other. All I knew was that it was sometime in the morning when we caught a layover flight in Switzerland.

All of us bore the unmistakable signs of overnight flying as we ambled off the plane, our hair tousled and are feet not moving quite fast enough. I couldn’t help but notice how young all of my classmates looked. Some of the freshman could have passed for lost children, searching for their mommies in a foreign airport. This wasn’t the first time I realized how much more mature I was than the rest of them. I was, in fact, the only person who had already graduated. I would be turning eighteen on the last day of our trip.

The second instance of true panic arrived in Switzerland – our layover was only half an hour, and the security line was taking us longer than that. I could see Senora Diaz and Madame Jones looking frantic at the front of our group (they had entrusted me to bring up the rear), trying to get the attention of some of the guards.

Stephanie had gravitated towards me. It was instantly obvious to me that she had chosen me as her mommy for the trip. “Are we going to miss our plane?” she asked.

“No,” I said, not exactly sure it was true. Finally our teachers were able to get someone’s attention as they approached the metal detectors. Still, our rush was apparent. Barely controlled rage boiled through me as Callie and Sheri made a fuss about taking their shoes off for the detectors. If they were the ones who caused us to miss our flight, I don’t think I could control myself anymore, and someone would wind up with a punch in the face.

By some good fortune we made it to the plane in time. We were permitted a quick view of what I assume were the Swiss Alps before boarding an extremely small plane that would take us to Charles de Gaul airport in Paris. To my further embarrassment, our group took up a good third of the entire plane, and provided all of the noise.

Somehow it was lunchtime, so the flight attendants passed out vacuum-wrapped sandwiches that looked a little less than appetizing. I was exceedingly grateful to be paired once more with my finicky-eater, Jocelyn. In her compulsion to examine all food placed in front of her, she found an expiration date of a year previous stamped on the bottom of the package. We hadn’t managed to pass the news of the expiration in time; Callie, Sheri, Marissa, and Angelica had already bitten into theirs. I couldn’t help but thinking they got what was coming to them.

The turbulence of the hour-long flight was almost unbearable. I unabashedly held Stephanie’s hand across the aisle for the entire ride.

We were all completely ready for some edible food a restful afternoon in the hotel. At least, I thought I would be. But the second I stepped off the plane I realized something.

We were in France. We were in France. We were in France.

I instinctively looked at Madame Jones. She looked at me with a kind of “I told you so” grin that didn’t even annoy me. Nothing could bother me now. I was in France!

The announcements over the airport intercom were in French, and then English. Just this small little reversal made me giggle. People were buzzing all over the place, being so very French. I almost got lost with Stephanie in my marvel of the place.

Our bags were all miraculously present; I was able to spot the orange and blue ribbon tied to the suitcase. They all bore the conspicuous orange label from Switzerland that marked them as “short transfer.” I left mine on for reminder of what it almost cost us.

Something similar to what happened to Danny was settling into all of my group mates. And then it hit me: culture shock. None of these students (I was including Stephanie) had ever learned anything about France. They had spent the last few years discussing the upbeat Spanish culture and food; I had learned the ways of the very private, snobby, and fashionable Parisians. The most they probably knew about Paris was that it held the Eiffel Tower. They wouldn’t even know that it was referred to as Tour Eiffel around here. They wouldn’t know to expect smelly cheeses or Orangina at dinner.

I sighed as we exited the airport and headed towards a large tour bus on the roadside. I would just have to hope that our tour guide would be as EF Tours promised: someone engaging and experienced, and maybe be able to cure homesickness.

A woman and a man stood in front of the bus helping us to load our immense luggage under the seats. I tried not to feel embarrassment as Callie handed over her ridiculous amount of bags. You would have thought she was staying a year.

I somehow ended up last in line, and to my annoyance was hurried onto the bus once my stuff had been stored. I was really keen to just sit and look out at the city, or in this case the many spiraling highways in front of us.

To my surprise, the bus was practically full. I had forgotten that we were to be paired with another school. Some old women were seated at the very front of the bus. I figured they must be the other school’s chaperones. Madame Jones and Senora Diaz sat politely with them. Behind them were about ten girls who all wore extremely similar hairstyles and fashions; that of rather wealthy adolescents. They all seemed to be around fifteen. Well, I thought, at least the snotty girls in our group would get along with the other school.

Looking up I saw the back of the bus contained a few empty seats, but also held the likes of Callie, Marissa, Sheri, Angelica, and Jade. Instead of daring to tread back there, I took the first empty seat to my right, beside a girl from my group who I vaguely recognized. Our seats, however, were facing back, set up around a table with four other seats. Another one of the girls from our group was there, next to two boys I had never met.

The girl next to me was very big (almost as tall as my six feet) and stocky. Maybe she was on the basketball team at school? I had no idea. She quickly took charge of introductions, and I mean really took charge. I almost said it out loud how bossy she was.

In any case, her name was Noreen. The girl across from us was Anick. She was a slightly overweight, and her black hair was made into tight cornrows with little white beads at the ends. The two boys were both cute, in very individual ways. The small boy, he must have been twelve, said his name was Mike. His southern accent was so strong, however, that it took him about five slow repetitions for me to realize he was saying “Mike” and not “Blake.” The other boy laughed to himself, which made me feel pleasant, because he was remarkably nice to look at. His name was James, and thankfully I had no trouble understanding him. I tried not to make it too obvious as I observed his face: his dark green eyes went wonderfully against his almost-olive skin tone, and his hair looked as if it had been very dark at one point, but was bleached by the sun to lighter shades of brown. His smile was funny in itself, as it was kind of crooked. I noticed Mike was smiling the same way, but something made me think he did this because James did. I was about to ask if they were brothers when Senora Diaz’s voice sounded from the front of the bus.

“Okay,” she said, glaring at the back row, who of course did not shut up. “Your attention please,” she said again, bordering exasperation. “This is our tour guide, Pílar. She’s going to be taking us to the hotel to drop off our things.” As she said this, the bus grumbled to life and began merging into the very fast traffic. “We’ll have about an hour to get settled there, and then we will meet her at a restaurant for dinner.”

Senora Diaz sat, and Noreen and I turned back around. “Why couldn’t Pílar tell us that herself?” Noreen asked. I felt the same way. Why didn’t she even introduce herself?

We took off down a highway at what seemed like unreasonable speed. Anick asked the boys were they were from, and as she did so I recognized that hers had been one of the yelling voices on the plane. I wondered if she had achieved her obnoxious quota yet.

As it turns out, the two boys were from a small town in Georgia. The younger one, Mike, was the only one from their group who didn’t attend the same small private school as the rest of them.

“I will next year,” he said in his cute little drawl. “Where’re ya’ll from?”

“West Palm Beach,” Noreen said immediately, as if trying to impress them. With what, I had no idea.

“Is that Florida?” Mike asked.

“Yes, south Florida, about an hour north of Miami,” I answered, trying to prove there was at least some competence from our group.

Too late: from the back of the bus we could very clearly here Angelica say, “Damn, Paris is so dirty.” Classy, Angelica. Very classy.

To my curiosity, James barely spoke. Noreen and Anick did most of the talking, actually, which almost drove me to plug my fingers into my ears. I was now fiercely determined to prove my intelligence, waiting for an opportunity to do so.

“So I guess you’re probably happy at how many girls are on the trip,” Noreen said to Mike in her commanding voice. Was she trying to flirt him? Didn’t she realize he was in middle school? Not to mention she was twice as big as him?

I was thoroughly disgusted and took to staring out the window. Watching the highway was both terrifying and exhilarating. I first saw that all of the drivers seemed completely reckless, and realized the reason was probably because there were no lines on the road to separate the lanes. I unknowingly spent our entire twenty-minute ride flinching as I watched dozens of near-accidents, mainly between shiny Mercedes and extremely tiny Smart Cars.

To my great relief we were finally speeding down a little city road that appeared almost deserted. The bus pulled into a small drive next to our hotel.

I made a double-take. The sign on the hotel was reminiscent of the Motel 6’s back home, with the same cheap plastic make. The most astonishing factor, though, was that the hotel was actually named Mister Bed. Students up and down the bus were laughing at this as they slowly caught on. Unfortunately, it was giving Angelica and Callie even more of a reason to complain. “What? What the hell is this? We’re staying here?” and again with “It looks dirty.”

Enormous shuffling off the bus occurred, and it took an age to get all of our bags to the hotel’s cramped lobby. There was only the front desk and two armchairs, which were quickly occupied by two of the old lady chaperones from the Georgia group. It appeared to me that they were leaving the actual chaperoning up to Madame Jones and Senora Diaz.

Sure enough, Senora Diaz was at the front desk, and finally began passing out keys. I could see a pattern forming here that I wasn’t sure I agreed with, and it involved Senora Diaz doing everything.

Jocelyn and I got our little bronze key and waited in the long line for the elevator. There was much groaning about there only being one entirely too small elevator. I secretly knew we were lucky: most of the hotels I had read about had no elevator or air conditioning.

Sparked by this, I nudged Jocelyn over the a door that I knew must be the stairs. She immediately agreed, and we willingly hurtled the four flights up to our room. A few others, Gio and Danny included, decided to take the same route.

I was happy, but still surprised, that Jocelyn and I were the only from our group on the fourth floor. Happy because it meant no ridiculous disruptions from our inept companions, but surprised because I thought the whole purpose of having EF Tours book our hotels was so that we could stay together.

I voiced my opinions to Jocelyn, who agreed wholeheartedly. I was liking her more and more by the minute. We discussed the strangeness surrounding Pílar as she fumbled with the door key.

Our conversation was stopped mid-sentence as the door swung open. Shock similar to how we reacted to Danny’s personality change were apparent on our faces as we gazed into the room. We were silent for a full minute, just staring at the room. And then, we both burst into laughter.

The room was so tiny, only big enough for the bed in the middle, with just enough space to scoot around the edges of it. Upon further inspection, the bed was actually two twin beds of different heights put together. The closet was a piece of wire sticking out of the wall, and the only other furnishing was a fragile-looking plastic chair, which barely fit between the bed and the wall.

Jocelyn and I could find no words to describe the ridiculousness of the room. I took pictures while she attempted fruitlessly to drag her luggage in. I found the bathroom door, which made me burst into laughter even harder than before. The bathroom was unbelievable: the shower was simply an inch-deep circular indent in the floor, with barely enough room for me to stand and close the curtain around me. Still laughing, I discovered I was able to sit on the closed toilet and extend almost the entire length of my legs into the shower. Moving again, I found that I could control the sink faucets and toilet flusher (which was a bizarre plastic button on top of the tank) while inside the shower. Jocelyn watched, doubled over in silent laughter, trying to take pictures of the absurdity.

We tripped over our bags and collapsed on the low-level bed, still shaking with laughter.

“I wonder if we’re finding this so funny because of how tired and hungry we are,” I said, sighing.

She took a more ominous tone, but still smiled. “What I wonder is how Callie and Sheri are reacting to their rooms.”

I groaned. It was likely they were down at the front desk now, demanding to be moved to a larger space. “This does not bode well,” I said.

I hadn’t realized until then that we had been in the same clothes for a very long time now, so we both spent our hour of free time showering and getting ready for an evening in Paris. The shower was predictable, but hilarious nonetheless. I was only able to shave my legs by propping them on the toilet. I laughed as I did it. Predictably, the entire bathroom was wet by the time I had finished.

An hour later, we were some of the first to return to the lobby to meet up. Stephanie was there with Jade. I made myself be civil to the latter. I wasn’t going to let something so petty get in my way of enjoying Paris. In fact, I thought to myself, I don’t have to let any of it get to me. There was my flexibility. I was already okay with our reserved tour guide and our less-than-abundant accommodations. Nothing else needed to get in the way.

Stephanie came and sat on my lap, her hair still wet. Ah, the little sister I never had.

Danny and a boy I didn’t know came down next. Apparently they were roommates. Danny was still incomprehensibly quiet, and stayed that way when Jade went over to nag him.

The rest of our company trickled downstairs over the next quarter hour. The clock on the wall said it was around four, so most of the chatter was speculation as to what we could be doing before dinner.

Noticeably absent from our presence were the old lady chaperones and of course Callie, Sheri, Marissa, and Angelica. Madame Jones seemed annoyed beyond speech, and Senora was wearing that same exasperated expression that reminded me of a concerned mother. She went to check up on the stragglers, and returned with them a few moments later.

Again, Senora had taken over the leadership. I wondered if this bothered her. What she said next made me wonder even further.

“On our schedule for the next two hours is free time. Madame Jones and Scott—“ she gestured to Danny’s nerdy-looking roommate “—know the way to Sacre Coeur on Montemarte, so the Florida group will be walking there, and anyone from the Georgia group is welcome as well. Your chaperones have decided they would like to stay here, so you may choose what you would like to do. We will be going straight to dinner afterwards.”

Seemingly for the benefit of everyone, Gio asked a very loud question in his best theatre voice, however faltering with the French. “Senora, what exactly is Sacr—sac, um, sacrre cur?”

“It’s a beautiful church on the top of a large hill that overlooks the city,” Madame Jones said matter-of-factly. I was amazed at how annoyed she could make herself sound.

“Well, let’s go!” Gio responded for everyone. The majority of the Georgia girls were looking hesitant, and if I was honest with myself, certain girls from our group wore the same expression. All in all, we wound up with all of the Georgia boys and only two of their girls. It made a very large group for just Madame Jones and Senora Diaz to chaperone, but they had offered, and the absence of a tour guide, what were we going to do? Sit at the hotel for two hours?

We wound our way to a busier street, but it was still on the outskirts of the main city. Madame had a map, and had her nose pointed in it with Scott. I instantly regretted to stay at the front of the group with her, for just then she looked up and beckoned to me.

“Mademoiselle,” she said in her voice reserved especially for me, “I need you to ask that man at the tobacco shop for directions to Sacre Coeur, s’il vous plaît*.” She practically batted her eyelashes.

I gaped at her. Was this torture? “Madame, I don’t know how.”

“Mais non, you do. Go ahead.”

I tried not to grumble as I walked up to the shop, alone, feeling the stares of all of my classmates on my back.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur. Quelle façon au Sacre Cœur?” I said this all extremely slowly and softly, to avoid anyone overhearing.

“Ah, mademoiselle, bien sur. Eet is a left turn at zat road up ahead, and follow eet to a main road zat heads zat way up ze hill.”

“Um, merci.” I stumbled back to Madame. He might as well have said it all in French for what sense it made.

“Trés magnifique!” she yelled. To my intense embarrassment, the nice-looking tall boy named James was standing off to the side by himself, grinning at this exchange. I wanted to murder Madame.

I muttered the nonsensical directions to her, which she understood completely. Scott smiled at me appreciatively. I nodded and decisively went to the back of the group with Jocelyn and Stephanie, and unfortunately, Jade. We were right behind Callie & co.; who had all decided to wear outrageously high heels and complained the entire way up the very steep hill.

There complaining was reaching what I thought was fever-pitch when we got to the near top of the hill, where a hundred or so stairs greeted us as the only way to the church. I brought out camera and captured the old stairs at fun angles, careful to not get any high heels in the shot.

I almost exploded with laughter at the irony awaiting us at the top. Right in plain sight was a large stone wall covered in graffiti. In the very center: a large spray-painted high heel with the words pour quoi se torturer. I snapped a picture. Furthering the irony, all of the girls went and took their pictures next to the thing. I cracked up to myself. They had absolutely no idea what it meant.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw two figures, a boy and a girl, emerge from a row of hedges to my left, and run back in the direction we came from. Curious, I wandered over, and found a way around the bushes.

What I saw made me smile. A pink heart had been painted there, with the words “Paris in love” etched inside. I stared at it for a second and took a picture. The second after my flash went off, another echoed right behind me, making me jump.

James was standing there, that smile on the corner of his lips.

“It’s funny it’s written in English,” he said in a slow, easy voice, obviously amused.

“Yeah,” I smiled back. I had a thousand different insane responses, ranging from “You know, most Parisians are bilingual,” to “Don’t you see? It’s meant for us!” I couldn’t stop myself thinking of how attractive he was, standing there with his lean frame and easy bearing. We kind of awkwardly walked back to the rest of the group, unnoticed. I didn’t know if I should at least attempt to say something charming to him. Thinking of my track record in flirting, I decided against it.

We finally got to what was really the top, and the view was spectacular. There were many other tourists milling around. Unfortunately we faced the wrong direction to see the Eiffel Tower, which I clearly heard Stephanie ask about. She thought she alone could not spot it on the horizon amid the other buildings.

Turning around was another breath-taking view to behold. There stood an ancient church, seemingly carved from the mountain. We went in a few at a time, examining all the little side rooms where people could pray to different saints. I walked silently with Jocelyn, taking a very long time to soak in the dark stained glass and myriad of candles and statues.

When we finished observing, I went and kneeled at the back row of the sanctuary to pray. I could see my other Catholic brethren in the seats further ahead: Senora Diaz, Marissa, Anick, and Ray, all kneeling, their heads bowed.

After finishing a quick prayer, I made the sign of the cross and stood up, only to see that James had sat at the end of my same row. I can’t deny how surprised, and pleased, I was.

Everyone was a lot more mellow after our church excursion. The trip back seemed to take half the time, most likely due to our hunger. I couldn’t wait to see the local cuisine Pílar had lined up for us, hoping that Jocelyn had brought her peanut butter crackers.

s’il vous plaît: if you please.

Mais non: But no.

Excusez-moi, monsieur. Quelle façon au Sacre Cœur: Excuse me, sir. Which way to Sacred Heart?

bien sur: of course.

merci: thanks.

Trés magnifique: very magnificent.

pour quoi se torturer: why torture oneself

REVAMPED

Wed, 30 Jul 2008 00:25:13 GMT

Topic: Humor
Genre: Original
Characters: Me, and a ton of others that you'll get to know over the chapters... :)

Description: A trip to Europe is likely to be full of adventure and hilarity, but my trip 2 years ago was so unique that I realized I had to tell everyone about it. Names have been changed, but the majority of what happened was so memorable that I have hardly changed any of it. The parts I did alter...well, I'll leave that up to you to decide what is fact and fiction. (Also, as a precaution: if anyone from the fateful trip happens to come across this, none of it is meant to offend! You were all lovely people...at least most of you.) And now, with no further ado, I ask you, dear readers, to recall back two years ago. Remember the world we lived in then, or remember (or imagine) yourself just a few weeks after your graduation. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy my colorful little life.

Chapter 1: June 6, 2006
Already Annoyed

The last time I flew was summer break three years ago to visit my grandpa in Boston. I traveled with my parents and two little brothers. Today was unique to my previous flying experience in that I was with thirteen classmates I barely knew to a place I would know no one.

I hadn't planned it that way; but my ability to adapt was one of my best qualities. When you say to your friends, "Let’s go to Europe!" the immediate reaction is, "Yeah!" But when it comes down to it, real lives get in the way, funds are short, and really wouldn't it be better to do it next year? Not for me. I was ready.

So there I was, boarding the very tail end of the plane after a harrowing wait in the Miami International Airport. Yes, it was harrowing; a seemingly quite girl named Sheri had left her passport at home. Her house was an hour drive north. No one was home to bring it to her. You have got to be kidding me.

While Sheri called every known friend and relative in south Florida, swishing her chemically straight hair over her shoulders, I noticed that my friend Gio was silently hovering around her, looking strangely subdued. This was strange because I knew Gio through Drama Club, and he was only happy when he was the center of attention. In fact, he always surrounded himself with the loudest people he could find, so life around Gio was a party. For now, he and his gaggle of obnoxious girls were quiet while waiting for Sheri's passport.

Other than Gio, the only other person I knew well on the trip was my French teacher, Madame Jones. Our French department was very small (I was one of five students in French IV), and I happened to love French, therefore I knew Madame Jones very well. I knew that she was an absolute Francophile to the point of tackiness, I knew that she hated children but decided to teach and give birth to her own anyway, I knew that she did not have enough patience to fill a teaspoon. And there she was, chaperoning a group of fourteen of possibly the most insufferable students in school to Europe.

Unfortunately my love for learning French gave Madame Jones the idea that I loved it because of her. Nothing could have been further from the truth; I did all I could to disrupt her lessons with my mundane questions about idioms and French music and such. The whole class was in on it. But her Francophile self just couldn't resist explaining the difference between accents aigu and grave, or of the subtleties between the imperfect and past tenses.

I had resigned myself to sitting with her in the sandwich shop while everyone waited for Sheri's stupid passport. The name of the shop, ironically, was called Au Pain, which sparked all of the other students to loudly ask why a shop would call itself anything about "pain" when it really sold sandwiches. See, the only other French student on the trip was a freshman named Stephanie, and by the sound of her echoing everyone else's confusion, she had no idea that pain actually meant "bread." Madame Jones was already rubbing her temples wearily.

Senora Diaz seemed to be either unaware or consciously blocking out the sound of her students' lack of intelligence, but instead was glaring mutinously at Sheri. I didn't know Senora Diaz at all, but from our first trip meeting I could tell she was a woman of organization and hard work. And there was Sheri, an hour before our plane was to leave, nonchalantly realizing her passport was sitting on the kitchen table an hour away.

Gio came silently over to our table with an update. I could tell that he was finding amusement in every second of this, but he politely held back his laughter to keep our chaperones at bay. "Sheri's aunt and uncle are on their way to get her passport," he said, biting his lip in attempt to resist smiling. "What an exciting start to a trip, right Senora?"

"Oh, niño," was all she said.

Another girl joined our table, and Senora Diaz addressed her as Jocelyn. I realized that I was meeting my roommate for the first time. I smiled; she looked quiet and intelligent. I was extremely surprised when Gio asked the two of us if we wanted to play cards. I would have assumed he would go back to his girls, who were steadily growing louder and louder, but apparently he was a better friend to not desert me.

Not a minute later, my bubble was burst when a boy named Danny came and sat with us. Like Senora Diaz, the only time I had met Danny was in our trip meeting, where he proved himself to be the most annoying person on the planet. He cracked stupid jokes throughout our game of Egyptian Ratscrew, but fell quiet when yet another girl, Jade, came and stood beside him.

I thought I disliked Danny on first meeting him, but it was nothing compared to Jade. Her face was wide and squished, and could form nothing but the ugliest sneer imaginable, which didn't compliment her very poorly applied make up and three inches of black roots over long, straw-like hair. She didn’t speak, she whined. The sound made me grimace.

"Danny, why’d you leave me sitting over there?"

Luckily, Danny did not have to answer. Just then, Senora Diaz stood up, and she's the kind of teacher who somehow gains the attention of every student in the room by doing so. Au Pain fell silent.

"If everyone could grab their belongings, please, we’re going to move over to gate fourteen."

We caught relief when, forty minutes later, Sheri's passport arrived. And that's how I ended up on the tail of Flight 197 with over a dozen strangers, the strange beginning to an even stranger trip.

There was slight chaos as everyone tried to sit next to their friends. I was already sure the flight attendants hated their lives at that point, shooting falsely pleasant smiles at our constantly growing noise. Jocelyn and I immediately took two of the three middle seats, and to my great surprise (again), Gio joined us. Apparently, his four girls, Sheri, Callie, Marissa, and Angelica, had paired off and left him to fend for himself. Jade and Stephanie, who were friends from freshman cheerleading, sat together, and Danny wound up next to some old man. I still had not met the others in our group.

The exasperation of my dimwitted group mates was starting to wear off, and the excitement of traveling was settling in me. Jocelyn and Gio were feeling it, too; but then again Gio is always excited. We were flipping through the little pamphlets that tell you what kind of candy and sodas they had to offer, and frantically rummaging through the different headsets and remote controls that attached to the screens on the seats in front of us.

"Ellie! Ellie!" Gio called to me, "they have Beauty and the Beast, Ellie! My God, your favorite!"

From that moment on I knew the trip could maybe turn into something okay. Right after take off (my favorite part of any traveling; it’s like a roller coaster in midair), Gio, Jocelyn, and I watched Beauty and the Beast straight through, occasionally being interrupted by one of our classmates shouting over the seats.

One thing that hugely surprised me was the lack of shouting coming from Danny. An overwhelming change had come over him, and he was no longer seeking every ounce of attention he could. Instead he sat very still, his eyes focused on the blank screen in front of him, not even a small goofy smile on his face. My jaw dropped when I saw this, because for half an hour before we boarded the plane, he had been throwing cards across the room with a big boy named Ray, trying to get them to land in a hat. I pointed out Danny’s sereneness to Jocelyn, who goggled the way I did. "Maybe he's scared of flying?" she suggested.

An hour later we were served dinner in neat little trays. This was when I started to notice Jocelyn's quirk... I couldn't help but see that she had avoided eating any of her food, but politely pushed it around her tray and took out a package of artificial peanut butter crackers instead. I tried not to be rude when I asked her if that was all she was going to eat, and she bemusedly replied yes.

After reading two chapters of the book I brought, Jane Eyre, almost everyone else had somehow fallen asleep. So, admitting defeat, I plugged my headphones in to the Garden State soundtrack, and fell asleep.

Look out for chapter 2! Coming soon!

REBIRTH

Fri, 09 May 2008 04:45:21 GMT

Topic: Rebirth
Genre: Original
Characters: You, them, us

Description: Let's call this some "ponderings" from one side of my brain.

What's that thing everyone's talking about? There's a heavy burden on everyone's shoulders. So heavy I can see it.

It's money, restlessness, the economy, family, the future, boredom, relationships, expectations, politics, discomfort, friends. It's anything you're thinking about right now instead of this. These words right here. Our attention wavers from one thing to the next like we've lived all our lives this way; multitasking to the point of absurdity and never having enough.

The elderly people we know have always said it was different when they were young. Well, I'm not even twenty and I know they're right. Does that seem odd? That we all know the downward spiral we're headed, but we keep buying and crying like there's nothing we can do?

I know what we can do. But I'm not telling. This is something we will have to learn through trial and error, obviously. We suffer our trials now and realize they are errors when we finally implode, and go back to the beginning. And we will have our suffering; that will be a part of the life of man forever. We do not, however, have to live with the weight on our fragile shoulders. But that's all I'll say.

MAY TOPIC: REBIRTH

Mon, 05 May 2008 14:32:51 GMT

This month's topic is Rebirth! Perfect for Springtime.

I'll think of something more witty to say later. I'm fresh outta hot ideas!

-Jen