“Who is it?” Maggie asks, peering over my arm. I look up at her, biting my lip.
“It’s the guy from the plane,” I say flatly. “And he wants me to go to a party tonight.”
“Ahh! Liv, you have to go! Can I come with you? Please, please, please!” she gasps, wiggling up and down excitedly. Gone is the nervous, fidgety girl of this afternoon. I raise an eyebrow at her.
“I don’t know, Maggie. They’re meeting up at a bar… I’ve never really been a part of that scene, you know,” I wheedled, my stomach turning anxiously. The logical, sensible part of my brain is urging me to ignore the email and just go home since I have to be up early tomorrow for my first day of training.
But another voice in my head reminds me that I’m in Paris — if I don’t take this chance now, then I’m still just the same old boring girl who had no social life in Toast, North Carolina. Everything about Paris has been like a dream, and I might as well see how much farther this crazy ride will take me. Within reason, of course.
“Okay, fine,” I sigh. Maggie lets out a giddy squeak. “But we have to get back in time for me to get some sleep tonight? And we have to stick together, alright?”
Maggie nods vigorously and jumps up, tugging my hand to pull me to my feet.
“Come on, come on! Let’s go! The night is young! Let’s do this!” she exclaims.
I can’t help but laugh at how enthusiastic she is and the oddness of the situation, this guy tracking me down like that... but deep inside I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into. Call it intuition, but I feel like I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.
5
Liv
The cab rattles along down Boulevard Saint-Germain, taking us away from the Eiffel Tower and toward the eleventh arrondissement, with the sun only barely peeking out above the horizon behind us. I glance back over my shoulder through the rear window of the taxi, an ominous pit settling in my stomach. The sun is going to sleep while we ricochet through the darkening city in the opposite direction, like we’re trying to outrun the rise of the moon. I fold my hands in my lap and stare anxiously out at Paris passing by, watching the street lights dance on the glossy shop windows. Next to me in the backseat, Maggie is positively vibrating with nervous excitement.
“I’ve never been to a party at a bar before,” she mutters, fidgeting with the hem of her black dress. I’m pleased that it fits her so well, considering that it’s my dress, and Maggie is at least four or five inches taller than me. It falls to just about mid-thigh for her, and I suspect that this look is the most scandalous one she’s ever attempted.
I look over at her to see that she’s now looking slightly downcast and she continues sadly, “Actually, I’ve never really been to a party before without… without my parents around. They took me to a lot of charity galas and society balls, but I was pretty much just another accessory for them, I think. My dad with his cuff links, my mom with her pearls, and then me.”
“You got to travel the world, though,” I remind her, trying to brighten her spirit.
She shrugs. “I know, and I’m grateful for that. But it would have been nice to have a friend my own age, you know?”
I nod and bump her shoulder with mine. “Yeah, I know what you mean. So, this is kind of your one chance to break free, huh?”
Maggie smiles weakly at me. “Mhmm. Sorry for pushing you into this, it’s just that — well, I don’t know if I’ll ever be in this position again. As soon as the gymnastics program ends, I’m sure my mom and dad will ship me off to some other training seminar for whatever new hobby they’ve picked for me. You know, I always wanted to be a veterinarian but my parents wanted me to do something flashier, more fun to tell their friends about at parties.”
“But it’s your life, not theirs,” I rebut, frowning. Maggie sighs heavily.
“Try telling them that,” she replies softly. The cab turns a corner and we drive across a long bridge over dark, glimmering water down below. A sign indicates that we’re now on Boulevard Henri IV, approaching the Place de la Bastille, where the famous prison once stood. Traffic here is a little tight, and I can’t stop gritting my teeth together, my hands clutching at the seat to hold myself in place as though we might collide with another car at any moment.
“Well, if this is the one chance you’ll get, then we better make the most of it,” I tell Maggie, who responds with a wide grin.
“Thank you for understanding and not judging me,” she says. “Usually as soon as people find out what my life is like, they treat me like the weird homeschooled kid.”