Page 1 of Keep Paris

Part One

Première Partie

Ten Years Ago

LIZZIE

I’m already more continental. My parents insisted I go on this trip and I convinced my best friends parents to let Kristin come as well. My senior year is kind of a joke since I basically could have graduated last fall. I’ve finished all my credits and am number two in my class. I’ll never beat Jennifer Liu. That bish has it on lock.

My high school hooked up with some travel group and offered twelve weeks in Paris for our spring semester. Intense study, culture, and because I speak fluent French, it’s also AP credits. I want baguettes, architecture walks, to read French poetry on the steps of the Notre-Dame and to reread my favorite Lost Generation authors—in the cafés they loved. Words have always been my escape from my parents, peer pressure, or heartbreak.

Our group has twenty-three kids from various parts of the West Coast, my best friend Kristin and I are the only ones from Burlingame. She’s, like, model tall with a wicked sense of sarcasm and short pixie hair that’s braver than I ever could be. We’ve basically formed a gang with hysterical three girls from Reno. They ordered cocktails on the plane once we hit international waters. I hope I’m good at being part of a gang.

We’re moving into our rooms at our dorm/hotel. There’s a couple other groups from around the US and Australia. Maybe I can kiss an Aussie. I want to know if kissing gets better than a dude shoving his tongue into your mouth and wiggling. I’m eighteen and I’ve kissed my fair share of boys, but I keep waiting for it to be better.

The rooms have twin beds and the suite connects through a shared Jack and Jill bathroom. Because we’re here for almost three months and my parents made sure I had my own space to study, but Kris is my suite-mate.

“AHHHHH. Holy shit, this is cool.” Kristin does a spin and tosses her stuff anywhere she wants in her room. She has a ton of siblings, so to have her own space must feel decadent. “We could make a lounge out of one room, put the beds on the wall like couches.”

I consider it for a second, then see her stuff everywhere and panic. “Let’s see what it’s like to have big rooms all to ourselves. Maybe later we can create a lounge.”

“PERFECTO!”

“You know that’s Italian, not French.”

“C’est moi. Comme ci comme ca.’’

I smile at her. “I’m making one mega bed out of the two. I’ll call down for king-size sheets.”

I say, “Sounds good.”

I head back into my room. I like things the way I like them. I unpack and arrange my toiletries around the closet sink. Kristin pops a beer as she comes into my room. I didn’t know she had one.

“Where did that come from?”

“Reno girls. They want us down in their room when we’re settled. You know, when you’re done organizing. I swear, your fucking sweaters are folded like you work at the Gap.”

“I dream of owning one of those folding boards.”

She tosses her loofah sponge thing at me.

We make our way to Makenzie and Maggie’s room. We don’t have to be anywhere until dinner where all the students hear the rules and meet the teachers.

“Seriously, their room number is 666?” Kris’s boisterous laugh fills the hallway as she knocks.

Makenzie flings the door open and French pop music comes spilling out. “I don’t know what they’re saying, but we’re dancing our asses off to it.”

They all have beer. Misty is smoking out the window and Kris joins her. I meekly take a beer and panic a little we’ll get caught and kicked out.

Kris exhales. “Lighten up, Lizzie. You’re fine.” She knows me. I sway to the music. The lyrics are about partying and enjoying life. Ok. I get you, universe, message received. I toss back a sip and they cheer.

I’m dancing with Maggie and we’re laughing hard when a phone ring cuts through our party. Fuck. It’s management. It’s the chaperons. We’re so busted.

I turn off the radio and Makenzie bolts for the phone. Shit. I start pacing. I’m the only one terrified. Shit. My parents will kill me. All this money and opportunity and I throw it away within a few hours of being here. Shit. The institutional wall color is supposed to soothe me; it does not. Fuck you, pale yellow. Fuck you.

We all hold our breath as Makenzie answers. “Hello?”

We watch as her eyes widen.