A Summer in Paris Read online

  “It sounds like you’re just a little bit homesick,” Mr. Johnson added, chuckling.

  “You don’t understand!” Jennifer blurted out.

  “It’s...it’s horrible! The family they’ve got me

  staying with is just awful. They’re these two old

  people, and they hardly speak a word of English.”

  “How wonderful!” Louise Johnson said. “By the time you come home in eight weeks, you’ll be speaking like a native.”

  “What an opportunity,” her husband chimed in.

  “But Dad! The bathroom is down the hall! I mean, it’s not even in the apartment!”

  Paul Johnson was chuckling once again. “It sounds just like the place your mother and I stayed in during our first trip. Remember, Louise? Our feet would be killing us from a long day of sightseeing, and then we’d come back to our hotel and find that we had to—”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to live in a place with no bathroom!” Jennifer shrieked. She was aware that the people on the street corner on which she was standing as she made this long-distance plea for help were eyeing her oddly. But she didn’t care. All she did care about, in fact, was getting her point across to her parents.

  “Oh, honey, I know it’s all new to you,” Louise Johnson was saying. “It will take some getting used to.”

  “Of course it will.” Dr. Johnson was, as usual, only too happy to agree with his wife. “But I guarantee that in a week—no, no, make that two or three days—you’ll be tripping along the streets of Paris, considering it your second home.”

  “Oh, Daddy ...”

  “Now listen, young lady, I want you to try to put all your fears aside and tackle this thing head on. Think of it as a challenge.”

  “An opportunity,” came her mother’s voice.

  “A chance to experience something brand new. We know you can do it, Jen. We love you, and we have a lot of faith in you.”

  Before she knew it, her parents had said their cheerful good-byes and hung up. Jennifer was left standing on a street corner in Paris, holding on to a dead phone.

  This, she thought, has got to be one of the low points of my life.

  But instead of simply giving up, she started rummaging through her purse, looking for the list of telephone numbers Ms. Darcy had handed out that morning. Right now, what she needed was some moral support. And the best place to find that, she knew, was in familiar territory.

  * * * *

  “I’m telling you, it’s like something out of a horror movie,” Jennifer complained loudly, tugging at a strand of her blond hair in irritation. “In the first place, the apartment is about as big as a closet. In the second place, it doesn’t even have a bathroom. In the third place—”

  “Oh, Jennifer, it sounds romantic to me,” Nina insisted. She dropped down onto one of the benches in the long main gallery of the Musée d’Orsay, Paris’s modern art museum and the place the three girls had agreed to meet on the morning of their second day in Paris. “Of course, Jacques and Isabelle Rousseau have been absolutely wonderful to me, and their town house on the Left Bank is like something out of a magazine. But they’re so anxious to brush up on their English that I actually feel guilty speaking to them in French.”

  “I know what you mean,” Kristy said, joining her on the bench. “The LeBlancs are so pleased to have someone around who can help their two daughters learn English. I feel like I owe it to them.” She made a face. “The only problem is that I’m not going to learn much French.”

  “Come on!” Jennifer wailed. “You’ve got to be kidding! Do you have any idea what it’s like having to speak French morning, noon, and night?”

  Her two friends looked at her in surprise.

  “But Jennifer!” Kristy said. “That’s what we came here for.”

  “That’s not what I came here for,” Jennifer grumbled. “Look, it’s certainly no secret that the only reason I’m here is that my parents forced me to come. And I can see that the only way I’m ever going to get through this endless summer is if you spend every free minute you have with me. I happen to need a couple of really good friends right now.”

  Nina and Kristy exchanged alarmed glances.

  “But Jen,” Kristy began.

  Nina was quick to intercede. “Jennifer, I know you’re feeling a little unsettled right now. And it’s no surprise, since we’ve only just gotten here. Everything is strange, everything is new ... and it seems like you’re really disappointed in your host family.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes upward. “Now that’s a real understatement.”

  “But do me a favor.... No, wait. Do yourself a favor. Give it some time, Jen. Don’t decide so quickly that you’re miserable here or that you don’t like the Cartiers. Try to be open-minded. Try to give it a chance.”

  “Sure, Nina, that’s easy for you to say,” Jennifer returned. “This is your dream come true. You’ve got a great host family that lives in a wonderful house, you already speak French like a native, and you’re bound to have the time of your life while you’re here. But don’t forget that this isn’t my dream! To me, this is a ... a nightmare.”

  “It’ll get better,” Kristy said reassuringly. “I just know it will.”

  “It will if you’ll help me out,” Jennifer said. “Look, you two are supposed to be my best friends, right? So what’s the big deal about asking you to spend some time with me while we’re here?”

  Nina hesitated. “It’s just that this is our big chance to live in Paris and, well, we want to get as much out of it as we possibly can. Kristy and I are both eager to meet a lot of people and practice our French and learn about what life is really like here in Paris....”

  “Oh, I get it,” Jennifer said loftily. “So you don’t have any time for a boring old American like me. Is that it?”

  “No, Jen, that’s not it at all.” Nina’s voice was gentle.

  But Kristy stood up, her fists clenched in frustration. “In a way, that’s exactly true,” she said angrily. “Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean you have a right to drag us down with you.”

  “Thanks a lot!” Jennifer countered. “Boy, it sure is nice to know who your friends are.”

  “If you were a real friend, you wouldn’t be asking us to hold your hand the whole time you’re in Paris. We’re here to live like natives, not to pal around with whiny Americans who can’t even manage to have a good time when it’s handed to them on a plate!”

  “Oh, so that’s what you think of me?”

  “That’s how I think you’re acting.”

  “Come on, you two,” Nina said. “Kristy, sit down. Jennifer, stop shouting. Look, Jen, of course Kristy and I will spend time with you while we’re all here. I mean, we’re together right now, aren’t we?” She cast Kristy a meaningful look. “But I think Kristy has a point when she says that it’s important for us not to cling to one another too tightly. If we’re afraid of taking some chances, of going out on our own a little, we’re not going to get as much as we could out of our stay in Paris.”

  “That is what I meant,” Kristy said apologetically. “Look, Jen, I didn’t mean to jump all over

  you. It’s just that ... well, I’m really thrilled to be

  here. And I can’t wait to start learning my way

  around this city, acting like this independent world

  traveler, doing stuff I’ve never had a chance to do

  before….”

  Her voice trailed off as she spent a moment thinking about what some of those things might be—especially one in particular, something she had given a lot of thought to. “Anyway, of course we’re here for you. Just not every single second of the day, okay?”

  Jennifer wasn’t sure whether she should feel reassured or rejected. Nina, meanwhile, wasn’t about to give her the chance to spend too much time worrying about it.

  “Now, enough of sitting around, yakking away,” she said, standing up and pulling them both to their feet. “I don’t know if you two ha
ve noticed, but right now we happen to be in one of the most magnificent art museums in the world. Let’s see every inch of it, okay? Did you know this used to be a train station, and it was converted into a museum just a few years ago? It certainly looks like a train station....”

  And she was off, playing tour guide. Kristy was only too happy to follow along, taking in the artwork surrounding her and hanging on to Nina’s every word. But Jennifer remained quiet, still not certain of what to make of all this.

  Yes, it was making her feel better to be with her two best friends. It was even kind of fun, in a way. The only problem was, she wasn’t completely convinced that she would be able to count on Nina and Kristy to get her through the summer.

  Chapter 3

  The buildings, streets, and courtyards that comprised the campus of the Sorbonne, Paris’s fine university located on the city’s colorful Left Bank, made up a complicated maze that was certain to confuse even the brightest new student. At least, that was what Kristy concluded as she wandered around, on the edge of panic as she tried to find the location of her first class.

  “Now let’s see,” she muttered. “If room thirteen was over there, then shouldn’t room twenty-three be right above it, upstairs ...?”

  It was the first day of classes, and like all the other students participating in the Project for International Exchange, Kristy had intended to descend upon the university campus a bit early, at least ten minutes before nine o’clock, the time at which the first of her three morning classes was to begin. But she had gotten lost on the subway, called the Paris Métro, and by the time she reached the correct building, she had only minutes to spare.

  She had hoped she would be able to follow the crowd. But she quickly remembered that the dozens of students who were in the program did not necessarily have the same schedule. In fact, it was set up so that three different groups of students rotated through three different classrooms—one for French language, one for French history, one for French culture. Kristy was on her own, trying to find Room 23. All the other students, it seemed, had already found their way. Now, with only two minutes left before her first class was about to begin, it looked as if she hadn’t much hope of arriving on time.

  She was totally exasperated, almost at her wits’ end, when she heard someone ask in French, speaking in a kind voice, “Excuse me, Mademoiselle, but are you lost?”

  She whirled around, partly embarrassed at having been caught, partly relieved that it looked as if she were about to be rescued. Standing there behind her, looking amused, was a boy who was as handsome as a movie star. He had blond hair, green eyes, and a big smile.

  “Uh, I, uh ...” For the moment, every word of French she had ever learned completely flew out of her mind.

  “Ah. You are American.” The boy’s smile widened. “In that case,” he went on, switching to English, “I will take advantage of that fact to practice speaking English.” He frowned. “I am doing okay? You can understand me?”

  “I can understand you just fine,” Kristy replied hastily, having already turned her attention back to the problem at hand. “What I can’t understand is this stupid building.”

  “Stupid?” the boy repeated, looking bewildered. And then a look of recognition slowly crossed his face. “Oh, yes. Stupid. Not very intelligent, am I right?”

  “Yes, you’re right. Just tell me one thing. Where is room twenty-three? I’m about to be late for my very first class. Oh, dear, if only I hadn’t gotten so lost on the subway—I mean, the métro—coming over!”

  “Do not look so ... so ...” The boy searched for the correct word for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Come. Follow me.” He couldn’t help adding, “That is correct? ‘Follow me?’ ”

  “Excellent,” Kristy said impatiently, following him down the hall. “I only wish my French were one sixteenth as good as your English.”

  “Here you are,” the boy announced triumphantly about ten seconds later. “It is here, this room twenty-three.”

  “Here?” Kristy frowned. She could have sworn she passed this room about eight times already, yet she didn’t remember having seen a number “23” on the door. “Okay, then. Thanks.”

  With that, she hurried inside, barely paying attention as she heard the boy behind her, calling, “Okay! Good-bye! Have a nice day!”

  In fact, she forgot all about the boy as she sat through her first three hours of class. It was actually fun, she was surprised to discover. Taking classes here was different from any school she had ever been to.

  In her French language class, for example, she found that she had new motivation when it came to listening to the teacher. After all, she had realized that she was going to have to become fluent in French if she really wanted to experience Paris like a native. Instead of merely memorizing verbs or trying desperately to remember vocabulary words for an upcoming quiz, she knew that this time around it was for real.

  And her teacher, Monsieur Gautier, seemed very much aware of this fact. He started out by reviewing simple but useful phrases. “Which subway should I take to get to the Sorbonne?” they rehearsed in unison. Then came, “I’d like a hamburger, French fries, and a chocolate milkshake.” Then he moved on to more difficult ones. She was also surprised by how quickly she was mastering even slang, now that she had a real use for it.

  The next hour of class was spent listening to a lecture, given in English, about France’s history. While she had expected that to be dry, instead she found their teacher an engaging speaker. Already he was making the city come even more alive as he talked about how it had been built and what had actually happened here. It was more like hearing a story than studying.

  Much to Kristy’s surprise, her third class turned out to be the most interesting. She had expected that studying French culture would involve learning about the art and the music. Much to her delight, however, she discovered that it also included lessons in French customs and manners. Kristy recognized that it would be helpful to know the correct way to behave in certain situations. Finding out how to get a taxi, for example, or being told that it wasn’t necessary to tip a waiter because a service charge was always automatically added on to the bill, were valuable lessons.

  As she filed out of her third and last class of the morning with the other students, she heard a familiar voice calling to her.

  “Kristy! Kristy! Over here!”

  She turned and saw Jennifer, grinning at her and waving energetically.

  “Oh, hi, Jennifer.” She headed over in her direction. “So how did you enjoy the first day?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Oh, you know. It was just as boring as I expected.”

  “Boring! Are you kidding? I thought it was fabulous! I mean, I feel I learned more French in an hour with Monsieur Gautier than in six years of studying at Weston High. And all that stuff about getting around in Paris ... don’t you think that’s useful?”

  Jennifer made a face. “I suppose. Hey, listen, how about getting some lunch? There are a bunch of cafes around here, but I’m still shy about ordering in French.” She chuckled self-consciously. “You know me.”

  “Jennifer,” Kristy scolded. “You’ve got to start some time. Otherwise you’ll starve by the time the summer is over. Besides, it’s fun, speaking French to French people. It’s like ... oh, I don’t know, like speaking some crazy, made-up language and then finding out that people really understand what you’re saying.”

  “They’d never understand me,” Jennifer grumbled. “My French is terrible. Come on, Kristy. Take me to lunch with you.”

  “Excuse me, but I thought we had made planes for lunch,” a male voice suddenly interrupted.

  “Planes?” Jennifer repeated. “What are you doing, going to the airport with this guy?”

  Instead of being offended, the young man who had helped Kristy find the right classroom laughed. “I have made a mistake, no?”

  Jennifer looked at him oddly. To Kristy, in a voice that was only slightly softer than usual, she said, “I won
der if this guy knows the word ‘weird.’ ”

  Instead of siding with Jennifer, Kristy found herself growing angry. This boy had been so nice to her, going out of his way to help her—even going so far as to help her out in their communication by speaking English—and Jennifer was simply discounting him.

  So when he said, “I hope I am not too late to invite you to have lunch with me,” Kristy didn’t hesitate before answering.

  “I would love to have lunch with you,” she said. “You can practice your English, and I’ll practice my French.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Jennifer cried. “Kristy, I thought you were going to have lunch with me!”

  “Sorry,” Kristy insisted, standing firm. “I think that having lunch with this authentic Parisian would be much more of a learning experience.”

  “Learning experience?” Jennifer came back. “Kristy Connor, what kind of a friend are you, anyway?”

  Kristy just shrugged. “Sorry, Jen. But I came to Paris to learn, and that means meeting the people here. This is my first real chance, except for my host family.”

  Leaving behind a pouting Jennifer, Kristy walked off with her new French friend.

  “Allons,” she said to him, not even glancing back. “Let’s go!”

  * * * *

  “This is so strange,” Kristy commented over lunch at a cafe near the Sorbonne. “You are speaking English, I am speaking French....” She laughed as she popped one of her French fries, or frites, into her mouth. “This has got to be the strangest conversation I’ve ever had in my life!”

  “Yes, it is strange,” the boy sitting opposite her agreed with a smile. “But it is good practice. Now, I haven’t told you my name, and you haven’t told me yours. I call myself Alain....”

  “My name is Alain,” Kristy corrected him automatically.

  “Your name is Alain, too?” he asked, baffled.

  When he saw her chuckling, however, he understood. “Ah. Now I understand.” Carefully he said, “My name is Alain.”

  “And my name is Kristy. Kristy Connor.”

  Their conversation continued on like this. It was good practice, Kristy realized, and having Alain speak in English, no matter how faulty, did make it pretty easy to understand him.