One Paris Summer (Blink) (9 page)

I was beginning to have second thoughts about how I’d treated him. Granted, he was Camille’s friend, but he’d been nothing but nice. Sure, my stepsister might have left me behind on purpose, but he probably hadn’t been in on the plot.

He walked purposefully toward a group of about a dozen teens, Dane and Eric included. Camille reigned over her group of friends, sitting in the exact middle, and Dane was right beside her. Her dark wavy hair hung loose and she looked absolutely gorgeous.

I had to apologize before he reached his friends. “Mathieu, I want to—”

He made a direct approach to Camille, pointing his finger angrily toward me before he spewed rapid-fire French. I was pretty sure I heard the word
diable
as he gave an extra jab.

Dane laughed as he glanced up at me. “Good job, Soph. You’re pissing the Parisians off right and left.”

I gasped in surprise.

Eric got to his feet. “Sophie. What happened?” He now looked almost as furious as Mathieu did.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” I sneered.

“I can’t help it if you got lost like you’re a kindergartner. Why didn’t you stay with Camille?”

Camille had been having an intense conversation with Mathieu, but she looked up at me and laughed, only making Mathieu look angrier.

I pointed toward her, seething. “She lost me on
purpose
.”

Eric groaned. “Sophie, come on. Why would she do that?”

Camille batted her eyes. “Eric, poor little Sophie has suffered a trauma. You shouldn’t be so hard on someone so weak and defenseless.” She put her hand on top of Dane’s and continued to smile, her eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t need you to defend me,
Camille
.” I took a step closer. “I just want you to
leave me alone
.”

Mathieu’s gaze darted to me, his face red with anger, and he spit out more French.

Ignoring him, Camille leaned back and smiled. “I can’t do that,
baby sister
. My mother told me to show you an
interesting
summer.”

While some of the people in the group appeared stunned by the commotion playing out before them, several, including the blonde girl next to Camille, laughed as if they had been part of a conspiracy. In fact, I was sure they had, which only confirmed my decision not to trust Mathieu.

Mathieu’s tirade continued, and she turned to him as he gestured wildly between the two of us.

“What’s he saying?” I whispered to Eric.

He kept his gaze on my rescuer. “He’s so pissed he’s talking too fast for me to understand. I think he called you ‘annoying and self-centered.’ ”

My face burned with embarrassment. Now I was glad I hadn’t tried to apologize.

When Mathieu stopped, Camille replied in an icy tone. He glared at her for several moments before he turned around and stomped out of the park, leaving his friends in silence.

“Way to ruin the afternoon, Sophie,” Dane mumbled, but Camille’s smirk wavered a little. When she saw me looking, it quickly transformed into a look of triumph.

Not only was Dane giving all his attention to my witch of a stepsister, but he was turning out to be a first-class jerk. This summer was getting worse and worse. I would have gone back to the apartment, but I didn’t know how to get there. So I sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged, and suffered the snotty looks Camille’s friends were giving me.

As I took the sandwich my brother offered, I wondered if maybe I should have stayed in the subway and started training rats after all.

WE ONLY STAYED
at the park for a half hour. Eric’s anger softened, and it dawned on me that he’d gotten so upset because losing me had freaked him out. Dane soon forgot about me in an apparent quest to fit in with Camille and her friends.

Fine by me.

Eric stood and brushed off the back of his jeans. “Sophie and I are heading back.”

Camille looked over at me with a pouty face. “Is it Sophie’s nap time?”

My brother’s eyes darkened and he sucked in a breath. “I’m tired. Jet lag.”

Dane looked incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

Eric shook his head. “We’ll see you guys back at the apartment.”

“Do you know where you are going?” Camille’s blonde friend asked. I was pretty sure her name was Marine. There was a little wistfulness in her expression as she studied Eric.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, then looked down at me. “Come on.”

I scrambled to my feet and followed him, only we didn’t leave the garden the way I’d entered it. We headed through it, walking toward the giant fountain.

When were about fifty feet away from the others, Eric slowed down and waited for me to catch up.

“Soph . . .” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

I nearly stopped in my tracks, but he kept going, as though he were on a mission.

“I’m not sure if Camille lost you on purpose, but she’s been a total witch to you since you got back. I’m your brother, and it’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”

I nearly gasped. Never in our sixteen years as siblings had he ever made this kind of pronouncement. But up until this summer—unless we were doing things with our parents—we had lived completely separate lives.

“And I’m sorry I yelled when Camille’s friend brought you back. I was so freaked out that something had happened to you. I wanted to go find you, but Camille assured me Mathieu was on it.”

I finally found my tongue. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“All I could think about was what Dad would say if I showed up without you. He would freaking kill me. Can we keep this to ourselves?”

For one angry moment, I thought he was more worried about getting in trouble than my safety, but one look at him convinced me that wasn’t true. “Sure.”

Still, part of me wanted to tell my father exactly the kind of witch he’d inherited as a stepdaughter, but I suspected he wouldn’t believe me. What difference did it make if he knew? I’d rather keep peace with my brother. I suspected I would need an ally this summer.

He shot me a look of relief. “Camille said there was a
crêpe
restaurant between here and the Pantheon. Do you want to check it out?”

I shook my head. “I can’t pay for it. I was pickpocketed in the subway.”

His eyes flew open in alarm. “Sophie, I’m sorry.”

I shrugged, pretending I hadn’t been terrified, but he knew it was a ruse.

He put his arm around my shoulder. “I’ll buy to make up for ditching you.”

“Thanks.”

The
crêpe
shop was a short walk from the gardens. We got a table on the sidewalk and I stared at our view in awe. The
Jardin de Luxembourg
palace was on one side, and the Pantheon was on the other.

After we ordered, Eric seemed lost in thought, staring at the Pantheon, which loomed a block away. He caught me watching him and offered me an apologetic grin. “I bet Dad’s in heaven here.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t need the reminder that he’d rather be here living with his new wife and stepdaughter than back home with us. “I know you didn’t just want to leave for my sake. What’s wrong? No one believed your jet lag story.”

He frowned and dropped his gaze to his fork. “Dane seemed preoccupied.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to me that it would bother Eric to see Dane lavishing all his attention on our stepsister. Would I feel the same way if Jenna only had eyes for Mathieu when she came to visit?

I wasn’t prepared for the weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that accompanied the thought. I didn’t have time to consider it, though, because Eric changed the topic.

“You have to get more street-smart, Soph.”

I gave him a teasing grin. “You want me to join a gang?”

He laughed. “No. But you need to figure out where we live and how to ride the subway by yourself.” A sheepish look washed over his face. “In case you get lost again.”

I had to admit he was right. So after we finished, we walked the short distance to the subway station. We each took a few minutes to figure out how to buy tickets and how to interpret the train map.

“
Pont de l’Alma
,” Eric said, pointing to the dot next to the Seine. “That’s home base. The RER C. Can you remember that?”

The remembering part wasn’t difficult. It was the execution I was worried about.

He made me repeat the directions from the station to Dad’s apartment building on
Rue Dupont des Loges
—three blocks south, then three west.

When we reached Dad’s building and started the three-flight hike to the apartment, Eric said, “I’m going to ask Dad to get you a phone.” I hated him a little, since he was barely out of breath. I was sure all his sports activities helped.

“Why?” I asked in surprise.

“In case you get lost again. Even if you come back home, you can call me and let me know you’re safe.”

Home.
That was the second time he’d used that word. I wondered how he threw it around so easily so quickly. This place definitely didn’t feel like home to me.

I started to say something, but the open front door to the apartment caught my attention. That was weird.

Eric pushed past me, but one step inside the apartment told me why the door was open. Eva stood in the hallway, overseeing two men who were attaching metal legs to a brown rectangular box.

Eva looked up, her eyes lighting up when she saw me. “Sophie! You’re home. I was hoping to have your surprise ready before you came back.”

It was then I realized that the mystery item on the floor of the apartment’s hallway was an electronic keyboard.

I took several tentative steps toward it, and Eric shot me a warning glare. An electronic keyboard wasn’t even close to the same as a piano.

Eva waved toward the electronic piece. “You’ll have some privacy here, and the man at the shop said when you wear the headphones, it will tune everyone out as well as quiet the noise.”

I fought a tidal wave of disappointment. Eva didn’t know any better, even if my father did. But I wasn’t completely self-centered, and the fact that Eva had been the one to purchase the piano wasn’t lost on me. “It’s wonderful, Eva. Thank you.”

Eric’s shoulders relaxed.

She moved toward me and pulled me into a loose hug. “I want you to be happy here, Sophie. I want you to think of this as your home.”

There was that word again, but even if I had been open to the possibility, the fact that Camille lived here pretty much squelched any hope of that happening.

I gave her a squeeze. “Thank you, Eva. That means a lot to me.” And it did. At least
she
was making an effort.

As the men set the keyboard upright, Eva went into the dining room and began to drag a chair into the hall. When Eric realized what she was doing, he grabbed it from her and set it in front of the piano.

“I thought you could use an upholstered chair instead of one of those stiff benches,” Eva said softly.

I smiled. “Thank you.” I wasn’t about to tell her an upholstered chair would be terrible for my posture. My piano teacher would be horrified.

One of the men plugged in the keyboard and showed Eva the power button and all the special features. She tried to explain it to me, but I waved her off. “I don’t need them. Just the piano.”

“Try it,” Eva said, gesturing toward the chair.

My music was still in my suitcase, but I didn’t need it. I had countless pieces memorized. I sat down on the chair and curled my fingers over the keys, trying to decide what to play. I settled
on
Clair de Lune
. I’d played it in a state competition only a few months ago, so it was still fresh in my memory. Eva was sure to know it, and I had a sudden desire to make her happy. The correlation to my own life wasn’t lost on me. Debussy had written the piece while living in Paris in the early twentieth century. It was his attempt to keep the old style of music alive in the ever-changing modern age.

I knew after the first few notes that the keyboard was never going to work. The keys were too easy to press and nothing like the feel of a real keyboard. It might suffice for a week or two, but not the entire summer. Not if I wanted a chance at winning the scholarship competition.

But it was better than no piano at all.

My teacher, Miss Lori, was strict on technical detail, but she also encouraged her students to feel an emotional connection to the piece. Part of learning a new song was studying the composer and the stories behind the piece, all of which made it more than just a few squiggles on a page. Up until last fall, I’d enjoyed playing and excelled at it, but I hadn’t felt that connection.

After my father left, Miss Lori told me my pain could bring my music to a deeper level. “Music is more than notes and tones strung together in rhythm and meters, Sophie. You can be the most technically proficient pianist in the world, but unless you make the audience feel something deep in their soul, you are just another musician. Be an artist. Draw from your well of sorrow.” She cupped my cheek and stared into my eyes. “Make me
feel
your pain.”

Then she handed me the sheet music to Henry Purcell’s
Dido’s Lament
. “It’s a quiet piece from the opera
Dido and Aeneas
, but I think you will feel a kinship to it.”