A Nice Fling is Hard to Find (4 page)

Anyway, Becca pushed passed me and helped her brother to his
feet. “What happened?” she screamed. “Did someone hit you?” She glared at the
crowd, ready to beat-up whoever had hurt him.

If only I could have disappeared into the crowd.

“I fell,” he said, limping toward a sidewalk, and rubbing
the back of his head.

And what was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do?
Why would Tommy try to kiss me? He’s never showed any type of interest in me.
Why tonight? Did he think I came on to him? Did he think I wanted him to be my
fling?

I can’t hook up with Tommy!

Yes, he’s cute and a nice guy. But it cannot happen. For
many, many reasons.

1.
 
I am not attracted to him! At least, I don’t think I am.

2.
 
He’s my best friend’s brother. My best friend’s TWIN brother.
You can’t hook up with your best friend’s twin brother for many, obvious
reasons. One being, your best friend will never speak to you again once you and
said twin break up. That’s what people in their teens do—they break up. It’s
not likely that two sixteen-year-olds year olds will get married. I’m not
saying it’s impossible, but a smart gambler would wager that it’s highly
unlikely. So, either I break up with him, or he breaks up with me. If I break
up with him, Becca hates me for hurting her brother. If he breaks up with me,
then I hate him for breaking up with me, and then I spend the next ten years
avoiding him, and then what do I do when Becca wants me to be the maid of honor
at her wedding?

Or what if us hooking up doesn’t even lead to a
relationship? What if it’s the sloppiest, most disgusting, kiss in the history
of kissing? What if he bites my tongue by mistake and gives me a lisp? It would
always be awkward between us. I would never be able to hang out at their place
watching TV or making English muffin pizzas in the microwave.

3.
 
Tommy is not foreign. My fling is supposed to be someone I will
never see again. Not someone from my own city, from my own high school, or
especially someone I have known since nursery school.

After the encounter, I could not, would not, look at Tommy.
And he could not, would not, look at me.

I could barely summon the appropriate concentration to flirt
with Vlad. Or Pierre. In fact, I totally lost Vlad in the crowd and didn’t even
get a chance to say good night to him after the parade. Who knows if I’ll ever
see him again? Sure, he’s staying in the hostel, but I don’t want to be a fling
stalker.

Tommy has ruined everything. What had he been thinking? Was
he drunk? Suffering from heatstroke? Perhaps my guava is even more powerful
than I’ve ever realized?

And the worst part is that I can’t complain to Becca. Hey,
your brother hit on me, our friendship is awkward from this morning forward,
and happy Bastille Day to you.

Everyone is fast asleep. Well, not everyone. Penny with a Y
is missing. Her sleeping bag is still zipped tight. Where is she?

Is she hooking up with my Vlad?

She so is.

Who does she think she is hooking up with some random guy?
Slut.

Now I’m in an even worse mood. Maybe I’ll go to sleep and
wake up back in Long Island.

Still Sunday, still in France, 7:00 A.M

No luck. I’m still here.

Joanna just woke me up with “Les Poissons, Les Poissons, hee
hee hee hon hon hon.” Oh yes, she broke out The Little Mermaid.

TJ, would you mind very much if I used you to hit Joanna
over the head?

10:00 P.M.

We’re on the train headed toward the Alps. I wish I was
under the train.

It’s not the train per se that’s bad. I don’t mind the
train. I actually like the train, usually. You can sit and do nothing but
lazily watch the scenery roll by the window. In this case, scenery of the green
French countryside. Except I am too cranky to be lazy, and it’s too dark out to
see the fields of sunflowers or whatever.

After the early wake-up, we went to Notre Dame. I think I
would have appreciated the gargoyles and towers more if I’d been in a better
mood. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even hide behind a camera, since I still can’t
find mine. Of course Tommy was snapping away, looking all professional about
it.

Tommy who I still haven’t spoken to or looked at.

Anyway, it took us at least an hour to get up Notre Dame,
but from the top you could see 360 degrees around Paris. But then we had to
climb down, and I almost passed out on the stairs, because they were the swirly
kind and I felt a moment of panic that I would slip, fall and have to be put in
a body cast. Becca kept saying don’t look down, but how can you not? I got
nauseous, and had to sit down for a few minutes, which the people behind me in
line did not appreciate.

I’m not sure exactly how I got down – all I remember is that
Becca was holding my hand.

Then we went back to the hostel and packed up and checked
out.

Of course I kept an eye out for Vlad, but did I see him? No.
Potential fling number two slipped right through my fingers. Good thing
potential fling number one is stuck with us. Good-bye, Vlad, good-bye. Love
always, Линдсй.

“We’ll always have Paris,” Becca said as we strapped on our
gigantic backpacks. The trick is to sit down on the floor, put your arms in and
then hoist yourself into a standing position.

At the train station, Joanna purchased us all overnight
tickets to the French Alps. Each car on the train has two bunk beds and fits
four. Since Joanna said we could pick our own rooms, it should have been
Harold, Becca, me, and Tommy. But, when it came time to get into our cars,
Tommy was conspicuously absent. It was so obvious. To me anyway. Fortunately,
Tommy hadn’t said anything to Becca and Harold about what happened, so they
didn’t understand where he was.

“What if he’s not on the train?” Becca asked, concerned.

“I’m sure he’s here somewhere,” I muttered.

“I don’t think so. I’m going to look for him,” she said.

So then it was Harold and me in the car.

“Hey.”

“Howdy.”

Oh, the conversation was wild.

I could hear Becca stomping about, checking the other cars
with a,
“Excusez-moi, excusez-moi.”
Until I heard, “Oh. There you are.
Why didn’t you sit with us? I thought we’d left you in Paris. ”

“Oh, hey. I’m going to stay here.” Tommy’s voice was low and
rumbly.

“Why?”

I couldn’t hear the answer, but then Becca returned to our
cabin and closed the door. She climbed into the bottom bed next to Harold.
“That was weird.”

La, la la.

She draped her legs across Harold’s thighs. “I’m going to
have a long talk with him. He better not be making moves on one of the Pennies.
They are so lame.”

And then to make the night even more excruciating, that’s
when our door slid open. “Excellent,” Joanna said. “You have an extra bed. I’m
going to join you.”

I wasn’t the only one unhappy about this development. Harold
had to move to the top bunk above Becca since sharing a car was one thing, but
sharing a bed was another.

Then a half a second later, Pierre popped his sexy head into
the car, looked around and said, “Oh zis room is full.
Tant pis.
”

Javelin through the heart. He separated from Abby for the
first time all week and my car is full.

Finally the train took off . . . and here’s my question: how
am I supposed to sleep on a moving bed?

Monday, July 16
^th
, 6:45 A.M.

I just ran into Tommy outside the bathroom.

After tossing and turning, and repeatedly banging the back
of my head against the train wall, I finally fell asleep. Or was knocked
unconscious. Whatever. But then I woke up, finding that I had somehow rolled
off my bed onto the floor. Good thing I had a bottom bunk. I decided to try and
locate the bathroom.

When I came out, I found Tommy waiting by the door.

“Hey,” I squeaked, looking at the ground.

“Oh, hi.”

Pause. Silence. Neither of us moved.

“Listen, Lindsay?”

“Yes?”

“I’m—I’m sorry about what happened.”

“No biggie,” I said quickly.

“It’s just—”

I had to stop him from continuing. It suddenly occurred to
me that he could actually like me. And once he put that out there, well, there
was no going back. “It was the bubbly, right?” I added in a rush.

“Oh . . . yeah. The champagne.”

“Goes straight to the head. Don’t worry,” I reassured him.
“I won’t say anything to Becca.”

He looked out the window. “Sure.”

“We friends?”

“Of course. Friends.” He turned back to me and smiled.

Then we both stood there. And then he took a step toward me…

Oh, no not again, is what I thought. So I jumped back.
“Tommy, we talked about this.”

He looked confused for a second, and then he laughed. “I was
just going to the bathroom.”

Right.

So now I’m the girl who thinks my best friend’s brother is
constantly trying to jump her. Awesome.

Harold and Becca are awake and giggling—Harold must have
climbed into Becca’s bed during the night, because they’re all curled up
together like two puppies.

Joanna is still sleeping. Which is why I take great pleasure
in opening the blinds.

Hah!

The view of the sun rising over the mountains is quite
spectacular. I would take a photo if I could find my camera. Maybe today will
be a good day. We’re going white-water rafting. I have never been white-water
rafting. That is not something my mother would ever agree to let me do. In
fact, she explicitly told me after seeing it on the itinerary that I had to sit
it out.

Tough.

I am going to do it. I am not a child. I can be careful.

It is pretty cool that I’m white water rafting in the French
Alps. What did you do today? Oh I went white water rafting in the French Alps.
You?

Beats going to the mall.

Still Monday, 5:00 P.M.

So, I’m in the hospital.

Nice, huh?

Don’t worry, it’s nothing major.

Really.

Let me start at the beginning.

When we arrived, we checked into our chalet, which was much
nicer than the hostel in Paris. We’re four per room, each room holding just two
bunk beds. Somehow Becca and I got stuck with the Pennies. The good news is
that each room has its own small bathroom. I mean, really small. The shower
is—I’m not kidding—on top of the toilet. I made Becca take a picture.

Anyway, we put our stuff away, ate croissants and cheese
(the amount of cheese in this country is out of control. I’ve only been here a
few days and I’ve already ingested more than my body weight. If I’m not careful
I’m going to develop a lactose intolerance), put on our bathing suits, and got
picked up by the white-water rafting shuttle busses.

Before we were placed onto said rapids, we divided ourselves
into small groups. Ours was Harold, the Pennies, Becca, Tommy, Pierre (!!!),
the rafting guide, and me. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but Pierre and Abby
were clearly having some sort of lovers’ quarrel because Abby kept glaring our
way. Anyway, we were all fitted with red helmets and yellow life jackets and
handed paddles. I tightened my equipment, scooted over to the edge, made my
knuckles turn white from gripping my paddle – and practically had a heart
attack when a glistening Pierre took the spot beside me.

The little hairs on his calves were fully touching my
(hairless) legs. “Ready?” he asked.

Terrified.

I took a deep breath of the fresh mountain hair and tried to
calm myself. Then I tried to imprint the stunning scenery in my brain. How
could anything bad happen here? The mountains were lush and green and in the
distance capped with white. Besides, if rafting was actually dangerous, they
wouldn’t let unsuspecting tourists do it, would they? Especially Americans.
Hello. We sue.

Finally we began rafting. Basically you paddle down the
river until you hit the rapids, then you hold on for dear life. The first set
of rapids weren’t bad. They were a class two. We paddled, we stopped paddling,
we held on, the water splashed in our faces…but we all made it.

The second one was a class four. Since one of the other
boats was only a minute ahead of us, we could see them in the distance. They
went over the rapids and—BAM! Rori-Ann and Britney went over the side. Max and
Kristin took pictures.

And then it was our turn. We paddled and paddled and hold
on, hold on to the yellow rope, and then we were zooming—

The next thing I knew I was flying headfirst out of the boat
and into the rocky water.

My life flashed before my eyes. My dog, Becca, my mother. My
mother who was going to kill me if the rocks didn’t. Tommy.

Tommy?

Once I hit the subzero water, and realized that I was still
alive, I caught my breath and spotted the panicked look on Becca’s face. Then I
saw that Tommy was hanging out of the raft, trying to grab on to me. The guide
was yelling at him in both French and English to sit down, and motioning for me
to swim to a shallower area.

“I’m okay!” I sang out.  And I was. Cold, but fine.

But is my fall responsible for my hospital visit?

Nope.

The guide hoisted me back into the raft.

“Are you all right?” Becca and Tommy asked simultaneously.

I nodded yes, my teeth chattering.

“Did zat hurt?” he asked, quickly warming me up by wrapping
his arm around me.

“A little,” I said, hoping he would not move his arm. EVER.

“You’re shivering,” he said, rubbing my shoulders.

“Cold in there.”

“Yes, but we will be
chaud
in hot springs next.”

“Right,” I said. That was the next stop for today. I didn’t
know exactly what hot springs were, but I was guessing they were like some sort
of natural hot tub. Hot tubbing with Pierre? Sounded good to me.