I know, I shouldn't be starting a new story when I still have 2 on going ones, but I really wanna write this one! I'm really excited about this one and I hope you all love it!
I know very little about France. I'm a pure blood American, born and raised in Amity Park. I'm a senior in high school and tomorrow is my first day of school. One small change though, I'll be going to school in Paris.
That's right. Paris. As in France. It was my dad's idea. He and my mom broke it off six months after my little brother was born. Now he's a somewhat famous author of these novels set in Small Town Georgia about folks with Good American Values who Fall in Love and then contracts Life-Threatening Diseases and Die.
I'm serious.
And it's totally depressing, but the ladies eat it up. They love my father's books and his V-neck sweaters and blond Ken Barbie hair. They've turned him into a bestseller and a total dick.
But the real money comes from the movies. Two of his books have already been turned to movies and three are in production. And somehow the extra cash and fame have given him a crazy idea that I should live in France. For a year. Alone. I don't understand why he couldn't send me to Ireland or Canada or anywhere else where English is their native language. The only French word I know is oui, which means "yes", and only recently did I learn it's spelled o-u-i and not w-e-e.
Well, on the bright side the people at my new school at least speak English. I'll be going to School of America in Paris. Basically a bunch of American teens stuck in one boarding school. I'm stuck with ninety- nine other students and there are only twenty-five senior students in my entire class. Twenty-four who which already know each other and I'm going to be the only new senior, sticking out like a sore thumb.
At Casper High, my old school, there were about six- hundred kids. At my new school, I'll be studying the same things I was before. Well, almost, I have to take Beginning French.
Oh yea, Beginning French. No doubt with the freshman, I totally rock.
Mom said I need to lose my goth depression aura and look at this as an adventure. But she's not the one leaving her amazing best friend Bridgette. Or her fabulous job at Amity Movie Place. Or Gregor, the fabulous boy at Amity Park Place.
And I can't believe she's taking me away from Sean, my seven year old brother. He's too young to be home alone after school. Without me there, he'll probably get kidnapped by some ghost or the creepy hobo across the street. Or he'll eat something with Red Dye #40 and his throat will swell up and no one will be there to take him to the hospital. He'll die and I probably won't even be allowed to go to the funeral because my life SUCKS!
My dad better not be expecting me to study abroad now for college. I want to go to study film theory in California. I want to be the world's greatest female film critic. One day I'll be invited to every festival, and I'll have major newspaper column and a wicked TV show and a ridiculously popular website. Currently I only have the website, and it's not that popular. Yet.
I just need more time to perfect it, that's all.
"Sam, it's time."
"What" I glance up from folding my shirts into perfect squares.
Mom stares at me and twiddles the turtle charm on her necklace. My father, flashing a peach polo and white boating shoes, is glazing out my dormitory window. It's late, but across the street some lady belts out something operatic. I can tell that's going to get really annoying really fast.
My parents both need to return to their hotel rooms. They both have early flights tomorrow.
"Oh." I grip the shirt in my hands a little tighter.
Dad steps away from the window, and I'm alarmed to discover his eyes are wet. Something about the idea of my father- even if it's my father- on the brink of tears raises a lump in my throat.
"Well Sammy. I guess you're all grown up now"
My body clinches at that horrible nickname. He pulls my stiff limbs into a bear hug. "Take care of yourself. Study hard and make some friends. This will all be worth it, maybe help you with your goth stage. And watch out for pickpockets," he adds. "Sometimes they work in pairs."
I nod into his shoulder, and he releases me. And then he's gone.
My mother lingers behind. "You'll have a wonderful year here," she says. "I just know it, I have a feeling." I bite my lip from saying something sarcastic, and she sweeps me into her arms. "I'll call you the moment I get home," she says.
Home. Amity Park isn't my home anymore.
"I love you, Sam"
I am not very emotional, heck, I'm goth. But this is my mom, the one who I talk to and watch old movies with and cry onto. So of course there are some tears leaking from my eyes. "I love you, too. Take care of Sean for me."
"Of course."
Then my mom does something I don't see coming, even after all of the paperwork and plane ticket and presentations. Something that would've happened in a year anyway, when I'm off to college, but no matter how many days or months or years I've yearned for it, I am still not prepared for when it actually happens.
My mom leaves. I am alone
DPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDDP
I feel it coming, but I can't stop it.
PANIC.
They left me. My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE!
Any other teenager would be thrilled, but I'm obviously not like other teenagers.
Meanwhile, Paris is oddly quite. Even the hella annoying opera singer has packed up for the night. I cannot lose it. These walls are thinner then Band-Aids, so if I break down my neighbors- my new classmates- will hear everything. I can already hear the rumors. New goth girl cries because she doesn't have her parents to babysit her in Paris. She acts tough, but inside she's just a pansy toddler.
I race to my pedestal sink and splash water on my face, but it explodes out and sprays my shirt instead. Great. I haven't unpacked my towels, and wet clothing's reminds me of those stupid water rides Bridgette and Matt used to drag me to at Amity Water Park where the water is the wrong color and it smells like paint and it has a billion trillion bacterial microbes in it. What if there are bacterial microbes in the water? Is French water even safe to drink?
What is wrong with me?
How many seventeen- year- olds would kill to leave home? My classmates aren't having any meltdowns. I'm supposed to be tough, goth, and badass. That's what Bridgette always said. I collapse face-first into my pillow and sob like a baby.
Someone is knocking on my door.
No. That can't be my door.
There it is again!
"Hello?" a girl calls from the hallway. "Hello? Are you ok?"
No, I am certainly not ok. GO AWAY. But she calls again, and I'm forced to crawl off my bed and answer the door. A blond with long, tight curls waits on the other side. She's tall and big, but not overweight big, volleyball player big. "Are you ok?" Her voice is gentle. "I'm Meredith; I live next door. Were those your parents who just left?"
My running black eyeliner answer her question.
"I cried the first night too." She tilts her head, think for a moment, and then nods. "Come on. Chocolat chaud."
"A chocolate show?"
"No" she smiles. "Chaud. Hot. Hot chocolate, I can make some in my room."
Oh.
Despite my pride, I follow. Meredith stops me with her hand like a crossing guard. She's wearing rings on all five fingers. "Don't forget you're key. The doors automatically lock behind you."
"I know." And I tug the necklace out from underneath my shirt to prove it. I felt so much like Zoey from Zoey 101.
We enter her room. I gasp. It's the same impossible size as mine, seven by ten feet, with the same mini- desk, mini- dresser, mini-bed, mini-fridge, mini-sink, and mini-shower. (No mini- toilet, those are shared down the hall for no one's convenience.) But…unlike my own sterile cage, every inch of her wall and ceiling was covered with posters and pictures and shiny wrapping paper and colorful flyers that kinda hurt my eyes, written in French.
"How long have you been here?"
She hands me a tissue and I blow my nose and whip my face. "I arrived yesterday. This is my forth year here, so I didn't have to go to the seminar. I flew in alone, so I've just been hanging out, waiting for my friends to show up." She looks around, her hands on her hips, admiring her handiwork. "Not bad, eh? White walls just aren't my thing."
I circle her room, examining everything. I quickly discover that most of the faces are the same five people: John, Paul, George, Ringo, and some soccer player guy I didn't know.
"The Beatles are all I listen to. My friends tease me, but-"
"Who's this?" I point to Soccer Guy. He's wearing red and white, and he's all dark eyebrows and dark hair. Quite good-looking, actually.
"Cesc Fabregas. God, he's the most incredible passer. Plays for Arsenal. The English football club? No?"
I shake my head, I don't keep up with sports. Sure, I'm good at them, but that's a useless talent that God should've given to someone who cares. "Nice legs, though."
"I know, right?" You could hammer a nail with those thighs."
While Meredith brews chocolat chaud on her hot plat, I learn she's also a senior, and that she only plays soccer during the summer because our school doesn't have a program, but she used to rank All-Star in Massachusetts. That's where she's from, Boston. And she reminds me to call it "football" here, which- when I think about it- really does make more sense. And she doesn't seem to mind when I drown her with questions or paw through her things.
I look around her room again. "I wish I could have a room like this." I love it, but I'm to much of a neat freak to have something like it for myself. I need clean walls and a clean desktop and everything put away in its right place at all times.
Meredith looks pleased with the compliment.
"Are these your friends?" I point to a picture tucked in her mirror. It's gray and shadowy and printed on think, glossy paper. Clearly the product of a school photography class. Four people stand before a giant hollow cube, and the abundance of stylish black clothing and deliberately mussed hair reveals. Meredith belongs to the resident art clique. For some reason, I'm surprised. I know her room is artsy, and she has all of those rings and her finger and in her nose, but the rest is clean-cut- lilac sweater, pressed out jeans, soft voice. Then there's the soccer thing, but she's not a tomboy either.
She breaks into a wide smile, and her nose ring winks. "Yeah. Ellie took that at La Defense. That's Tucker and Danny and me and Valerie. You'll meet them tomorrow at breakfast. Well, everyone but Ellie, she graduated last year."
The pit of my stomach begins to unclench. Was that an invitation to sit with her?
"But I'm sure you'll meet her soon enough, because she's dating Danny. She's at Parsons Paris now for photography."
I've never heard of it, but I nod as if I've considered going there myself.
"She's really talented." The edge of her voice suggests differently, but I don't push it. "Tucker and Valerie are dating, too" she adds.
Ah. Meredith must be single. 5th wheel much?
Sadly, I can relate. Back home I'd dated my friend Matt for five months. He was tall-ish and funny-ish and had decent-ish hair. It was one of those "since on one better is around, do you wanna make out?" situation. All we ever did was kiss, and even that wasn't so great. Too much spit. I always had to wipe my chin off.
We broke up after I learned about Paris, but it wasn't a big deal. Now he's going out with Cherrie Milliken, who is in chorus and has shiny shampoo-commercial hair. It doesn't really bother me.
Not really.
Besides, the breakup freed me to lust after Gregor, my coworker at the movie theater. Not that I didn't lust over him when I was taken, but still. I did make me feel bad, I'm not that cold hearted. And things were starting to happen between Gregor and me-they really were- when summer ended. But Matt is the only guy I've ever dated, and he barley counts.
Meredith's phone starts ringing the few bars of "Strawberry Field Forever." She rolls her eyes and answers. "Mom, it's midnight here. Six-hour time difference, remember?"
Midnight, already? I glance at her alarm clock to see she's right. I set my long-empty mug of chocolat chaud on her dresser. "I should get going," I whisper. "Sorry I stayed so long."
"Hold on a sec." she covers the mouthpiece. "It was nice meeting you. See you at breakfast?"
"Yeah. See ya." I try to say this casually, but I'm so thrilled that I skip from her room and promptly slam into a wall.
Whoops. Not a wall. A boy.
"Oof" He staggers backwards.
"Sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."
He shakes his head, a little dazed. This first thing I notice is his hair- it's the first thing I notice about everyone. It's jet black, like mine, and messy and somehow both long and short at the same time. It's I-pretend-I-don't-care-but-I-really-do hair.
Beautiful hair.
"It's okay, I didn't see you either. Are you ok?"
Oh my. His has ocean blue eyes.
"Err. Does Mer live here?"
Seriously, those things are piercing through my dark heart.
The boy clears his throat. "Meredith Chevalier? Tall girl? Big, curly hair?" Then he looks at me like I'm crazy or half deaf.
"I'm sorry." He takes the smallest step away from me. "You were going to bed."
"Yes! Meredith lives there. I've just spent two hours with her." I announce this proudly like my brother, Seany, whenever he finds something disgusting in the yard. Play it cool, Manson. "I'm Sam, I'm new."
The beautiful boy gives an amused grin. His teeth are lovely- straight on top and crooked on the bottom, with a touch of overbite. I'm a sucker for a smile like this, due to my own lack of orthodontia. I have a gap between my front teeth the size of a raisin.
"Daniel," he says. "I live one floor up."
"I live there." I point dumbly at my room while my mind whirs: something about him seems familiar.
He knocks on Meredith's door. "Well. I'll see you around then, Sam."
My heart thump thump thump in my chest.
Meredith opens her door. "Danny!" she shrieks. She's still on the phone. They laugh and hug and talk over each other. "Come in! How was your flight? When'd you get here? Have you seen Tucker? Mom, I've gotta go."
Meredith's phone and door snap shut simultaneously.
I fumble with the key on my necklace. Two girls in matching pink bathrobes strut behind me, giggling and gossiping. A crowd of guys across the hall snicker and catcall. Meredith and her friend laugh through the thin walls. My heart sinks, and my stomach tightens back up.
I'm still the new girl. I'm still alone.
Review Please! I don't own Danny Phantom or Anna and the French Kiss.