Juxtaposition: (n) the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect.

Chris

"Wakey wakey," I whispered while I shook Alex's sleeping body. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open before she yanked the blanket out of my hand and pulled it over her head. "It's almost time to go." I waited a second before I went with plan B. "Alright, you've left me no other choice. I'll tickle you. Don't underestimate me, Alex." Instantly, she shot up out of bed like her life depended on it.

"Why on God's green Earth would they make us meet them at the train station at six in the Goddamn morning?" she whined while she changed. Anticipating her usual morning grumpiness, I started breakfast for her. I had practically forced her to pack her bags the night before. She wanted to wait until this morning, but no way would she get up even earlier than now to do it. She should be thanking me!

It's been hard since she told me she'll be going to Paris for a few weeks. It came as quite a surprise. We've become to accustomed to seeing each other every day. It'll be hard to adjust to her absence. I won't get to have her wake me up every morning, in one way or another, or fall asleep next to her while she gently snores. But they always say absences makes the heart grow fonder.

"Do I look okay?" she asked after she stepped out of the bathroom. She rarely wore make-up and today was no exception. The dark circles under her eyes stood out like a sore thumb and her clothes didn't really match but she still looked as beautiful as ever.

"You look great," I told her.

"Why do you lie to me?" she said rolling her eyes. "I look like a trashcan. I'm not even going to shower."

"Then why did you ask?!" I laughed as I put her breakfast down in front of her. She pretty much inhaled the food before telling me she was going to be late.

"Why didn't you tell me it was time to go?" she shouted as she tried putting on her coat and shoes at the same time.

We arrived at the terminal very early. I don't know why she always thinks we're going to be late and her transportation is going to leave early without her. It's never happened ever to anyone, but I still entertain her worry. After about forty-five minutes, other people started arriving. While others started introducing themselves to one another, Alex and I just kept to ourselves. Another twenty minutes later, some lady started to gather everyone around. Taking this as my cue to leave, we began our goodbyes. We tried to make it short and sweet with minimal sadness, but things didn't exactly go as planned. She looked back at me one final time before the crowd of people engulfed her.

Alex

Only once before have I ever been away from someone I knew for more than a few days. I guess I have some sort of separation anxiety. When I first moved to London, I had a panic attack nearly every night in my tiny little room. It'll only be a short six weeks by myself in Paris, but I'm already starting to feel homesick.

My anxiety was interrupted by Parvati breaking us up into groups depending on which language we spoke, since there were a lot of people from around the world. I was quickly shuffled between a bunch of strangers trying to find their respective groups. I somehow found myself in the French-speaking group. I speak a lot of French as my dad's dad is from Québec and I often spent summer break with him, so I tried to blend in and not make a scene. Thankfully, Parvati noticed me and whisked me over to the English-speaking group and then started roll call. We were all soon given a tag with our names and what country we're from. We boarded the Eurostar and found our seats. Feeling out of place, I put my headphones on and ignored everyone for the three-hour ride.

One reason I ride the bus despite everyone else in London taking the underground is because I have some underlying fear of the tunnels collapsing so imagine my fear of spending three hours underground the ocean. Yeah, it's not pretty.

Once we arrived in Paris, we were shoved into taxis and taken to a hotel. Parvati congregated us in a conference room and began giving us our assigned roommates and room numbers.

"Room 482 will be," Parvati began, "Alexandrine Lemieux, Savannah Arceneaux, Sarah Adkins, and Dayanand Keshari. Room 485 will be…"

"Oh, hi there!" a blonde American girl with a Southern twang practically shouted as she saw me. "You're Alex Lemieux!"

"Uh, yeah," I said.

"I'm Savannah. This is Dayanand. She's from Nepal. I'm going to try to find Sarah."

"Hi," Dayanand said. "Most people call me Daya. And, I'm not actually from Nepal. My parents are. I'm from Scarborough, Ontario."

"I'm Canadian, too! I'm from a little teeny tiny town that you've probably never heard of in Manitoba."

"Try me," Daya challenged.

"I'm from the Northlands First Nation. It's a Chipewyan reserve."

"Oh!" Daya exclaimed. "My boyfriend is Chippewa!"

I was about to correct her but I was cut off by Savannah dragging over, who I'm presuming is, Sarah. Sarah is a petite girl with mousy brown hair. She gave a small wave before going back to her book.

After everyone was assigned their room, we took our luggage to our individual rooms. I took a picture before I walked in and sent it Chris. On the inside, it's just one big room with four beds, a single bathroom, and a closet. One bathroom for four girls? This is going to be a disaster. Again, I took lots of pictures and sent them to Chris.

Before we really had a chance to look around, Savannah told us to start introducing ourselves. Seriously. Chill out, Savannah. I want to lay down! I found out that Savannah is from Louisiana and plays the clarinet. Daya plays the flute. Sarah is Australian and plays the viola. The viola is a little bit too big for her, in my opinion.

Around dinnertime, we got a call on the hotel phone telling us to come down to the conference room where we got our assigned rooms. Curious about what was going on, all four us made our way back.

Once again, we were divided up by language, and then again by gender. Basically, we were getting the rundown of how things will go during our stay. The dress code is what one might expect. No midriff, no cleavage, no shoulders unless it's tasteful (arbitrary rule, I suppose), and dresses and skirts must come below fingertips. At this time, we were all also given a packet of sheet music and our individual schedules. Next, we took a trip to the exhibit so we'd know how things are expected to go there and where we'll be at.

"We'll give you the weekend to practice your music," the speaker, whose name I have forgotten, said. "Good luck and goodnight!"

After scarfing down a quick meal, I retired for the night. When I woke up, the sun shined through the tiny window above my bed, giving me the perfect start to a new morning.