CHAPTER ONE
The Note
I
never realized how much the Eiffel Tower looked like a giant
middle finger. Standing before it now, I wanted to return the
salute, but A) I’d never have the guts, and B) it might upset my
best friend, Reggie, who was completely fangirling over
every aspect of our eighth-grade graduation trip to Paris.
“Can you believe it, Eve?” Reggie said, gazing at
the famous landmark. “It’s so beautiful!” She sighed,
clasping her hands to her chest. Unlike me, she actually
had
a chest, not to mention gorgeous black curls and
golden-brown skin, but she would’ve been confident no
matter what. Bubbly enthusiasm pretty much leaked
from her pores.
I forced my mouth into a curve that could pass
for a smile. The Eiffel Tower was a boring shade of
mud-gray with clunky rivets, crawling with camera-
wielding tourists.
