Page 9 - My FlipBook

AMY BEARCE
AMY BEARCE
small overseas on an American base like ours, and mostly ev-
eryone was friends—but I wanted to be so much more than a
friend to him.

Jace blocked the imaginary ball and cheered with a dazzling
grin. My pulse picked up. Breathe slowly, I reminded myself. In
through the nose, and out through the mouth.

“Nice move,” I said, trying and failing to sound casual.
He didn’t answer. I doubted he even heard me over the
chatter of the other kids, a small mercy.
Sophia called over to Beth and Mei-Lin while the rest of the
boys tossed bits of stale croissants to the pigeons as they walked

behind our teacher. Today, Beth had worn her hair in a cute,
curly puff on top of her head. Sophia said something I couldn’t
hear, but Beth laughed so hard that her poof shimmied. Looked

like lots of fun over there.
I bit my lip and double-checked my backpack. The note was
still there, my heart translated into crumpled paper and shaky
lines of ink. I’d finished late last night and reread it as soon as our
teacher woke us with our agenda for the day: “Bonjour, eighth

graders! Réveille-toi! Get ready for our last full day in Paris! Today
we’ll see the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, the Sainte-Chapelle, and
wrap up with a river cruise on the Seine.”

Mrs. Clark had woken us up every morning this week with
a giant to-do list like that. She’d said when it came to learning
about famous cities, nothing compared to actually being there.
That it was magical.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I just couldn’t see it yet.

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