The French Holiday

Chapter 1

I'm going to be doing this thing where there's a song to listen along to while you read each chapter. This one's: At Home by Crystal Fighters.

3,625 miles.

That was roughly the distance that I had traveled in only the last 8 hours and my bedraggled self was certainly proof of it.

Fortunately for me though, there didn't seem to be anything that 2 pounds of foundation applied hastily in an airport bathroom couldn't fix, so Paris...here I come!

I know it seems a bit clichéd, a summer in Paris? Who's ever heard of that? But my two adventurous parents thought that it was time for this trio to take the old city of love for a spin and, two weeks later, here I am.

"Mae, is that your suitcase?" my mom chirped happily from besides me as if jet lag was the greatest myth next to global warming.

"Yep" I pulled my suitcase from the conveyor; well, at least tried to because bringing my entire "insta-worthy" wardrobe overseas apparently wasn't the best idea. Who knew?

The point is, my hot pink suitcase weighed a shit-ton and there was no way my skinny little arms that hadn't met a gym in their lifetime we're going to be able to lift it.

Thankfully, before the pulling and yanking got way too embarrassing or my grunting thrown into a whole other sexual context, a guy from besides me carried it effortlessly and dropped it right next to me.

I quickly snatched it closer 'cause "stranger danger" right before actually looking up at my savior...and that's where my mouth went slack.

"T-Thank you" I stuttered at the blue-eyed and roguishly handsome boy.

"De rien" he answered simply before turning back to the suitcases whizzing by.

"Oh my god" I mouthed to myself (yes, I have tendencies to speak to myself, even in a public context). I guess this summer was going to be more interesting than I thought.

-0-

My stomach growled. Like literally gave off a loud, monstrous roar amidst a crowd of bustling tourists.

"Mae" my dad whispered, giving me one of his famous worried side glances.

"What" I muttered, the lack of food turning my usual crankiness up a notch "I haven't eaten in like 12 hours and there's a macarrón stand two feet away!"

I enviably watched a group of Chinese tourists munching on the colorful treats and slumped back on top of my suitcase.

"Sorry, but I'll promise we'll get something to eat once we get to the hotel" my mom said, giving me a look.

I sighed dramatically, competing only against the best of Disney princesses and watched my dad attempt to order a taxi in butchered French.

I wondered if the poor guy even understood a word from my dad, but how could I blame him? The only French I knew was "oui, oui baguette", if that even counts.

I soon got bored from watching their confusing exchange and fished my phone from the bottom of my backpack.

It speedily connected to the airport's Wi-Fi and I held it away from me as if expecting a huge wave of messages that would send my phone into a vibrating frenzy, but of course, I had forgotten that my popularity was only one thing: nonexistent.

Ping!

Or maybe it wasn't. Or maybe it was just your best friend since forever, Val, checking up on you.