The Basics: Amsterdam is the capital of the Netherlands, which is north of Belgium and west of Germany. The native language is Dutch, and the currency is the euro. Prostitution and marijuana are both legal here.
If you are looking for a caffeine fix, do not wander into a coffee shop looking for different kinds of lattes. Coffee shops in Amsterdam sell pot. Different kinds of pot.
After I say a somewhat awkward, I-might-see-you-later-I-might-not good-bye to Jackson, Leela goes to shower and I message Kat that we’re thinking of going to Amsterdam, and would she mind if we came to Paris a few days later.
It takes her about thirty minutes, but she writes back: No worries! Try the Lemon Haze!
“Is that a dessert?” Leela yells over the sound of her newly delivered hair dryer.
“No idea,” I lie. I have some idea. It’s not a dessert. But I don’t want her thinking Kat is a pothead, because she totally isn’t. We’ve smoked a joint or two at parties, something I’ve never mentioned to Leela, who I’m pretty sure has never smoked anything in her life. Leela and I used to roll our eyes at the potheads at school who fell asleep during class and played way too much hacky sack. Matt’s enjoyment of pot was one of the things that drove her crazy about him.
“But your friend is okay with the new plan?” she asks, still upside down.
“Seems so,” I say.
“Fantastic. I really think—” Suddenly her hair dryer sparks bright red and turns off. “Shit. What happened? It’s dead. She just came back to me and now she’s dead!”
“Oh, no! Did you use my converter?”
“Yes! I did!” She unplugs it from the wall. “See? Oh shit.”
“What?”
“I think this is the wrong thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it’s a converter but we need an adapter. Or maybe it’s an adapter when we need a converter. Because the electricity is stronger.”
My cheeks heat up. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Oh well,” she says with a sigh. She drops the hair dryer in the garbage with a thump. “She was old, anyway. One less thing to carry to Amsterdam, right?”
That doesn’t make me feel better. Knowing I let her down gives me a pit in my stomach.
“Time to pack,” she says. “How am I going to fit all my new things in my duffel, anyway?”
I take in the mass of stuff. “I don’t think you are. I can take the extra.” All I had acquired so far was a snow globe, a mini-umbrella, and a paperback Carole Matthews romance from Waterstones. “I ripped out almost thirty pages of my Travel Europe guide. That gives me, like, twenty free pounds.”
She laughs. “Thanks, but I’ll just stuff it all in a Boots bag. I don’t want you breaking your back in week one.”
Luckily, we’re able to switch our train tickets, although not to the one the boys are on. But at least the hostel the boys are staying at has an available room with two single beds. I reserve it with my bank card.
It’s unclear to me who will be sleeping where.
Leela pokes me awake.
I open my eyes and blink. I’m on a train.
“We’re almost there. Wake up.”
That was fast. I slept the whole time. And here we are. Amsterdam.
We pull out all of our bags from the storage overhead as the train slowly grinds to a halt.
“They should already be at the hostel,” Leela says. “This is going to be so fun.”
We step onto the platform and look for the exit signs.
“Let me text and see if they can meet us here and help us with our bags,” Leela says.
“I don’t need help,” I say. “It’s all on my back, baby. And some on my front.”
“Matt’s not going to want us getting lost. This way they can show us where the hostel is. Why should we wander through the streets?”
I check my phone before we leave the station and I lose Wi-Fi. There are so many messages from my sister.
She is crazy. Totally crazy.
Why aren’t you answering me?
She’s having a spell.
Why don’t we live with Dad?
You better be having the best trip ever.
Why won’t she see a shrink? I don’t get it.
I’m thinking of slipping a sedative into her coffee.
And more. I pop my shoulder in annoyance. Really? She’s freaking out after five days? I deal with our mother all the time. She’s lucky that I’ve never forced her to do all this stuff before. I probably should have. But she’d only been in fifth grade when my parents divorced, and she’d had all those tutors. And then she had her swimming and her softball and I just had Leela and my books and a driver’s license so it made sense for me to do more—all—of the mom shepherding.
So, yeah, I guess it’s not Addison’s fault she’s freaked out. I basically shielded her for years and then dumped all of my mother’s craziness in her lap. You can’t just deflate someone’s raft and expect them to know how to swim.
I write back:
Sorry! Time zones!
By all means if you can get her to see someone, great.
Don’t give her drugs without her knowing please.
She tried pills. They made her groggy.
Hope you had a good 4th!
My sister will be fine. My mother will be fine. My mother won’t have a total breakdown and need me to come home early. She won’t.
Has she only left the house that one time to go to the post office? Are they mad at me? Do they hate me? Am I a horrible person for abandoning them?
It’s only four weeks, I remind myself. Then I’ll take over again.
I try to stop thinking about home as we head outside to the busy courtyard. Leela drags her duffel behind her and checks her phone again.
The sun is out, but the air is breezy. The courtyard is busy. There are lots of tourists and tons of backpacks.
Leela is tapping on her phone. “He didn’t write back,” she says. “Oh, wait. He says—they just sat down at a coffee shop and to meet them there. Good. I could use some coffee.”
“Um, Lee? I don’t think coffee shops here serve coffee.”
She drags her suitcase behind her. “What do you mean? What do they serve?”
“Pot.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
She shakes her head. “That can’t be right. Why wouldn’t they call them pot shops, then?”
“Maybe they’re trying to be subtle?”
“He says it’s on the way to the hostel. I guess we’ll pass by and see.”
We start walking down Prins Hendrikkade. There are tourists everywhere. In the windows, all the shops seem to sell is blue-and-white pottery and drug paraphernalia. Bongs. Hemp blankets. T-shirts with marijuana leaves.
As we keep walking, the street gets a little nicer. To the right of us is a row of thin and high town houses. To the left of us is a road with traffic going in the same direction as us. Some cars, but a lot of bikes. So many bikes. Men on bikes. Women on bikes. Kids in bike baskets. And no one’s wearing a helmet! Then farther over, there’s a murky canal with small red-and-blue boats passing us by. Then there’s another road of traffic going the other way, then another line of town houses.
The air smells like french fries and weed.
“I love this,” Leela says, gesturing around her.
Clearly she doesn’t notice the weed smell.
“Look at the canals. And the fact that we’re double dating in Amsterdam. I’ve always wanted to go on a double date with you.”
“I thought you didn’t approve of Jackson?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t normally. But he seems like the perfect guy for you to have a summer fling with, don’t you think? At least we know he’s not a serial killer.”
“Glad we’re setting the bar so high for me.”
“And who knows? Maybe you two will fall in love.”
I snort-laugh. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Omigod, imagine you really did fall in love and then you decided to transfer to McGill to be with both of us? That would be amazing.”
Now she’s really getting delusional. “I am not transferring to McGill.”
“Oh come on, we could be roommates.”
“We could be roommates after you graduate. In Maryland. Or DC.” My shoulders tighten. It doesn’t help that I’m carrying a hundred pounds on my back.
“You have to leave eventually, don’t you? You’re not going to live with your mother forever. This trip is a test. You’ll see how she does. Maybe she’ll surprise you. Maybe when you get back she’ll be driving herself to DC and jogging in the park.”
“Once again, don’t hold your breath,” I say. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of our trip.”
“McGill! McGill! McGill!” she chants.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Can you stop? I’m not transferring schools. I like my school. And why are we even discussing me moving to Montreal for a boyfriend I don’t actually have?”
“You’d be moving for me too!”
“Leela. Stop,” I snap.
She steps back in surprise. “Sorry. Ignore me. This whole Matt thing is making me wonky. And I just miss you.” She pauses. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“I think we turn right soon. Just a few blocks up.”
It’s getting really pretty. The outside of the town houses here all look like they’ve been recently refurbished. They’re clean-lined and modern. There are tulips in the windows.
A few blocks more and we spot the coffee shop.
“There they are,” she says.
Jackson looks up and smiles. His eyes are bright red.
Matt’s too.
They are clearly very high. And very happy to see us.
“Ladies!” Matt calls out, jumping out of his chair. “You made it. Excellent.” He wraps his arms around Leela, and kisses her sloppily on the lips.
Jackson and I raise our eyebrows at each other.
“Long time no see,” he says.
“Miss me?”
“I did, actually.”
He smiles. I smile back.
“Sit down,” Matt calls out. “Order something.”
The sidewalk is crowded, and our bags are big.
“Maybe we should drop off our stuff first?” I say. “So it’s not in the middle of the street?”
“’Kay,” Leela says, still smiling from Matt’s kiss.
“See you soon.”
Leela looks like she’s about to say something else but just nods.
“Do you guys need help?” Jackson asks.
“No,” I say. “We’re fine. Thanks.”
We walk down another block until we see the sign: “The Apartment.” I buzz once. No one answers. I buzz again.
“Reservatie?” a voice in the intercom asks.
“Yes,” I say.
The buzzer goes, and I pop open the door.
There’s a steep flight of stairs. No elevator.
We march to the top. I heave my bag on my back, and Leela bumps hers up the stairs.
Once we’re at the top, there’s another door that leads into what looks like a big living room in a frat house. There are ratty couches around a coffee table, and an old-looking TV. A bunch of touristy flyers for bus tours are piled on a side table. There’s a small kitchen on one side, a pool table, and a short blond guy sitting behind a desk, scrolling through Twitter.
“Hallo,” he says. “Inchecken?”
“Do you speak English?” I say.
“Checking in?” he asks without missing a beat.
“Yes.”
“Passport and credit card.” He rolls his Rs. He sounds Irish.
We hand over our stuff and wait.
“Dorm room?”
“No, we’re supposed to get a private room.”
“You just booked today, right? That’s all we ’ave. Sorry. Coed room.”
“But—”
Leela shakes her head. “That’s not going to work.”
“It’s. All. We. Have. You can go somewhere else?”
I am not lugging this bag back down the stairs and then prowling the streets looking for somewhere to sleep. And anyway, dorms are cheaper. And I’m already about a hundred and fifty dollars over budget.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Leela turns to me. “But what if I end up in Matt’s room again?”
“I don’t care.”
“But what if you want to be with Jackson? You know? Be with him?”
My back hurts. “Let’s just settle in and worry about that later. Maybe another room will open up tomorrow?”
“Nope,” the guy says.
He’s not exactly Mr. Positive. “It’s fine,” I say to Leela. “We were planning on staying in some dorms. We need to cut costs.”
“Here are your keys. You’re on the fourth floor.”
Awesome.
Up we go. We open our room, to see that there are six bunk beds total, three against one wall, and three against another. Three have stuff on them and the others are empty. Each bed has a pillow and a hopefully bleached white sheet and brown blanket. Locked backpacks are in the corner. Travel books are piled on the tables. I think they’re in Russian.
“This place is gross,” Leela says. “We better not get bedbugs.”
I shudder. “Please don’t even joke about bedbugs.”
“Bottom or top?”
“Top,” I say. I love bunk beds, actually. I always wanted one as a kid.
“Should we go back to the coffee shop?” Leela asks, dropping her bag on the bottom bunk.
“I just need to pee,” I say. “And let’s get to an ATM. We need euros.”
“They’ll probably still be there, right?”
“They did not seem like they were in much of a hurry.”
The bathroom is down the hallway. The toilet seems to have two flushers. I use the small one and it works. I wash my hands and return to the room.
“My turn,” Leela says.
“There are two flushers,” I tell her. “I’m not sure why.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Anytime,” I tell her.
Tip: Like everywhere else in Europe (except the UK and Switzerland), the Netherlands uses the euro.
What is up with you, UK and Switzerland? Euros are super cute! The bills look just like Monopoly money, plus they have coins instead of one- and two-dollar bills that accumulate in your pocket and can be used to buy a pair of wooden clogs. Kidding! Don’t buy a pair of wooden clogs. You’ll never wear them, and they are way too heavy to carry around in your bag.
“Hi, boys,” Leela says, and takes an empty chair. “Is the plan to just sit here all day?”
Matt nods. “Yes. I think it is. But we’re going to need more pot.”
“I’ll get it,” Jackson says, standing up.
“I want to see how this works,” I say. “You just go in and order?”
“Yup,” Jackson says. “Just like McDonald’s.”
“But not as classy?” Leela asks.
“Classier. Seriously.” He laughs. He really does have a great laugh. “Come on.”
I follow him inside.
It basically looks like a sandwich shop. Except instead of selling sandwiches they are selling weed.
“The menu is on the wall,” Jackson tells me, pointing.
I look up. The choices are written in white chalk.
Under the headline WEED it lists about fifteen different choices, including Strawberry Haze, Super Silver Haze, Super Lemon Haze, and Blueberry Cheese. Aha! Lemon Haze!
Then it also lists Space Cakes, which includes muffins, brownies, special cakes, and organic special cakes. Organic special cake? Really? There is also a section of hash and a list of pre-rolled joints.
“You really don’t sell coffee, huh?” I say to the barman.
“We do,” the barman says. “But the tea is better.”
His English has a heavy Dutch accent.
“Is it special tea?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Regular green tea.”
“I’ll have one of those,” Jackson says. “I saw one outside. Looks good.”
“Me too,” I say.
“What else can I get you?” he asks us.
Jackson looks at me. “Let’s let the lady choose.”
“Um . . . I have no idea.”
“Is it your first time smoking pot?” Jackson asks.
“No,” I say. It would be my third, but I don’t go into details. “But I’ve never bought it myself. Usually it’s more like—hey, do you want to smoke a joint? And I say, Oh, okay. This is definitely my first pot menu.” I look back at the barman. “Any suggestions?”
“Do you want something relaxing or uplifting?”
“Uplifting, I guess? It’s the middle of the day.”
He nods. “Why don’t you try the Purple Haze.”
I look up at Jackson and shrug.
“We haven’t had that yet,” Jackson says. “Sounds good.”
“How much?” the barman asks.
“I don’t think Leela is going to have any,” I say.
“I figured,” Jackson says. “One gram of Purple Haze. And four teas, please. My treat,” he says, reaching for his wallet.
“So this isn’t your first time buying pot?”
He smiles. “It’s not.”
The guy hands us a small container of what looks like basil and we head to the table. “We’ll bring out the teas,” he calls after us.
We sit back down.
Jackson starts to mash the weed in some sort of small grinder, and then drops some into rolling papers.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” I say. I can’t decide if I’m impressed or concerned.
“He definitely does,” Leela says, her eyes narrowed. I can tell she’s annoyed. But it is Amsterdam. What did she expect? Don’t you have to smoke pot in Amsterdam? Isn’t that the law or something?
“I’ve rolled a joint or two,” he says. He licks the paper and hands it to me. “Spark it up.”
“Me? What do I do?”
“Lick the end, and I’ll light it.”
I can feel Leela’s eyes burning into my head. I contemplate saying no just to appease her, but I decide against it. I’m in Amsterdam. I want to smoke a joint in Amsterdam. That does not make me a bad person. “Okay,” I say.
I look at Jackson and lick the end of the paper. I put the other side in my mouth. “Light me up,” I say with the joint in my mouth. I know I’m flirting.
He leans in closer without losing eye contact. He uses his lighter and the flame flickers in front of me.
I inhale.
I cough.
Leela laughs.
I inhale again.
The joint is lit.
“Nicely done,” Jackson says.
I inhale again. A warmth passes over me. I inhale once more and look at Leela. “Want?”
“No,” she says.
I shrug and pass it to Jackson.
Our fingers touch in the exchange; his are hot.
“Here are your teas,” the waiter says, putting them in front of us.
He hands over four tall glasses stuffed with thick green leaves.
“Teas?” Matt asks.
“They came highly recommended,” I say.
“I bet these teas don’t come with cucumber sandwiches,” Leela says.
“Mmm. I could go for a cucumber sandwich,” Matt says.
“You had your chance,” Leela grumbles.
I pick mine up. “They don’t even look like teas. They look like waters with leaves.”
“They taste delicious,” Jackson says, taking a long sip.
Leela sniffs hers suspiciously. “Is there something in it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Tea.” I take a drink. “Omigod, this is good. This is, like, the best tea I’ve ever had.”
“It is really good tea,” Jackson says, leaning back in his seat.
“Mmmmmm,” Matt says.
“I’ve never seen you have tea in your entire life,” Leela says to him.
“You’ve only known me for ten months,” he says.
“Have you ever had tea before?”
“No,” he admits. “But I will again if it tastes like this. Why don’t they have green tea at home?”
“They do,” she says.
“I’ve never seen it.”
Leela rolls her eyes.
The sun kisses my face. I smile and take another sip. “This really is amazing,” I say.
“You guys are all high,” Leela says.
The three of us start to laugh.
“Yes,” I agree. Matt passes the joint back to me. “I believe we are.”
“I need to have this,” I say.
“You do not,” Leela says.
We stayed at the coffee shop for a long time. We watched the sun set. Now we are walking around and wandering into different stores.
“I really do,” I say. I am holding a travel hairbrush. It is the most amazing hairbrush I have ever seen. It’s a compact but when you open it, bristles pop out. Pop go the bristles! It’s so cute. It’s blue with pink flowers. I love it. I need to have it. And it’s only eight euros.
“You are on a budget,” Leela tells me. “You do not need it.”
“But I didn’t bring a brush.”
“But your hair is curly. You don’t brush your hair. You have strict rules about curly girls brushing their hair.”
It’s true. I do. And the main rule is: NEVER USE A BRUSH. But maybe because I’ve never seen a brush this adorable before?
“Jackson?” I ask. “What do you think? Is this not the most adorable brush you’ve ever seen?”
He nods. “It is.”
“See?” I say. “Do you want one too?”
“It’s a little flowery for me.”
“I’ll get one for my sister,” Matt says. “And for you, Leela. Do you want a brush, babes? My treat.”
“I think we should get matching brushes,” I say. “To remember Amsterdam.”
“But they don’t say Amsterdam on them,” Leela says.
“True,” I say. “But we’ll always remember Amsterdam when we brush our hair.”
“You’re stoned,” Leela says. “You realize that, right?”
I nod. “Yes. So you keep reminding me. But I haven’t bought anything for myself yet. And this seems like a good idea. Cute but also functional. And only eight euros. It’s a steal.”
I march up to the cash register and pay for mine with coins. I love the coins. The banknotes are adorable, too. They barely feel like money.
And now I have a souvenir. Yay!
Matt pays for his two and hands one to Leela. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Can we go now?”
We step outside and make it halfway down the block, when I see an entire window display of strangely shaped shoes in bright colors. Yellow. Red. Green. I point. “What are those?”
“Wooden clogs,” Jackson says. “They’re everywhere.”
“Do we want them?” I ask.
“No!” Leela yells. “Absolutely not. There is no way those are comfortable. They are made of wood!”
“There,” Matt says. “Let’s go there. Magnum.”
The name makes me think it is a condom shop, but the place he is pointing at across the street has ice cream bars in the window.
Yes. Yes. Yessssssssssss.
“I one hundred percent agree,” Jackson says.
“I love ice cream bars,” I say dreamily.
“You’re still hungry?” Leela asks. “How is that even possible?”
The line is long. But we will wait! We will wait.
La, la, la.
It is my turn! It is my turn. The turn it is mine.
“Mevrouw? Toppings?”
“Sydney!” Leela says. “The guy is talking to you. It’s your turn. Go.”
“Oh. Hello! Um, what do I do?”
“Haven’t you been listening?” Leela asks. “First you pick three mix-ins. Then you pick your ice cream flavor. Then you pick your toppings. They dip your ice cream bar in the toppings.”
Yes, yes, yes. I pick meringue bits, cookie crumbles, and fudge bites. Then I choose a chocolate ice cream bar and white chocolate coating. They pour the coating over the ice cream bar, then cover it in toppings.
Omigod. I want that in my mouth right now.
“You want the chocolate drizzle?” the guy asks.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “I want the chocolate drizzle.”
He puts it all on a magic paper plate of deliciousness and hands me a fork. I savor my first bite. “Omigod,” I say. “This is heaven. Right here.”
“Can I try some?” Jackson asks. Even though he already has his own.
“Yes,” I say.
He dips his fork into my plate and takes a large chunk off the corner of my bar.
“Hey! That was a lot. I want some of yours.”
“Go ahead,” he says, and holds his plate toward me. I take a forkful of dark chocolate. Then I lick my lips. Slowly. Obviously. I don’t know why I do it. But I do.
He raises an eyebrow.
This is getting interesting. Although I am very aware that I am no way in a position to make any sexual decisions.
This is a really good ice cream bar. Do they have these in America? I might need one every day.
“You guys look ridiculous, you know,” Leela says. “You’re, like, French kissing those things.”
“I think I’m in love with it,” Matt says.
Leela gives him a dirty look. “Oh, so that you have no problem using the L-word on.”
“I love it too,” I say.
“I think I want to marry it,” Jackson says.
The three of us start laughing.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Leela says, but then Matt gives her a chocolate ice cream kiss and she starts to laugh too. “It is pretty good,” she says.
“Where to next?” Matt asks, stepping back outside onto the sidewalk.
“Sex show?” Jackson asks. He raises his eyebrows at me again.
Leela stops walking. “You’re not serious.”
“We’re in Amsterdam,” Jackson says. “That’s what Amsterdam is known for.”
“I thought it was known for the pot,” I say.
“I thought it was known for its tulips,” Leela says.
“Maybe they use tulips in the sex show,” Matt says.
“That’s disgusting,” Leela says.
“I was imagining sex on a bed of tulips. But interesting to see where your mind went.”
She elbows him in the side. “I’m not sure I want to go to any type of sex show,” Leela says. “Tulips or no tulips. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a tulip in the same way again.”
“So I shouldn’t get you tulips for your birthday this year?” he asks.
“No. We’re not really going to a sex show, are we?” she asks.
“It’ll be fun,” Matt says. “Sydney, what do you think?”
“This may sound naive,” I say, “but what is a sex show exactly?”
“People having sex!” Matt cries. “On stage!”
“But is it like porn?” I wonder. “Are there bad story lines? Is there going to be a pizza delivery man and two sisters who don’t have any money to pay?”
“I’m impressed by your knowledge of porn tropes,” Jackson says.
“I wrote a paper on women in porn for my Intro to Feminist Theory class,” I say.
He gives an exaggerated sigh. “That’s a much less fun answer than what I was imagining.”
“I’m sure,” I say.
“So does that mean you want to go? At least you’ll have a topic for Feminist Theory 201.”
I laugh. “Sure. Why not? When in Amsterdam . . .”
“Let me Google what the best one is,” Matt says.
“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Leela mutters to me.
“You said you didn’t want him doing this stuff without you,” I say. “Isn’t it better to do this with him?”
“I guess,” she says. “But a sex show? You really want to see a sex show?”
“I have to admit I’m kind of curious.”
“We found one!” Jackson shouts. “It’s called Pink Dolphin.”
“Let me check my book,” I say. I look up Pink Dolphin in the index. “Oh! It likes it. ‘If you’re going to go to a sex show, this is the one.’ Perfect. I’m in. It’s in the red-light district.”
“Obviously,” Leela says. “It wasn’t going to be in the museum district.”
“There’s a sex museum, too,” Matt says. “Should we do that later?”
Leela snorts. “Let’s save that for tomorrow.”
“I was hoping to check out the Heineken factory tomorrow,” Jackson says.
“I want to see Anne Frank’s house,” I say. “Although out of the three choices, mine does sound the least fun.”
“What about the tulips?” Leela asks. “Aren’t there tulips we’re supposed to see?”
“Follow me, people,” Matt says. “To the red-light district we go.”
There are women in the windows.
Seriously. Each window features a scantily clad woman posing provocatively.
“What does it mean when the drapes are closed?” Leela asks.
“It means they’re in use,” Jackson says. “Sydney will explain it. She’s an expert in the sex trade.”
“Prostitution is legal here,” I say.
“This is gross,” Leela says.
“I agree,” I say.
“I know I’m going to get yelled at for this, but what’s wrong with buying sex?” Matt asks. “Why is that worse than buying any type of other client services? Like a haircut? Or a back massage? And what’s wrong with getting paid to do something people like to do?”
“It’s just wrong,” Leela says.
“But what if these women want to be prostitutes? What if they like sex and see it as a good way to earn money?”
“I think the problem is that a lot of these women have no other options. They have no education and no other way to eat,” Jackson says.
“And what about STDs and underage prostitutes and the objectification of women and sex trafficking?!” Leela shakes her head.
“All are a lot easier to regulate when prostitution is legal,” I say.
She gives me a look. “I’m going to need a glass of wine.”
Matt puts his arm around her. “Okay. Got it. I’ll shut up now. Oh! There it is! The Pink Dolphin!” A pink neon dolphin floats above a building in the distance.
There is a line around the block.
“What time is the show?” Leela asks.
“It’s rolling admission,” Matt says.
“What does that mean?” Leela asks. “People just have sex the whole time?”
“As people leave, they let new people in,” Jackson says. “It’s open twenty-four hours.”
Leela laughs. “People come to this during the day?”
“Will there be costumes?” I ask.
“Probably,” Jackson says.
“I’m really going to need some wine,” Leela says as we get in line on the sidewalk. The street is packed with people. Americans. Europeans. Children. Bachelor parties. Bachelorette parties. Sports teams.
“Good,” Matt says. “’Cause the ticket price includes three drink tokens.”
“How much are tickets?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” Matt says.
The line moves fast.
“Look—those people are waiting to see the sex show,” an American woman says as she walks by, pointing at us.
“Omigod, this is embarrassing,” Leela says. “No one take a photo of this. I do not want this online. I want to get a job after college.”
Hurrah! We’re finally at the front of the line.
Tickets are fifty euros each. Crap, crap, crap. “That is a lot of euros,” I whine. “I’m trying to only spend sixty dollars a day. I’m going to run out of money by next week.”
“You can always stay here and work it off,” Leela says. She points to a window across the canal. “You’d look good in black spandex.”
“I’m more of a latex girl,” I say, and smile at Jackson. “But maybe I’ll just try to spend less money on sex clubs tomorrow.”
I pony up the fifty euros to enter and get a dolphin stamp on my hand. It glows in the dark. Perfect. Marked for life. I head down the dark hall to a theater.
There is a large sign that says no cameras or phones.
“Good,” Leela says. “I won’t accidentally be in someone’s selfie.”
As we walk in, it feels like we’re late because it’s in the middle of an, um, act.
There is a fully naked man sitting on a chair while a woman in green stilettos, and only green stilettos, is straddling him and having sex with him.
“Omigod,” I say.
Leela has a shell-shocked expression on her face. I’m sure I do too.
“I guess we missed the foreplay,” Jackson says.
We file into four empty red velvet couch-like seats. They are surprisingly comfortable.
A waitress—in what I can only describe as a sexy dolphin costume—comes over to take our drink order.
“A glass of chardonnay,” Leela says over the thump of the electronic music. “Please.”
“Nee,” the waitress says. “Wodka? Bier?”
“No wine?” Leela asks.
The sexy dolphin shakes her head. “Wodka? Bier?”
“Vodka and cranberry juice?” I ask. “Juice?”
“Oranje?” she asks.
Leela and I both nod.
Jackson and Matt both order vodka straight up.
I look back at the stage. “Wait a minute. Is the floor spinning? Or did I smoke too much today?”
“It’s spinning,” Leela says.
“Wow,” I say. “We can see them having sex from every angle.”
The guy onstage is just kind of sitting there, smiling. He has a buzz cut and looks around our age. He’s smiling smugly as the woman on top of him jumps up and down.
“Is it weird that I like her shoes?” Leela asks.
“They are a great color,” I say.
“They’d be amazing in a flat.”
Our drinks arrive in plastic glasses and we slurp them down. The couple onstage abruptly stops, stands up, waves to the audience, and exits.
A woman dressed as a nurse comes on stage.
“I bet she’s not really a nurse,” I tell Leela.
Matt chugs the rest of his drink. “Another round?”
Mouth-to-mouth does not resuscitate an injured man on a hospital bed, and the nurse is forced to remove her uniform and screw him back to health.
“He’s cured!” I cry. “Hallelujah.” Next up is a firefighter who removes all of his clothes and then jerks off into a pretend fire, putting it out.
“Omigod,” Leela says, covering her eyes. “I can’t watch this.”
“You should,” I say. “I’m studying his technique.” Also, he has the largest penis I have ever seen in my entire life, and that includes all the movies I had to watch for my porn paper.
Once the fake fire has been properly extinguished, a ballerina in a sparkly silver tutu, a red leotard, and black toe shoes slides onstage. She points to the audience. “Kan ik een vrijwilliger?”
A bunch of hands shoot up.
“I think she’s looking for a volunteer,” Jackson says.
Matt throws up his hand.
Jackson starts laughing.
“Matt, no,” Leela begs.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re plastered.”
“Am not,” he says.
He totally is. He used all of his drink tokens and one of Leela’s.
“Come on,” he says, his face flushed. “It’ll be fun.”
The ballerina points to him, and he whoops with joy. He squeezes his way past us and skips up to the stage.
“Jackson,” Leela pleads. “Stop him.”
Jackson shakes his head. He’s laughing too hard.
Leela slumps into her seat and covers her face with her hands.
Meanwhile, on stage, the woman shimmies and twirls.
Suddenly, she pulls her tutu down and tosses it into the audience. Then she snaps off her leotard and stands tall in her black satin thong and matching bra. She points to Matt and then to her bra and makes an unhooking motion.
He turns bright red and tries to unclip it. And tries again.
“Oh my God, he’s the worst at this—you have no idea,” Leela says.
Now I can’t help but laugh.
Matt is still trying to take off the woman’s bra. The audience begins to hoot until finally, finally, it comes off. Matt holds it up and waves it like a flag.
The ballerina proceeds to shake her boobs in Matt’s face.
He looks shocked, but also delighted.
“If he has sex with her, I’m never speaking to him again,” Leela says.
“He’s not going to have sex with her,” I say. I lean over to Jackson. “He’s not, right?”
“No,” Jackson says. Then he shrugs. “That would probably cost extra.”
The ballerina slips off her panties and plants them on Matt’s head.
The crowd cheers.
“This is too much,” Leela says. She stands up. Her hands are shaking. “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t just leave him up there,” I say.
“Yes,” she says, “I can. This is disgusting. Stay if you want.” She glares at the stage and storms out of the room.
I turn to Jackson. “I think I should go.”
“We’ll follow you as soon as this is over,” he says.
“’Kay,” I say, and hurry up the aisle and out of the theater.
Leela is standing outside beside the canal, arms crossed, face stormy. “That was ridiculous.”
“They’ll be out in a second.”
“I should leave him here,” she barks.
“It didn’t mean anything,” I say. “He was just . . .”
“He was just showing off,” Leela says.
“For you?”
“Me? No. For Jackson. He’s always showing off for Jackson.”
Jackson and Matt step through the door. Matt’s face is still flushed and Jackson is still laughing. “What’s wrong?” Matt asks.
“Seriously?” Leela yells. “You want me to watch you make out with some other person?”
“It was just a joke,” he says. “Come on. Calm down. I love you. You know that.”
She looks shocked. “You do? You’ve never said it.”
“Of course I do. I love Leela Veer!” he yells into the canal. “I’m crazy about Leela Veer!” He turns back to her and hugs her. “You’re my tulip.”
“You’re so wasted,” she says, but now she’s smiling.
“Yes,” he says. “But I still love you!”
“Come on,” Leela says, tugging his hand. “Let’s go back to the hostel.”
Part of me wishes she weren’t so easily won over. On the other hand, I was laughing, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. And he is totally high.
“Did you see me on stage?” he asks. “What was wrong with her bra?”
“At least it wasn’t a front snap,” I say.
“Those are tricky,” Jackson agrees.
“Did you guys get any pictures?” Matt asks. He’s holding Leela’s hand.
“No pictures allowed,” Leela reminds us. “Thank goodness. I’m hoping to forget this ever happened.”
Matt points to a coffee shop. “Can we go get more pot?”
“I think you’ve had enough, buddy,” Jackson says.
“Nooooooo. We’re in Amsterdam. The night’s not over until the fat lady gets high and—”
He barfs all over the street.
Tip: If you do visit a coffee shop, make sure you know your limit.
Vodka + weed + more vodka = bad idea.
We take him back to his room at the hostel.
He runs to the common bathroom and barfs again.
“He can never hold his booze,” Jackson tells me as we hear more heaving.
“I can stay with him tonight,” Leela says. “If you want my bed.”
“You sure?” Jackson asks. “I don’t mind taking care of him. Wouldn’t be my first time.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” she snaps, and turns her back to us.
“Okay, then,” he says, looking at me. “I guess I’m bunking with you.”
“Me and six Russians,” I say. “I think.”
“Perfect,” he says. “Do I get top or bottom? I enjoy both positions.”
“I’m sure you do,” I say, my heart speeding up. “You get the bottom.”
“We’re becoming excellent bunkmates,” he says as we climb up the remaining stairs.
“We are,” I agree. “You’re not going to snore again, are you?”
“I don’t snore!”
“You absolutely do.”
“My dad snores,” he says. “And my grandfather snored. So I’m not entirely surprised. Horrifically embarrassed, but not surprised.” He stops. “You know what? I think I’m going to take a shower. I’m covered in barf.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You’re a little smelly.”
“I’m just going to get my stuff. Keep me company?”
Did he really ask that? “In the shower?”
He laughs. “I meant going back downstairs. But I like how you think. And yes, I would love it if you would join me in the shower.” He takes a small step closer to me. “Is that on the table?”
“I don’t think the showers are coed,” I say, my mouth dry.
“Yeah,” he says, taking a step back. “See you soon.”
He walks downstairs and I go into my room.
My heart is thumping. So he does like me. Good to know. I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe he thought I might do it. I’ve never showered with anyone. Not true. My sister and I used to shower together when we were little. Showering with Jackson would definitely be different.
I would like to see him naked.
But I am very drunk. And stoned. And tired. And it’s two a.m.
Maybe I’ll take a nap and then wake up. Then I can hook up with him. If I still feel like it. If the room is still empty and the Russians are still gone. Where are they, anyway? It’s the middle of the night! Maybe they’re on Russian time?
Since the room is empty, I strip off my clothes and slip on a sleep shirt. I climb into my white sheets and put my head down.
I forgot to brush my teeth. And wash my face. Must wash my face. Don’t want to break out. Don’t want bad breath. Need to floss. Need to sleep. Very tired. Left lights on. Just need to close my eyes.
Ah. Better.
I wake up with a start.
The bed shakes slightly.
He’s back. And on the bottom bunk.
My mouth feels dry and rank. No. I will not ask him to join me. I’m too gross. My hands are sticky.
I probably should have joined him in the shower. Or at least taken a shower.
Tomorrow will be our night. I’ll shower. And shave my legs. And downtown.
I listen as he gets comfortable. “Hey,” I say.
“You’re up?” he asks.
“Barely. Fun night, though, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Although my head is spinning.”
“Mine too.”
“Good night, Syd.”
I like that he called me Syd.
A few minutes later I hear it: “Snooooort!”
I fall back asleep, smiling.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” a voice says.
I open my eyes and see Jackson on the bunk bed ladder. At first I think—oh! He’s climbing into bed with me! He’s going to try and get it on! But then I realize it’s morning and he’s dressed in black shorts and a T-shirt.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Don’t you still want to see Anne Frank’s house?” he asks.
I sit up. “Oh! Yeah. You want to come?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Gimme five,” I say, and get out of bed. He looks at my bare legs and raises an eyebrow.
I wrap a towel around me. Then I grab my shower bag, some clothes to change into, and my brand-new kickass travel hairbrush. I slip on my flip-flops, walk out the door, and blow him a kiss.
The line is around the block.
“Wow. I was not expecting it to be this busy at nine a.m.,” I say.
“At least it’s longer than the line at the Pink Dolphin,” he says. “That gives me faith in humanity.”
“Have you read The Fault in Our Stars?” I ask, remembering that Hazel and Augustus had kissed in the attic.
“Yeah. In high school. I’m guessing you read Anne Frank’s actual diary too?” he asks me.
“Of course. In fifth grade. It’s required reading for Jewish kids.”
Now that I’m here, I kind of wish I hadn’t left my Star of David necklace in Maryland. I had left it partly because Travel Europe told me to be careful bringing jewelry, and partly because I was worried about advertising my Jewishness. You never know these days. “You’re not Jewish, are you?” I ask.
“No,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “Anglican slash Protestant slash nothing.”
The line moves, and we step up. I ask Jackson to text Matt to tell them where we are in case they want to come. They don’t respond.
The line continues to crawl until finally we’re inside. We read the plaques on the walls that explain how Anne Frank wrote her diary while her family was in hiding during the Holocaust.
We follow the tour through the front office and the secret bookcase and up into the annex. The stairs are small and creaky. The room is small and dark.
“I can’t believe she lived in here for two years,” he says.
It’s unbelievable. There is barely room to move. Anne would have done anything to get out of here. My breaths are coming faster and faster.
I think about my house.
My mother stays in our house on purpose. On purpose. Why would anyone trap themselves in a house on purpose? What’s wrong with her? Suddenly I feel dizzy, like the room is spinning. I start to see spots. My heart beats even faster and I feel nauseated. I have to get out of here.
“I need to leave,” I say.
He looks surprised. “Really?”
I nod. “I’m sorry.” My voice sounds foreign to me. Like it’s coming from outside of me instead of inside of me.
“Don’t be. Let’s go. Hold on to me.”
I hold his hand and we hurry through the rest of the house and around the back and down the stairs.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” he says.
We push through the bookshop and back outside.
It’s muggy and hot but it still feels better than being inside. We walk toward a bridge and lean against the railing.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “So sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
He’s still holding my hand. “That house happened. It’s horrifying.”
“Yeah, but I can’t believe I panicked like that.” My heart is still racing. Everything’s okay, I tell myself. I’m fine. I take more deep breaths until I feel better. “I’m not a panicker. At least not usually. Although this is the second time this has happened on the trip.” I sigh. “I better not be turning into my mom.”
His eyes are full of concern. “That place is intense. I’m sure you’re not the first person who needed to get out of there.”
“Yeah,” I say. I try to shake it off. “Well, don’t worry about me. You can go back. I’ll be okay out here. I can just hang out and get a coffee or something.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve already been.”
“You’ve already been to the Anne Frank house?”
He nods.
I’m so confused. “When? Yesterday?”
“No. When I was a kid. My dad had a medical conference here and he took us.”
“Oh. Wow. Lucky.”
“Yeah,” he says. He lets go of my hand. “Syd? I want to tell you something.” His voice is suddenly serious.
“Yeah,” I say. I have no idea what he’s going to say. That he has a girlfriend? That I’m freaking him out?
“It’s just . . . My mom’s dead.”
“Oh,” I say. I wasn’t expecting that. I realize he’s mentioned his dad twice but never his mom. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. It’s just that you told me about your mom in London, and then when you asked about me I should have told you, but I said that stupid Star Wars thing instead.” He puffs out a breath. “So I wanted to tell you. That my mom died. In a car accident. A truck hit her car. And she died when I was five so I don’t really remember any of it. Or her. My brothers do, but I don’t. They’re older.” He stops talking. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you then.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say quickly. I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry I keep complaining about my mother when yours isn’t around.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that at all. You’re just so open with all your stuff and who you are, and it didn’t seem fair. So I want you to know.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling warm all over. “Thank you for telling me.”
He nods. He looks out at the water.
“Do you want to go back to the gift shop at least?” I ask.
“Nah, that’s okay,” he says.
“But I was going to get an Anne Frank snow globe.”
“Please tell me you didn’t see any Anne Frank snow globes.”
“I’m kidding, totally kidding. But I do need to get my sister a snow globe at some point.”
“We have a few days.”
“There you are,” we hear, and look up.
Matt and Leela are standing on the corner, holding hands. I guess they kissed and fully made up. Hopefully he brushed his teeth.
“You’re done?” Leela asks.
“Yeah,” I say. I try to forget about my meltdown upstairs. “Time to see the tulips? You wanted to see the tulips, right?”
“Yes,” she says. “But it’s apparently the wrong season for tulips.”
“Heineken factory?” Matt asks hopefully.
Really? He vomited all night and now wants to go drinking? “It’s 10:30 a.m.,” I say. “Do you really want beer?”
I look at Leela.
She shrugs.
“Lunch first,” she says. “Then Heineken. It’s a tour, right? I like tours. I don’t like beer, but I like tours.”
The tour, otherwise known as the “Heineken Experience,” basically walks us through the process of beer making. We see barrels, taste the stages, and play games. Then we go into a bar area, where we are each entitled to two beers.
“No wine?” Leela asks the bartender.
He shakes his head no. “Bier. Heineken. Only.”
“I guess I’ll try it,” she says. She takes a sip, and makes a face. “Beer is disgusting.”
I catch the bartender rolling his eyes.
The floor is gummy, but we stand by a bar table and hang out.
“This is delicious,” Matt says.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a Heineken before,” I say, taking a sip. “It’s sweet.”
“You’re sweet,” Jackson says, eyes shining.
My cheeks heat up. But maybe it’s the beer.
“I think he likes you,” Leela says as she reapplies her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. “Are you into him?”
“Maybe,” I say. “I don’t know. He’s hot, but I can’t get the man-whore thing out of my head.”
“You don’t really have to fall in love with him, but he’s not a terrible option for a fling. As long as you use a condom. Two condoms, even.”
“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t work.”
“Did you hear Matt say I love you last night?” Leela asks.
“I did,” I say.
“I know he was wasted, but it still kind of counts, right?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you think it means? Do you think he thinks we’re back together?” She makes sure she doesn’t have any lipstick on her teeth.
“I don’t know. Do you want to be back together?” I ask the question carefully, not wanting her to think I don’t approve in case they end up back together.
“I miss him,” she says. “I know he acted like an idiot with Ava and then again last night. But I think he’s terrified of relationships. His parents totally messed him up.”
Whose haven’t? I think but don’t say. Leela’s not exactly the most independent person and I’m sure being babied by her parents and sister has something to do with that.
And I don’t even want to think about the damage my parents have done to me.
“Well,” Leela says, “if you’re into Jackson, and Matt and I are back together, how would you feel about traveling with them for a little longer?”
“I’m not opposed to the idea,” I say. “How much longer?”
She smiles sheepishly. “The whole trip?”
Oh! “Seriously?”
She studies my face in the reflection. “No? Obviously not if you’re not into him.”
“A month is just a long time to travel with a guy I barely know.”
“Never mind. We don’t have to. Maybe we could split up with them now but then meet up somewhere later? Like we could go to Paris like we’re supposed to but then meet them in Berlin. That’s what we were planning on doing anyway, right?”
“Right,” I say. We could meet them in Berlin. That could be fun. And if we’re still all hitting it off, maybe they could come with us to Prague. . . .
“Although Paris is the city of romance,” she says, and pauses.
That sounds like a hint. “Leela, do you want to go to Paris with Matt?”
“Kind of,” she admits, biting her lip. “I don’t hate the idea. You’re going to be with your friend Kat anyway, and she won’t care if I don’t stay at her place, right? Maybe it makes sense for Matt and me to take a few days together to figure stuff out since everything has been so messed up.”
“But what about Jackson?”
“I’m sure he’ll find a bed to sleep in.” She laughs. “He’s good like that, no?”
“I guess,” I say. It’s not the end of the world if I stay with Kat on my own. Although I had wanted Kat and Leela to get to know each other. I was excited for Leela to see a sliver of my college life. “If that’s what you want to do, I’m fine with it. We can meet up at the end of the five days.”
“Okay,” she says. “It sounds like a possibility. I’ll discuss with Matt tonight. Thanks.”
We meet the boys outside.
“Do you ladies want to go on a cruise?” Matt asks.
“Right now?” I ask.
“Yes! There’s a boat that tours around the canal. It leaves in four minutes.”
“How much?” I ask.
“Fourteen euros,” Jackson says.
“Okay,” I say, and try not to worry about it even though I just spent eighteen euros on the Heineken tour. My feet are tired and it’s a beautiful day and I wouldn’t mind sitting down. And I’ll just have to figure out the money stuff later.
There’s a bar and gift shop on the dock, right by the boat.
“Maybe they have a more appropriate snow globe here?” Jackson asks.
“Good thinking,” I say. “Which one do you like?”
We look at the various options. Every single one has a windmill.
“I haven’t even seen a windmill,” I say.
“Yeah, they didn’t have any in the red-light district or Heineken factory.”
“Maybe tomorrow we should broaden our horizons slightly,” I say. “What happened to the tulips again?”
“Out of season.”
“Oh, right.”
I purchase the smallest snow globe they have.
He buys a windmill postcard and hands it to me. “A gift,” he says. “For you. In case we never actually see a windmill.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I like it. And it can double as a bookmark.”
“I’m thoughtful like that.”
We’re handed earphones as we step onto the boat. We find four seats near the back.
I sit next to Jackson, and Matt sits beside Leela, facing us. The seats look a bit like a booth. They’re orange leather, and the table between us is a map of Amsterdam. Look at us. An adorable little foursome.
The boat starts moving almost immediately.
Ah. The wind feels great. And the streets look different from this angle. From the canal, we can see all the people standing on their balconies.
“Is it the beer or are all the houses tilted forward?” Matt asks.
We all stare at the houses.
“I think you’re right,” Leela says. “They are tilted. And I only had a sip, so it’s not the beer.”
“See those hooks on the top floor?” I say. “It’s to help lift furniture and stuff from the canals. The houses were built to lean so that the furniture doesn’t smash into the houses.”
“Interesting,” Jackson says. “How do you know that?”
“Travel Europe,” I say.
“My stepmom bought me a copy of that too,” Matt says.
“Matt’s parents are divorced, too,” Leela tells me, then turns back to him. “So are Sydney’s.”
“Did your mom remarry as well?” I ask. “Or just your dad?”
“Both did,” he says. “My mom remarried twice. She’s on husband number three. The guys keep getting older and richer.”
“Matt keeps in touch with stepfather number two though,” Leela says, putting her hand on his knee. “It’s sweet.”
“We both like soccer,” he says. “He takes me to games.”
Right. The Toronto FC.
“Did your parents remarry?” Matt asks me.
“No,” I say. “My dad has had a few girlfriends, but nothing works. And my mom doesn’t go out much.” I laugh at my choice of words. I turn to Jackson. “Does your dad date?”
“Not much,” he says. “I wish he would.”
“You should fix up your parents and call it a day,” Matt says.
“Now that would be weird,” Leela says.
Jackson leans back and stretches his arms behind him. “Is this a guided tour?”
I wave the earphones in the air. “We should listen.” I open the plastic, put the earphones in, and flip through the channels. One is French. Two is Dutch. Three is German and four is English.
I sink into my seat and listen to the clipped voice of the guide explain everything as we pass. There are no mentions of the Queen’s underpants or who invented the toilet.
What a pretty day. What a pretty view.
What a pretty breeze. My eyes start to feel heavy and I let them close.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Jackson says.
I open my eyes. The sun is setting over the water. I must have passed out on the boat. I guess the leftover jet lag and light breeze got the best of me. But I feel great. Like I slept for a hundred years.
“I fell asleep too,” Matt says.
“We all did,” Leela says. She stretches her arms above her head.
“So where to now?” I ask.
“Coffee shop?” Matt asks.
“Again?”
“I’m starving, actually,” Jackson says.
My stomach growls. “Me too.”
“Do you want to get food?” he asks me.
“Sure,” I say. “What do you all want?”
Jackson lowers his voice. “Actually, I thought maybe we could go somewhere on our own? And give them a chance to talk?”
“Sure,” I say. I’m not sure if this is a date or if he’s doing his friend a favor. “I wouldn’t mind changing first.”
“Why don’t we all go back to the hostel together and then we’ll split up,” Leela says.
“Then we can paint the town red?” Matt asks.
I laugh. “It’s pretty red already.”
“How do I look?” Leela asks me, twirling.
“Gorgeous.”
She’s wearing her sister’s lucky short black dress, flats, and a high ponytail. She looks a little like she’s going to a formal.
“Why don’t you wear your hair down?” I tell her.
“He likes my neck. It’s his favorite of my body parts.”
“Your neck is his favorite body part? I doubt that.”
“Second favorite. No, third. Fourth if you count each boob. Five if you count my—”
“Okay, then,” I say. “Let’s show off that neck.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Are you wearing that?”
That does not sound approving. I am wearing my jeans with a low-cut black tank top. “What’s wrong with this? It’s my sexy top!”
“You always look gorgeous. But those are the jeans with the jam stain!”
Oh. Right. Is that still there? “I only brought one pair! And I haven’t had a chance to wash them yet. And they make my butt look good.”
“They do make your butt look good. You have a great butt. Forget what I just said, you look amazing.”
“I’m not even sure what this dinner is. Is it a date? Or is it a ‘we should keep ourselves busy so Leela and Matt can have more make-up sex’? On the other hand, he’s been pretty sweet with me. I don’t know.”
“What do you want it to be? He’s definitely a player. And you were right—you’re probably not getting married or anything. But if you are going to hook up with someone, it might as well be him. I hear he’s a great kisser.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “From who?”
“Word on the street. I want a full report if this goes down.”
“Deal.”
“But use a condom.”
I’m glad we’re alone in our room. “I always do. But that was a quick jump from kissing to condoms. He’s that good?”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Well, of course I would use a condom,” I say. “Not that I have any.”
“I’m sure he has one. No, I’m sure he has tons.”
“You’re making him sound less appealing.”
She laughs.
“Have fun,” I say, and give her a hug. She hurries out of the room, leaving her stuff in a huge mess on her bed.
I change into a red sundress and put on my nicer-looking sandals and my lip gloss and a bit of mascara.
When I meet Jackson in the living room area, he whistles. “Hi there,” he says. I feel his eyes on me. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I say. “So do you.”
He’s wearing jeans and a button-down instead of a T-shirt. His hair still looks wet.
This feels a lot like a date.
“I heard about a place in the red-light district,” he says, clearing his throat. “A restaurant.”
I raise an eyebrow. “In the red-light district? Really? It doesn’t involve naked people, does it? I’d prefer not to eat my dinner off someone’s cleavage.”
“No naked women. No masturbating men either. It’s called Anna. Modern Dutch food, I think. It’s supposed to be really good. It got a high rating on TripAdvisor. But is there anything you don’t eat? I should have checked with you first. I was going to text you but I didn’t have your number.” Is he nervous?
“Sounds great,” I say. “I eat everything. Well, most things.” No need to go into my “kosher” laws right here.
“What about barbecue pumpkin seeds? They’re on the menu. Have you ever had those?”
“I have not,” I say. “I’m willing to try, though.” But I’m thinking: He checked the menu? He put that much effort into finding us a place to eat? Barbecue pumpkin seeds? Is that a thing? Are we a thing?
“After you,” he says.
We climb down the stairs, slowly. Downstairs, he takes my hand, setting my fingers on fire.
Yes. This is definitely a date.
Our table is at the back of the restaurant, near the windows, overlooking the medieval church square at the edge of the red-light district. It’s still light out, but there are already drunken bachelor and bachelorette parties spilling past us.
The restaurant itself is very sleek. Each row of tables is on its own level, descending toward the windows, so that walking toward our table feels like we were going down steps. Round brass light fixtures hang from the ceiling, the chairs are cube-shaped, and the floors are shiny wood.
We order two glasses of sauvignon blanc from the wine menu, but I laugh when the waiter brings them.
“What’s so funny?” Jackson asks.
“I’ve never ordered wine at a fancy restaurant before,” I admit.
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“You’re not a drinker?” He leans toward me and lowers his voice. “Just a pot smoker?”
“I’m not a pot—”
“I’m kidding,” he says. “I could tell you’re not a pot smoker.”
“Well, the drinking age is twenty-one in America.”
“No fake ID?”
“No,” I say.
“I can’t imagine college with no legal booze. Molson beer sponsors everything at McGill. I live in Molson Hall. The gym is the Molson Stadium. Molson practically comes out of the drinking fountains. And the showers.”
I smile. “Crazy. I’m sure you guys get lots of work done.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says, smiling and picking up his wine glass.
“What are you studying?” I ask, putting my napkin on my lap.
“I’m doing a humanities degree,” he says, taking a sip. “It’s basically liberal arts. You?”
“English lit, probably.”
A woman wearing a penis-shaped hat runs by our window.
“Only in Amsterdam,” I say, lifting my glass. “Cheers?”
“Proost,” he says, smiling at me. “That’s cheers in Dutch.”
“Proost,” I repeat, smiling back. Our eyes lock, we clink glasses.
To start, we order the barbecue pumpkin seeds, or the pompoen soorten can de bbq, to share.
“What do you think?” he asks, reaching for one from the plate between us.
“Interesting,” I say. “I’ll have to remember to make this on Halloween.”
“Do you dress up?” he asks.
“I did this year,” I say, my cheeks burning.
“As what? You look embarrassed.”
“I am. My friend Kat convinced me to dress up as an emoji with her. You know the dancing girls who are holding hands? We wore black leotards and cat ears. And we—”
“Held hands?” He laughs.
“Yeah. Don’t tell Leela. She would totally make fun of me. What did you dress up as?”
“Myself,” he says.
“Oh, you’re that guy. Too cool for school?”
“That’s me.”
“Maybe you can get one of those penis hats for next year. You’d kill it.”
“I’ll look into it,” he says, as the waiter takes our empty plate and puts down Jackson’s burger and my cod and couscous.
“So that’s the second time you’ve told me not to tell Leela something,” he says, picking up his burger, which looks delicious on its brioche bun.
“Is it?” I ask, swallowing a piece of cod and couscous. Mmm. Crispy. “I just know she’d make fun of me. She has a thing about emojis.”
“And pot,” he says.
“Yes.” I take another bite. “She’s not a fan of either. She is a big fan of Matt, though.”
“Oh, I know,” he says. “She never leaves his side.”
I take a sip of wine. “You make her sound like a stalker.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I like Leela. She’s funny. And he was—is—really into her. He just also needed some time on his own, you know?”
“Ava, you mean?” I ask.
“Ava,” he repeats. “Which, for the record, I did not encourage.”
“Did you discourage?” I ask.
He hesitates. “No.”
I don’t love his answer, but I appreciate the honesty. “Shouldn’t you have?”
“Maybe. But I’m glad I didn’t.”
I take another bite of food. “Why’s that?”
He raises his eyebrows. “If I had, then you would be home for the summer, wouldn’t you?”
“Nice save,” I say, pointing at him with my fork. “So what do you think is going to happen now? Do you think they’re back together?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” He smiles. “I hope you’re not sick of me yet.”
I smile back. My skin starts to tingle. “Not yet.”
We walk slowly back to the hostel, hand in hand.
Men chanting a Spanish song walk by us. They’re all wearing red undershirts. I suspect it is soccer-related but can’t be sure.
We stand on one of the bridges. For a minute, we’re the only ones here.
“I had a great time tonight,” he says.
“Me too.”
He leans closer toward me.
“I like you,” he says.
I smile. “Good.”
“Do you like me?” he asks.
“Are we in kindergarten?” I take a step closer toward him.
“No. We’re in Amsterdam. It’s very grown-up here.”
“I’d say.”
We’re only a few inches apart now. His eyes are liquid brown.
He steps even closer.
Am I going to do this? Yes. I’m pretty sure I am.
I take the final step toward him and his arms are around me and mine are around him and his lips are soft and then harder and stronger.
Sparks burn through me. I want this. I want him.
“Whoa,” he says, pulling back. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
I’m out of breath. “Seriously? I feel like that was totally expected.”
He laughs. “No, I guess I was expecting that. I just wasn’t expecting it to be so . . . whoa. Can we do that again?”
“Yes.”
He pulls me back toward him.
We walk, making out as we go. We can’t keep our hands off each other.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Hostel?”
“I’m in a bunk room.”
“I’m not.”
“But what if Leela and Matt are using it?”
“We have to get there first,” he says.
“Let’s go!” I grab his hand and we run fast, laughing, together.
We reach the hostel and buzz. When we’re let in, we hurry up the steps. Halfway up, I push him against the wall and nibble on his neck.
“You’re killing me,” he says.
“I know,” I say.
His hand trails down my back and leg.
Oh God. My whole body is burning. “Third floor?” I ask.
“Mm-hm. Here,” he says, fumbling for his key.
And then we hear voices inside.
“I hate you! You know that? I hate you!” It’s Leela.
Crap.
“You’re being crazy!” Matt yells.
“You always say I’m being crazy. Women aren’t crazy just because they have feelings!”
“You always have feelings!”
“Well, I have to have enough for both of us since you don’t seem to have any!”
I look at Jackson. “This is not good.”
He shakes his head.
“What do you want from me?” we hear Matt yell.
“I want you to say you’re sorry for being an idiot! I want you to put me first! I want you to care about what I want!”
“Then will you stop talking?”
“Go to hell, Matt. This is so over.”
The door flies open and she sees us standing there, dumbstruck. “Sydney!”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She wipes tears from her eyes. “No. He hasn’t changed at all. He’s a drunk idiot who doesn’t give a shit about me, and I want to leave right now. I hate this place. This whole city smells disgusting.”
I look at Jackson. He looks at me. I look back at Leela. “Come on,” I say, and put my arm around her.
“Sorry,” I mouth to Jackson.
He nods but makes a sad face.
Leela’s fists are clenched as she stomps up the stairs.
I unlock the door. Two men and two women are inside, chatting in Russian in the corner. They turn to look at us when we walk in. “Privyet,” the woman says.
“They can’t tell us to leave,” Leela exclaims. “It’s our room too.”
“I think that means hello,” I whisper to Leela. “It just sounds like private.” I gently pull her toward her bed. “Sit down. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“He’s just . . . he’s impossible,” she says. “I don’t know what I was thinking. What’s the definition of insanity again? Doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different outcome?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Well, then I’m insane. I keep thinking he’s going to be a good boyfriend, but he’s not. He’s a joke.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She looks up at me. “Hold on. What’s happening with you and Jackson? How was your night?”
“Don’t worry about me and Jackson,” I say, not wanting her to feel worse. “Tell me what Matt said.”
“That he doesn’t want to go to Paris with me. That he wants to go to Berlin with Jackson. He’d rather drink beer than have a romantic few days with his girlfriend. He said maybe we could meet up later. Maybe? I can’t believe I followed him here. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so pathetic?”
“You are not,” I say, hugging her. “Matt is a jerk.” And I guess we will not be traveling as a foursome after all. Good-bye, Jackson. I think of the way he kissed me earlier, and can’t help but feel sad.
“Can we leave in the morning?” she asks.
“So soon?”
She nods. “I need to get out of here.”
“Sure. Of course. I’ll just text Kat and let her know that we’re coming.”
“No,” Leela says. “I don’t think I can face Paris yet. Too much romance. Can we go somewhere else? For a bit? Please?”
I want to be understanding, but how many times are we going to change our plans? “Where do you want to go?”
“Not Berlin.”
I sigh. “Okay. We’re in Europe—there are a million other places to go. Let me check the book. We’ll go somewhere that’s on the way to Paris. Okay?”
“Mmmph.”
“I’ll find somewhere we can go. Promise.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. You’re the best. You really are.” She turns onto her stomach and closes her eyes. “I need to go to sleep. I feel sick.”
“Don’t worry,” I say soothingly. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I love you, Syd.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to ask the lobby guy for suggestions.”
I take my phone and my travel book and slip back outside the dorm. I take a few steps down the stairs and stop in front of their room.
I knock on the door, lightly.
No answer.
I guess I’m not saying good-bye?
I take the next flight down to the common room.
Jackson is sitting on one of the couches. I feel lighter already. “Hey,” I say.
He stands up. “Hey.”
“Well, that was a hot mess,” I say.
“Yeah. If only we’d gotten to the room faster,” he says.
I sit down beside him.
He puts his arm around me and pulls me into him. “So this is it?”
“I think this is it,” I say softly. “We’re off in the morning.”
“To where?”
“Unclear. I’m thinking I’m in the mood for waffles.”
“Bruges?”
“Yup.”
“I hear it’s nice,” he says. He stares at me. “I’m glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too,” I say.
He sighs and leans back. “I’m guessing our paths are not going to cross again this trip?”
“Probably not,” I say. I look around the room. No one is here but the Irish lobby attendant, and he’s facing the other way.
I lean in and kiss him.
It goes on. And on. Until I pull back.
“Can I get your number?” he breathes. “For the next time I’m in Maryland?”
“You’ve been to Maryland?”
“No,” he says. “Do you ever come to Montreal? Or Vancouver? No, you said you’ve never been to Canada.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to give him my number. What’s the point? So he can not text and then I can feel bad and imagine him hooking up with someone in Berlin? We didn’t even sleep together. We’ll never see each other again. “Maybe we should leave us here.”
He blinks. “Just like this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he says hoarsely.
“We’ll always have Amsterdam,” I say, and give him another kiss.
“And London.” He kisses me.
“And London,” I repeat. “Good night,” I say. I kiss him once more and then get up. I walk up the stairs. I don’t look back.