MY MOTHER AND I had been emailing daily, and she kept asking if my father had followed through with getting me a piano. I’d dodged her questions so far, although I wasn’t sure why. I used to take my dad’s side in everything, but why was I covering for him now? Maybe some habits were hard to break. I finally told her that Eva had gotten me a keyboard, and on Wednesday afternoon—her Wednesday morning, her day off—she video-called me.
“Making sure you had access to a real piano was part of the agreement,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “Your father assured me that would happen, but apparently he’s too busy living his new life to concern himself with it.”
She was saying everything I’d already thought, yet I still found myself defending him. “Eva went out of her way to get me a keyboard,” I assured her. “I’m making do.”
She shook her head, her lips pursed in irritation. “That’s so typical of him—letting someone else clean up his mess. I’m calling him.”
“Mom, please don’t. I’ll work it out.”
She finally agreed, but only because her new boyfriend showed up to take her out to breakfast at the end of her call. I was usually irritated by how quickly she could forget us when he was around, but this time it worked to my advantage.
I hung up and took a deep breath. This was my second day alone in the apartment. Camille and the guys had gone off to meet her friends, but I’d insisted on staying behind, telling them I needed the practice. Miss Lori had given me several new pieces to work on over the summer.
I also had no desire to spend any more time with my stepsister than necessary.
So I’d spent two full days practicing. After my call with my mother, I pounded on the keyboard in frustration. I tried to play a cadenza, but my fingers slipped over the too-loose keys.
My mother was right. This was never going to work. While I was grateful for Eva’s thoughtfulness, I was frustrated with the limitations. I needed a bench to fully slide from one end of the keyboard to the other, and if I had to play on these weak keys all summer, the muscle tone in my fingers was going to suffer. But if I let my mother intervene, it would only make a difficult situation worse.
What I really needed was to talk to Jenna. I risked video-calling her even though it was eight thirty in the morning in Charleston. To my surprise, she was already dressed and standing in her bathroom when she picked up the call.
“I have to multitask, Soph. I’m babysitting the Meriden twins and I’m leaving in twenty minutes.”
“The Meriden twins? You must be desperate.”
She turned toward her cell phone, her mascara wand in her hand. “Hello! I’m coming to Paris in almost four weeks! I need money. Now tell me everything! The wedding. Your new mom. You and Dane.”
I made a face. “It’s like I’m in Cinderella with a genuine evil stepsister.”
Jenna’s mouth twisted. “Figures. And your new mom?”
“Stepmom.” I shrugged. “She’s nice. It’s complicated.”
“That’s fair. And Dane?”
“He’s part of the reason Camille got her evil status.”
Her eyes flew open. “She stole him? Already?”
“You don’t understand, Jen. She’s beautiful.”
“And so are you. Don’t sell yourself short. Plus, you and Dane have history.”
“But not the kind I want.”
She shook her head. “Where is he right now?”
I shrugged. “Dane and Eric went somewhere with Camille and a few of her friends. I think the Grand Palais.”
“Wait.” She blinked and held up her hands. “Why aren’t you with them?”
“Eva got me a keyboard, so I stayed here to play.”
“You gave up spending personal time with Dane Wallace so you can stay in an apartment and play a piano?”
I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just tell her what a jerk he was being. There had been hints of it at home, but I’d chalked it up to teenage boy behavior. Living with him 24/7 had been eye-opening. “I know it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that . . .”
“Sounds ridiculous? Soph, that’s like rolling over and playing dead. You’re just giving her a chance to sink her claws in even more.”
“Yeah . . .”
“Wait. I know that look.” She grabbed the cell phone off the bathroom counter and it looked like she was walking into her bedroom. “Is there someone else?”
My cheeks grew hot. “No.” I shook my head. “I mean, I thought there might be, but it turned out he was just doing Camille’s dirty work.”
“Start from the beginning. Don’t leave out any details.”
So I told her about meeting Mathieu outside the restaurant, his subway station rescue, and his argument with Camille in the park.
When I finished, Jenna studied me for a moment. “It’s a tough call. Just remember that Dane is coming home and Mathieu is staying in Paris. Dane could be your date to Homecoming while Mathieu will be making French bread.”
I rolled eyes. “I seriously doubt he’ll be baking bread.”
She lifted her eyebrows in mock exaggeration. “But you don’t know that, do you?”
I shook my head, grinning. “No. I suppose not.”
She lifted her chin with a smug smile. “I rest my case.”
“I miss you, Jen.”
“I miss you too. Don’t stay home tomorrow. Go with them and show Dane that he’ll be much happier with you.”
“And how do I do that?”
“You’ll figure it out. Flirt.”
I wasn’t so sure. The mere fact that I’d never had a boyfriend was proof of my inability to flirt with boys. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted to flirt with him.
At dinner that night, I told Eric and Dane I was going out with them the next day. Dad looked ecstatic, and even Eva looked relieved to hear I would be leaving the apartment. But Camille looked like she’d swallowed a pumpkin.
“Where are you kids headed tomorrow?” Dad asked.
“The Musée d’Orsay,” Eric said, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth.
A museum. That was doable. Besides, I actually wanted to go.
I set my own alarm for the next day, making sure I was up in time to get ready. Today we took one subway to get there, the train stopping right outside the museum. Only three of Camille’s friends joined us this time—Marine, the blonde, aka Camille’s partner in crime; Marine’s brother, Julien, who looked a year or two younger than me; and Sarah, who seemed pretty quiet, even in French. I kept waiting for more of Camille’s friends to show up, and if we’d spoken a single civil word since we met, I might have asked her. Instead I kept looking over my shoulder to see if anyone else was coming.
Okay, so maybe I was looking for a dark-haired guy with mesmerizing blue eyes.
We spent several hours touring the museum, and I couldn’t help thinking that when I was in grade school, we had enjoyed field trips to the art museum for the simple fact that we got out of school. Now we were purposely here, staring at oil paintings of Greek gods and goddesses, who of course were naked. Dane kept laughing and making snide comments about the women’s physical features in the paintings. Eric was going along with it, although not as wholeheartedly as his friend.
I shook my head. “You two are disgusting. Grow up.”
Jenna may have wanted me to flirt with Dane, but if he didn’t think Greek goddesses were up to his standards, I had nothing to offer him. And I was starting to think he had little to offer me. Camille, on the other hand, smirked at their antics like they were naughty schoolboys.
She could have him.
Since the museum went relatively well, I decided to risk another excursion. The next day we met Camille’s friends at the Jardin du Luxembourg again. I brought a book this time so I had something to do while everyone ignored me. Dane sat next to Camille again, and I noticed that Marine and Sarah seemed to be giving Eric a lot of attention. Mathieu was conspicuously absent, or at least his absence was noticed by me. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to see him—to apologize? But I couldn’t ignore the fact that part of me liked him. How stupid was that? He was on the enemy side. In the end, I decided it was better he wasn’t there. My life was confusing enough as it was without adding Mathieu Rousseau into the mix.
I was lying on my stomach reading when I heard someone call out his name. I turned my head to see him walking toward us, his backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart fluttered, and I tried to contain the happiness bubbling up inside me.
He sauntered over to our group with a big grin on his face, but his smile dimmed in wattage when his gaze landed on me.
Not only did he not like me, he was annoyed by my presence. Great.
Dane leaned toward me. “Hey, Sophie. There’s the guy you pissed off.”
“Don’t remind me,” I groaned, but even though I turned back to my book, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I was on the periphery of the group, and he sat on the side opposite of me with several guys, one of whom was Julien.
They left me alone for the next half hour, but then Dane snatched my book out of my hands.
“Whatcha reading, Sophie?”
I sat upright in disbelief. “None of your business! Give that back!”
Wearing a stupid grin, he started to flip through pages, losing my spot. “It must be really good. A nuclear bomb could have gone off and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Give it back, Dane!”
“No. I want to know what’s got you so interested.” He stopped turning pages and started to read. “He pulled me close, his mouth nibbling my ear.” Dane looked at me with a grin. “I didn’t know you liked to read porn, Sophie.”
Camille and her friends began to laugh.
My face burned as I jumped to my feet. It wasn’t porn. It was a PG-13 YA romance, but that didn’t make it less embarrassing.
Dane flipped through several more pages and began to read. “He took off his shirt and I couldn’t avert my eyes.” He laughed. “Would you like me to take off my shirt? I’ll let you look.”
I was going to kill him. He’d teased me before, sure, but this felt malicious.
“Give my baby sister her book.” Camille’s smile was gone. Her tone let me know she wasn’t trying to protect me, and I already knew she didn’t consider me her sister.
“Why?” Dane asked, leaning back on an elbow. “I’m just getting into this.”
I lunged for him, but he rolled onto his stomach. “I’m not done reading.”
“Give it back to her.” Eric’s voice was cold and serious, but Dane’s smile only grew wider.
Camille snatched the book from Dane’s grip. She slowly began to flip through the pages, then glanced up at me. “Really, Sophie. You read this nonsense?”
“Give. It. Back.” I walked toward her, but Marine stuck out her foot just enough to catch mine as I passed. I fell face-first onto the grass, Camille’s friends scooting backward out of my way. Mathieu remained still, watching as I hit the ground, my flailing hand knocking over a paper cup of coffee. The lid flew off, and the drink splattered all over Mathieu’s white T-shirt and jeans.
Everyone gasped, and I stared up at him in horror.
“M-Mathieu . . .” I stammered as I got to my hands and knees. “I’m so sorry.”
Camille began to laugh, which finally worked loose Mathieu’s tongue. I had no idea what he was saying, but I knew he was pissed. Not that I blamed him. I heard both my name and Camille’s as he pointed at us, spitting out his French vitriol.
I sat up and pleaded, “Mathieu. I’m sorry.”
He stopped talking and turned to me. He heaved out a sigh, then stood and walked away.
“Sophie,” Marine said sweetly. “Are you okay?”
I considered responding the way she deserved, but I’d already made a spectacle of myself.
Camille tossed the book, and it landed in the grass beside me. “Sharing is learned in primary school here, Sophie. Did you fail that subject in school?”
“Enough,” Eric said, his tone letting Camille know he was done. I was grateful for his help, but it was obvious that he resented the need to offer it. Eric was used to being popular. He was finding his place in Camille’s hierarchy of friends, and every time he was forced to defend me, his ranking dropped lower.
Camille groaned and got to her feet, speaking to her friends in French. Marine rolled her eyes, and a couple of her friends protested whatever she said to them, but the others sent me looks of sympathy.
“Come along,” Camille said. “Let’s go.”
I stuffed my book into my purse and stood, eager to get back to the apartment and my keyboard.
At least I wouldn’t be able to hear Camille’s taunts when I was wearing the earphones.