CAMILLE’S FRIENDS MET us at the museum—Marine, Julien, Thomas, and Mathieu. It felt odd seeing Mathieu after our morning together. Part of me wanted to talk to him, but doing so might draw Camille’s attention. So I respected the ten feet of personal space he seemed to be maintaining.

Julien swallowed and took a step toward me. “Sophie . . .” He gave Eric a quick glance, then looked back at me. “I am sorry for throwing that bone at you and getting you in trouble.”

“I . . .” For some reason I cast a glance to Mathieu, who was looking out at the street with a grim expression, before looking back at Julien. “Thank you.”

Everyone seemed to relax after that.

Musée Rodin was full of sculptures, many of which were naked women, but today Dane behaved himself. Perhaps it was because Camille stuck to his side as if their clothes were attached together by Velcro. Marine looked a little lost without her bestie, but she started to follow Eric around like a lost puppy. And Eric didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Thomas and Mathieu hung together, and to my surprise, they seemed to be ignoring Julien.

After we made our way through the inside exhibit, we headed outside, on a path that led to a bronze statue I actually recognized from last year’s art class. The statue of a man sitting with his elbow on his knee, his chin on his hand, was surrounded by about fifteen people.

“It’s The Thinker,” I said. “It’s famous.”

“Which explains the crowd,” Eric said behind me.

Thomas and Mathieu walked around me to get closer to the statue. Several of the people who had been surrounding it took photos and then moved on. Thomas looked over his shoulder and handed me his phone. “Sophie, take a photo of me in front of it.”

I took it, shocked that he was talking to me in front of Camille. I glanced at her to see if Thomas had risked it because she was distracted, but she was not only watching, she was actually smiling. Of course, that could have been because Dane was now holding her hand.

Thomas stood in front of the statue and assumed The Thinker’s pose. He squatted and tried to recreate the statue’s position, giving a mock pensive look. I snapped several photos, then he stood and grinned. “Your turn.”

I looked around at Camille’s friends, wondering if they were setting me up for some kind of prank. But Dane and Camille had walked several feet away and were deep in a private conversation. Eric and Marine were chatting, and my brother seemed pleased with his new shadow. I couldn’t say I blamed him. She was pretty. She just wasn’t good at choosing her friends. Then again, perhaps they had that in common.

Mathieu stood to the side, watching. He wasn’t frowning like he had been yesterday, but he wasn’t happy either.

Thomas grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, moving me to the side of the pedestal. “Now sit,” he said, smiling when I did just that.

I adopted the statue’s position as best I could, thankful I’d worn capris instead of a skirt. Thomas held up his phone and took several photos. Then he handed the phone to Mathieu and said something to him in French.

Mathieu took the phone with the hint of a scowl. “If you don’t want to be rude to Sophie, then you need to speak in English.”

Thomas didn’t look happy with the reprimand, but murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I understand.” And I did. It would be like someone expecting me to speak German all the time when I could barely ask how to find a bathroom.

I squatted again, and Thomas squatted next to me, both of us resting our chins on our hands. Mathieu held up the phone for barely a moment before holding it out to his friend.

“Your turn, Mathieu,” I said, reaching for him and pulling him down next to me. “Would you take our photo, Thomas?”

Thomas’s smile wavered, but then he arranged us into matching poses and took our photo.

We wandered through the garden, stopping at Les Trois Ombres next. The title meant the three shades, and it featured three figures in a huddle, hunched over and reaching their hands together. Thomas, Mathieu, and I recreated it, with me in the middle, all three of us laughing. Eric took the photos, watching both boys as though he didn’t quite trust them.

I was thankful Mathieu seemed more relaxed, but he was still ignoring me for the most part, which hurt my feelings more than I cared to admit. I had thought we were at least becoming friends. Given Camille’s previous disapproval, I could understand his reticence, but now I wasn’t sure what to think.

Next we reenacted The Burghers of Calais, which included six men in a group, all with attitudes that made it look like they’d had a disagreement. I made Eric and Marine join us this time. Marine’s face lit up with excitement, but then she glanced at Camille for permission.

Camille gave her a slight nod and Marine grabbed Julien. “We need one more,” she said in English.

Dane took the photos this time, but we had a hard time setting it up because we kept breaking into laughter when we tried to hold the statues’ facial expressions of outrage and disdain.

When we continued down the path, Eric gave me a huge smile, which I returned. This was the most fun I’d had all summer.

We came to the Gates of Hell next—not the literal gates, but bronze gates with bas relief figures in contorted poses, some of which were very suggestive. As if in unison, we moved on.

Next was a statue of a man and woman, both naked and in an embrace. The man had his hand around the woman’s back and was bending the woman backward, his mouth nuzzling her ear. Thomas shot me a grin. “Sophie?”

Eric stepped between us. “Don’t even think about going near my sister.”

Thomas laughed, and he and Mathieu reenacted it instead, arguing over which one of them was the woman. They finally agreed to take turns, and we all burst into laughter when Thomas licked Mathieu’s ear. Mathieu jerked out of his hold and fell on his butt as he scrubbed his earlobe with the palm of his hand.

After I took photos, Dane called out, “Our turn.”

We all gaped at him in surprise. While he and Camille had followed us through the garden, they hadn’t shown any interest in what we were doing. Camille didn’t protest when Dane pulled her forward, wrapped his arm around her back, and held her hand out to the side. Then he leaned her backward and nuzzled her neck as she clung to him.

None of us laughed. I expected to feel some lingering tinge of jealousy, but I mostly felt weird, like I was a voyeur to some intimate moment I had no business watching.

The joyful mood dampened, and the power shifted in that moment. I wasn’t sure how, but it was obvious Camille was no longer in charge, although I couldn’t figure out who had replaced her.

“J’ai faim,” Thomas said. “Nous allons manger des crêpes.” He turned to me. “Have you had crêpes from a street vendor yet?”

“Eric and I had some at a restaurant by the Pantheon.”

Thomas shook his head in exaggerated disapproval. “Mais non! To experience Paris, you must have crêpes from a street vendor.”

Everyone was in agreement, so we left the museum and found a vendor. I ordered a Nutella crêpe, excited to watch the vendor make it fresh. When he handed me the parchment-wrapped dessert, I started to hand him a five euro bill, but Thomas intercepted and paid for it instead.

“I am privileged to buy your first street vendor crêpes,” he said with a bright smile.

I watched Camille out of the corner of my eye, worried she’d try to reinforce her Sophie ban, but she was totally engrossed with Dane.

Thank God for small favors.

After we all had our crêpes, we walked to Esplanade Jacques Chaban-Delmas, a nearby park, and sat in the grass. Thomas jostled Mathieu out of the way to sit by me. A dark look crossed over Mathieu’s face.

But Thomas looked pleased with himself when he turned and nudged my arm with his elbow. “You must try it.”

I took a bite and practically moaned. “Mmm. It’s very good.”

“See?” he said. “I am brilliant.”

I watched Thomas dig into his with gusto, finishing off his Nutella and banana crêpe in only a couple of minutes. He began to list the best crêperies in the city.

I was amazed at how different today was from yesterday. It was almost too good to be true. I was certain Thomas, Julien, Mathieu, and the others had been following Camille’s decree. For the moment she had decided to be half human and let them interact with me. But I didn’t trust my stepsister. What would happen when she changed her mind again?

I decided to enjoy the moment and bask in the knowledge that a guy—a cute Parisian guy—was interested in me. Thomas was nice and thoughtful, and his light brown hair and hazel eyes were definitely appealing. I should have been interested, but I was hung up on someone else.

Someone who didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in me.

I cast a glance at Mathieu, but he was deep in conversation with Eric and Marine. Did I feel this way about him because of our first two encounters, or was it because he had let me use his mother’s piano? In the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t seem interested.

When we finished, we were close enough to walk back to our apartment. Thomas lived in the 1st Arrondissement, so he took the subway with Marine and her brother, who lived in the 16th.

Dane and Camille were still holding hands, but they trailed behind us so we weren’t forced to watch them fawn all over each other. Mathieu remained silent for several blocks before he said, “This is where I turn.” Then he waved and headed down the side street.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, but he was walking so fast he was already out of earshot.

“You have plans with Mathieu tomorrow?” Camille asked in surprise.

“Uh . . .” Oh jeez. I’d already screwed up. “I just figured he’d join us for whatever we end up doing tomorrow.”

“I have a dentist appointment tomorrow,” Camille said. “So we won’t be meeting them.”

“Oh.”

“That comic store looks cool,” Eric said, pointing across the street. “Did you see this store when you were exploring?”

“Uh . . . no. I headed the other way.”

I was worried he’d ask me more questions, but he lost interest, especially when Dane asked him something about taking their senior pictures when we got back home.

I had several hours before dinner, so I spent most of it working on the fingering for the Warsaw Concerto. I had gotten to the movement that contained a lot of crossover trills, so I spent a lot of time writing it down and then re-fingering it and making changes. I hoped to play the new parts at Mathieu’s the next morning.

Dad got home from work before Eva. She must have told him she’d be late because he was carrying a bag of groceries, with two loaves of French bread sticking out of the top. I looked up from the keyboard, and he caught my gaze.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He moved closer, standing next to me with a hopeful expression. “What did you do today?”

“We went to the Musée Rodin.”

“And . . .” he prompted.

“It was fun.”

He frowned, and I knew he was frustrated. Back home I would have told him all about it, but this uneasiness between us wasn’t going to change overnight. He was crazy if he thought it would.

A hopeful smile lit up his face. “I was thinking you and I could go out for ice cream after dinner. There’s a shop down the street that caters to tourists. It’s even better than Cold Stone.”

Part of my heart ached to spend time with him, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to let him back in. After we went home at the end of the summer, I had no idea when we would see him again. But part of me ached to regain what we’d once had. I missed him.

“Okay,” I said with a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

It turned out we didn’t go anyway. Eva was late getting home from work, and it had been a bad, stressful day. Dad said he needed to stay with her, and it was obvious she needed him more than I did.

While I felt bad for Eva—some kind of international banking deal had fallen through—this was only further proof that I was not his priority.

I decided to go to bed around ten since I needed to get up early. Mathieu hadn’t set a specific time to meet in the morning, but I figured it wouldn’t change from today.

Camille came in soon after. I had purposely rolled onto my side, facing the wall. I’d spent the last week pretending I was asleep when she came into the room. It was better than having to deal with her. Most nights she fell for it, but tonight she climbed under the covers and waited a few moments before saying, “I’m being nice to you for the moment.”

The word moment hung out there like a big smelly turd I couldn’t ignore. I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. “What exactly are you saying, Camille?”

“I’m saying that for now it serves my purpose to treat you well. But the moment that stops, it will all change.”

I had no doubt that it would all change sooner rather than later.