My Secret Guide to Paris (3 page)

D
uring lunch the next day, I told Lindy I had to eat really fast so I could go to the library and do some research.

“What class is that for?” she asked.

“Not a class,” I said before I took another bite of my burrito. “Operation Paris.”

She nodded like that explained everything. That’s the great thing about best friends. You really don’t have to say much for them to understand you.

When I walked into the library, our school librarian, Mrs. Miles, greeted me with a smile. “Hello, Nora. You can’t need a new book since you were just here on Friday. You have some homework to finish?”

Mrs. Miles is awesome. Not only is she a nice person, but she also talks about books the way my grandma talked about Paris: with lots and lots of love in her eyes. When I come into the library, it’s like she has an internal sensor that tells her what I need. Sometimes it’s to get a new book to read, sometimes it’s just to hang around the books because they make me happy, and sometimes it’s to finish homework in a quiet place or look up something on the computer.

I thought about her question. It wasn’t work for school, but I didn’t want to go into a long explanation about what I was doing, exactly. I decided to just get to the point. “I’m trying to find out about dolls in Paris. Can I use the computer?”

“Of course,” she said. “Remember to be as specific as possible in your search query. What are you hoping to find, specifically?”

“Well, I guess I want to know if there are any special places for a doll collector to visit.”

She raised one of her eyebrows. “Do you collect dolls?”

“No, but someone I know does, and I’m wondering if Paris would be a good place to find them.”

“Great,” she said. “So perhaps start with a search on doll collecting in Paris, and see what comes up. If you need help, please let me know.”

“Do you think we could find any books on dolls and Paris?” I asked.

“Not in our library, but we might be able to get something through inter-library loan. I’ll do some checking, okay?”

“Thank you,” I said as I sat down.

It didn’t take long to learn about a popular doll shop in Paris called La Maison de la Poupée as well as a doll museum called Le Musée de la Poupée. Both of them sounded like places my mom would love to visit. I found an article written by an American who moved to Paris and had collected dolls all of her life. The author of the article said the store windows at La Maison de la Poupée were always beautifully decorated and filled with scenes involving antique dolls. She also said there were antique stores and flea markets throughout the city, and she’d found many wonderful dolls in those places as well.

Mrs. Miles helped me print out the article, and then it was time to go to class.

“I didn’t find any books specific to dolls in Paris,” she said as I walked to the door. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I think I have what I need for now. Thank you.”

In her best French voice she replied, “
Au revoir
, Nora!”

*  *  *

That night, it was just my mom and me for dinner, since Dad had to work late and Justin was going out with some friends after basketball practice. I knew it was the perfect chance to talk to her about going to Paris.

“I thought I’d make some fresh guacamole and we could have cheese quesadillas,” she said. “How does that sound?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really in the mood for that. Besides, you know how much Justin loves your guacamole. Maybe you should make that tomorrow night, so he can have some, too?”

“Well, I guess I could. What do we do about tonight, then?”

“What about breakfast for dinner? Could we maybe have French toast?”

I wondered if she would get the hint. She didn’t. “Sure. That sounds good. And simple. We haven’t had breakfast for dinner in ages. I think I still have some sausages in the freezer.” She opened the freezer door. “Yep. Here they are.”

As she reached into the fridge and took out the carton of eggs, I asked, “Do they eat French toast in France, Mom? Or is that just something Americans made up? Like French fries?”

“I don’t really know. That’s a good question.” She started to reach for the cupboard to get something, and then she stopped. She turned and looked at me. “Wait a second. French toast? Is there a hidden meaning behind your request?”

I bit my lip. “Um, maybe?”

She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. “You want to talk about those tickets to Paris some more, don’t you?”

“Mom, I’ll help you plan the trip. Whatever I need to do, just tell me. I’m really good with the computers at school. Mrs. Miles, the librarian, she can help me, too, if I need it.”

She sighed. “It’s not only the planning, Nora. I’m just not sure—”

“You don’t want to go with me?” I asked. “Is that it?”

“Honey, no, of course that’s not it. I don’t know if I can explain how it makes me feel. But let me try. When I think about going there, I get a huge knot in my stomach. It really doesn’t feel like the right time. Like, it’s too soon.”

“But we have free tickets,” I said.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact.”

It was time to use the secret weapon. I pulled the folded article out from the pocket of my hoodie. “Look what I found.” I handed it to her. “There is a famous doll shop
and
a famous doll museum. There are also antique shops and flea markets around Paris where you can find dolls. You’d love it, Mom. I know you would.”

She unfolded the article. “When did you do this? Research dolls in Paris?”

“During lunch, at school.”

She read it for a minute and then looked at me again. “You did this for me?”

I nodded. “Maybe it’s not too soon. Maybe it’s what we need—to get away from here and have some fun.”

“Wow,” she said after she read some more. “I have to admit, these places sound pretty amazing.”

“Can we go, Mom? Please?”

She stared at the paper for what seemed like an eternity before she finally looked at me and responded. “If we were to go, and that’s a big
if
, would it be all right if Justin used the third ticket and came along with us? I feel like it wouldn’t be fair otherwise, since he said he’d love to go as well.”

I tried to stay calm, even though my brain was screaming,
She’s not saying no, she’s not saying no.
“Yeah. Sure. That’s fine with me.”

“I need to talk to your father about it, and see what he thinks. Even though the airfare is paid for, there’d still be expenses involved. We have to make sure we can afford it.”

I wanted to ask her if Grandma had left her any money. It seemed like she must have, since she’d had a good job. But I decided leaving Grandma out of the discussion was probably the best way to go. I simply said, “I understand.”

She glanced at the article again before she gave me a hint of a smile. “This doll shop sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? I bet we’d have a lot of fun.”

I had to dig deep on this one. I had to somehow be excited about dolls, something I really was not excited about at all.

Paris,
I thought.
It’s Paris. The City of Light! Keep your mind focused on the beautiful city you’ve dreamed about for so long.

I gave her a big smile. “Mom, we’d have a blast. Are you kidding?”

Her smile grew wide. “We would, wouldn’t we? Okay, I’ll talk to Dad about it when he gets home. If he says yes, I’ll have to see if the museum will give me some time off. I haven’t taken any vacation in a while, so it should be all right, but—”

I rushed over to her and threw my arms around her. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you so much.”

She put her arms around me and hugged back. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

From the top of the cupboards, the dolls smiled down at us. For once, I didn’t really mind. They’d helped me convince my mom that this trip would be fun for the both of us.

I could only hope I was right.

A
s soon as Dad said we could go, we started planning our trip. After I did some research on the twenty districts in Paris (called
arondissements
), I recommended to Mom that we stay in the Latin Quarter. With the area narrowed down, Mom found a nice but inexpensive hotel for us to stay at, not far from Notre-Dame. The three of us—Mom, Justin, and I—would be sharing a triple room, which is a room with three single beds. That didn’t make Justin very happy. He was hoping for a room of his own, but Mom said it would cost too much money to get two rooms. I told him I was the one who should be worried—I’ve heard his snores from the hallway with his bedroom door closed. Mom said we’d bring earplugs and it would be fine.

Of course it will be fine,
I thought.
We’re going to Paris!

Over the coming weeks, I became a student of all things French. Mrs. Miles continued getting me books on France, and I read them whenever I had some free time. The history books were kind of boring, but I enjoyed the ones about life in Paris as well as the different things to see and do. She even got me a book on learning how to speak French. I practiced some phrases with Lindy at lunch sometimes.

“Parlez-vous anglais?”
(Do you speak English?)

“Je ne comprends pas.”
(I don’t understand.)

“Je ne sais pas.”
(I don’t know.)

“Je ne parle pas bien français.”
(I don’t speak French very well.)

*  *  *

Finally, the day I’d been waiting for arrived. As I threw another pair of jeans into my suitcase, I asked Lindy,
“Où est l’hôtel?”
She sat at my desk, doodling in a spiral notebook with my purple pen.

“Je ne sais pas,”
she replied with a big sigh. It made me giggle. Apparently, she had learned some French right along with me.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I don’t know where your hotel is, and don’t ask me that again because I might start crying any minute.” She closed the notebook and looked at me. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I know. Me too. I’ll send you postcards, okay?”

“Oh, sure. Because postcards are the next best thing to being there. Not.”

“You know, if we start saving our money now, maybe we can take a trip together when we graduate from high school. That’d be fun, right?”

“Nora, that’s like”—she counted on her fingers—“six years away.”

“We can take French in high school,” I told her as I grabbed the button jar from my top dresser drawer. “We’ll be French-speaking experts by then. It’ll be great. That’s our new goal, okay? Paris for Nora and Lindy!”

She stood up and took the colorful button jar from my hand. “What’s this?”

I’d never really shown anyone the button jar. I mean, my mom knew I had it, but I kept it hidden away and didn’t tell anyone I liked to carry a button around with me. That day, I had a bright blue button in my pocket, since blue is my favorite color and it wouldn’t be long before I’d be in what would probably become one of my favorite places in the world.

“My grandma gave it to me when I was eight,” I said. “Isn’t it cool? All of the buttons came from Paris.”

She handed the jar back to me. “How come you’re taking it with you?”

I rolled the jar around in my hands, watching the buttons turn as I did. “I guess I want to feel like she’s with me in some small way.”

She nodded. “Do you have the map? And the envelopes?”

“I’m carrying those things in my messenger bag,” I said as I wrapped a pair of tights around the button jar before sticking it in the suitcase. “I don’t want my mom to find them. I’m not sure what she would say about them if she knew.”

“What about the box?” she asked. “Can you take it with you?”

“My suitcase is too full and it won’t fit. If I find the key, and I hope I do, I’ll have to wait and open it when I get home.”

She spotted Hedwig on my bed and picked her up. “Don’t forget this. She needs to see Paris, too.” She handed her to me. “So, you’re not going to tell your mom about the treasure hunt?”

I sighed as I stuck Hedwig in my suitcase. “No. I want to do it on my own. I’m not sure my mom would approve, and I can’t risk her telling me I can’t go to the places Grandma wanted me to visit.”

“So how do you plan to get away on your own?”

“Hopefully, after we’ve been there a day or two and we’re familiar with the area, I can convince her to let me explore by myself.”

“Can I see the box?” Lindy asked.

I went over to the trunk. The funny, musty smell filled the room as I opened it. “What is all that?” Lindy asked, peering in.

“Old clothes and fabric, mostly.”

She pulled out a pair of white gloves that were yellowed from age and put them on. They went all the way to her elbow.

“I wonder how old these are,” she said. She put one hand on her hip and patted her hair with the other hand. “I feel so fancy. How come people don’t dress up and wear things like this anymore?”

“I know, right? I wonder if those belonged to my great-grandma.”

She took them off and put them back in the trunk. I reached down to the bottom until I felt the hard, cold surface of the box. I pulled it out and handed it to her.

“It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be,” she said, turning it over in her hands. “What could be in it?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself since I found it,” I said.

She handed the box back to me, and I put it back in its spot, deep in the trunk.

After I closed the lid, Lindy looked at the clock by my bed. “I better get going. Dinner will be ready soon.” She gave me a hug and then said, “Have a wonderful time. Eat lots of chocolate and cheese for me. And wave at the
Mona Lisa
.”

“Au revoir, ma chère amie,”
I said as she went out the door.

“What does that mean?” she asked as she peeked back inside my room.

I smiled. “It means, ‘good-bye, my dear friend.’ Now go! Before I stuff you in this suitcase and take you with me.”

She gave me a little wave before she left.

Dinner that night was torture. Dad had to give us every piece of traveling advice he’d ever heard.

Don’t carry all of your money with you.

Always keep your cash tucked away in your money belt (that’s a special belt with hidden compartments, so pickpockets can’t get to it).

Don’t go out at night alone.

Keep your hotel room locked at all times.

There was more, but I tuned him out after a while, because, honestly, I didn’t need a hundred and one reasons to be scared in Paris. I just wanted to get there already. It felt like I’d been waiting forever to go on this trip.

There’d been a bit of trouble getting the ticket changed from Grandma’s name to Justin’s, but eventually Mom had worked it out. Grandma had purchased nonstop tickets from New York City to Paris. We’d leave around eleven o’clock that night and get there a little over seven hours later. Mom said this was called the red-eye flight, because you’re supposed to sleep, but it can be hard to do, so you often arrive tired, with a full day ahead of you. I hoped I could sleep. Paris was five hours ahead of New York, so when we got there, it would be almost noon.

Dad drove us to the airport and dropped us off. As we stood there with our suitcases, everyone around us in a hurry to get where they were going, I was so excited, I felt like doing a string of cartwheels. (Of course I didn’t do that. It would have been weird.)

I couldn’t stop smiling, though. I was finally,
finally
on my way to Paris!

“I’ll miss you,” Dad said as he gave me a hug. “Have a wonderful time!”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I will!”

“Bon voyage,” he called to us as we headed into the airport.

“What?” Justin said. “Is that French? I’ve heard it before, but never thought about it.”

“It means ‘good journey,’ ” I told him and Mom.

“Have you been studying up on your French, Nora?” asked Mom.

I just smiled and shrugged. They had no idea how many secrets I was keeping from them.