be no co-mingling in hotel rooms at any time).
2. Boys and girls may mingle in common areas such as hotel lobbies. Hotel hallways of stairways do not apply.
3. No leaving the hotel premises without a chaperone after seven in the evening.
Vicky and I broke rule number three on our very first night in Brussels. We were rooming together, and had spent most of the afternoon checking into the hotel and listening to a repetition of Mrs. Drake’s rules. When she was done, Vicky and I were ready for a good meal. The dinner included in our itinerary was not appealing – we were able to eat some of the bland noodles, but the extremely unsavory poached white fish was out of the question.
A little after eight, back in our antique hotel room and sitting cross legged on the floor already in our pajamas, Vicky asked, “Isabel, aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” I replied. “What do you say we find our way to a McDonald’s? There has to be one within a few blocks from here, right? I think our French is decent enough … say, Ou est le McDonald’s ?” I tried in a terrible French accent.
Vicky laughed. “Okay, I think we’ll manage. We can go in our pajamas, right?”
I looked her up and down. She was wearing an oversized cream-colored Snoopy nightgown, which hung on her frame like an oversized T-shirt. I was sporting a classic pajama set, with striped blue pajama pants, an undershirt – which was more of a white sports bra – and a matching button-up pajama top.
“Yeah, I think we look fine,” I said. “Let’s go before it’s too late.”
We walked right out of the hotel in our pajamas and ankle-length socks, and onto the street outside. No one stopped us, and once we were outside we slowed to appreciate the view around us. We employed our badly pronounced French with some people in the street, but didn’t receive any help. We did receive several odd stares, though. After walking for nearly an hour, we returned to the hotel room, still hungry because there had been no McDonald’s sighting after walking what seemed to be dozens of small city blocks, but excited about our jaunt through the city.
***
After a week on the road, and with eight days left to go, people began to get much cozier with each other. When we were in France, we shared a tour bus with twenty-eight students from a Washington state high school, and things really began to heat up. Interschool romances sprung up left and right. Vicky had given up on Ryan after heavy flirting didn’t elicit any response. She was already on her way to finding a new guy to entertain her: Will, a rich kid from Washington whose dad owned a yacht.
“Ryan is really into someone,” Vicky told me one night in our hotel room on the French Riviera. “That’s why he didn’t respond to me. Do you know who he likes?”
“Are you talking about that flashy girl from Washington?” I replied. “The one who plays tennis and speaks fluent French? What’s her name … Tanya?”
Vicky rolled her eyes.
“Your head must be in the clouds, Isabel. Hello! Have you been on the same tour of the French countryside as the rest of us? Are you seriously telling me that you don’t know? Ryan likes you , Isabel.”
I stared at her, shocked. Ryan was always spending time with Vicky and me on the trip, but I thought he just felt comfortable with us because we were from the same school. It never occurred to me that he liked me. From the moment we arrived in Paris, the city of love, to this moment with Vicky, my mind and heart had been on a single track, and that track always led to Tom. I’d admired the country, of course, and had taken a great deal of pictures every time we stopped at a new town or city, but I couldn’t wait to get back home to Tom.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Vicky demanded.
“I honestly had no clue,” I told her. “I hope you’re not upset about this – you know that I didn’t lead him on, right? I didn’t
2. Boys and girls may mingle in common areas such as hotel lobbies. Hotel hallways of stairways do not apply.
3. No leaving the hotel premises without a chaperone after seven in the evening.
Vicky and I broke rule number three on our very first night in Brussels. We were rooming together, and had spent most of the afternoon checking into the hotel and listening to a repetition of Mrs. Drake’s rules. When she was done, Vicky and I were ready for a good meal. The dinner included in our itinerary was not appealing – we were able to eat some of the bland noodles, but the extremely unsavory poached white fish was out of the question.
A little after eight, back in our antique hotel room and sitting cross legged on the floor already in our pajamas, Vicky asked, “Isabel, aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” I replied. “What do you say we find our way to a McDonald’s? There has to be one within a few blocks from here, right? I think our French is decent enough … say, Ou est le McDonald’s ?” I tried in a terrible French accent.
Vicky laughed. “Okay, I think we’ll manage. We can go in our pajamas, right?”
I looked her up and down. She was wearing an oversized cream-colored Snoopy nightgown, which hung on her frame like an oversized T-shirt. I was sporting a classic pajama set, with striped blue pajama pants, an undershirt – which was more of a white sports bra – and a matching button-up pajama top.
“Yeah, I think we look fine,” I said. “Let’s go before it’s too late.”
We walked right out of the hotel in our pajamas and ankle-length socks, and onto the street outside. No one stopped us, and once we were outside we slowed to appreciate the view around us. We employed our badly pronounced French with some people in the street, but didn’t receive any help. We did receive several odd stares, though. After walking for nearly an hour, we returned to the hotel room, still hungry because there had been no McDonald’s sighting after walking what seemed to be dozens of small city blocks, but excited about our jaunt through the city.
***
After a week on the road, and with eight days left to go, people began to get much cozier with each other. When we were in France, we shared a tour bus with twenty-eight students from a Washington state high school, and things really began to heat up. Interschool romances sprung up left and right. Vicky had given up on Ryan after heavy flirting didn’t elicit any response. She was already on her way to finding a new guy to entertain her: Will, a rich kid from Washington whose dad owned a yacht.
“Ryan is really into someone,” Vicky told me one night in our hotel room on the French Riviera. “That’s why he didn’t respond to me. Do you know who he likes?”
“Are you talking about that flashy girl from Washington?” I replied. “The one who plays tennis and speaks fluent French? What’s her name … Tanya?”
Vicky rolled her eyes.
“Your head must be in the clouds, Isabel. Hello! Have you been on the same tour of the French countryside as the rest of us? Are you seriously telling me that you don’t know? Ryan likes you , Isabel.”
I stared at her, shocked. Ryan was always spending time with Vicky and me on the trip, but I thought he just felt comfortable with us because we were from the same school. It never occurred to me that he liked me. From the moment we arrived in Paris, the city of love, to this moment with Vicky, my mind and heart had been on a single track, and that track always led to Tom. I’d admired the country, of course, and had taken a great deal of pictures every time we stopped at a new town or city, but I couldn’t wait to get back home to Tom.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Vicky demanded.
“I honestly had no clue,” I told her. “I hope you’re not upset about this – you know that I didn’t lead him on, right? I didn’t
Similar Books
