The Distance from A to Z by Natalie Blitt Page B

it sounds almost like a promise. As though that was even possible.

TEN
    IT’S THE SECOND FRIDAY NIGHT at Huntington and all I want to do is sleep. I’m so grateful that the founders of this country chose July 4 as the day to mark independence, because I desperately need a break from class. I need a break from French. And from studying and from reading and from being nervous that my fluency level won’t be high enough to get me into the Paris School. The long weekend can’t come fast enough.
    I drop onto my bed, shoes still on, and hope I can sleep until noon. That’d be . . . too many hours to count with my mushy brain. And then I’ll figure out where the barbecue is and find out if there are fireworks. Tomorrow.
    â€œThere’s a bunch of people going to Chutes and Lattes for a games night if you’re interested,” Alice says, and all I can do is moan. Sleep. All I care about is falling asleep.
    â€œCome on, it’ll be fun.”
    This time moaning feels like too much work. Trop de travaille . My brain is broken. Mon cerveaux est cassé .
    I can’t stop thinking in French. Je ne peux pas arrêter de penser en français.
    Merde .
    â€œPlease, Abby. I need to get out of here.”
    I roll onto my side and make out Alice’s face in the low light of the room. My last act before collapsing had been to close our drapes. I figured when Alice got in, she could use her reading light for whatever she needed.
    But for once, writing isn’t what Alice needs. “Why do you want to go out?” My words are muffled by my pillow but I know Alice hears them because she bites her lip.
    â€œI need to show my dad I’m participating in school life, not just going to class.” Her words are mumbled because she can see the problem. She’s not participating in school life. At all. She hangs out with me, goes to class, and she’s lucky if she remembers to eat. Her dad is right to be concerned.
    I’ve been so focused on French and Zeke and speaking with Zeke in French and all the odd vibes between us that I haven’t been a good friend to Alice. She really should go to trivia night. And there’s no way she’ll go alone.
    True, I’ve been daydreaming about sleep since two o’clock, but for Alice I’d be willing to get out of bed.
    â€œAny chance you have some of that delicious dark chocolatewith almonds and sea salt hidden away?” I grumble.
    Alice bounces a bit on the balls of her feet. Who knew Alice bounced? “You’re the best!” she says, and she runs to get the chocolate.
    â€œHere’s the thing you should know about me,” I whisper to Alice as we follow the large crowd to Chutes and Lattes. “I’m supercompetitive.”
    â€œOkay.” She shrugs.
    â€œNo, like crazy competitive. Like youngest-of-three-kids competitive. Only girl. I need to win.”
    â€œAre you saying you might not want to be on my team?” Her raised eyebrows and pursed lips make it clear she thinks I’m joking, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that that’s exactly what I’m trying to say. So instead I smile faintly as she loops her arm through mine.
    Maybe I can be in the bathroom when the teams are being chosen and—
    â€œI can’t thank you enough for doing this with me,” she says. “I wouldn’t have even thought about going without you.”
    And that plan is squashed. Now to think of Plan B.
    Chutes and Lattes should be the set of a TV sitcom. One of those shows with best friends who come to the same coffeehouse every Friday night, who grow up and grow old togetherwhile the decor never changes. I can tell three things about this place right away: the furniture is authentically aged, the books that line the walls have been read by more people than I can imagine, and this is the best place on earth. Barring all French-speaking places, of course. This in France? Perfect. Or