When the Heart Falls

I sigh. "My scholarship is dependent on my grades. I'll lose it if I don't get a B in this class."

"That sucks," she says. "What about financial aid? Loans? It's not ideal, but at least you'll get the education you deserve."

"I can't, okay?" My hands curl into fists. "My parents are wealthy. Really, obscenely wealthy. I wouldn't qualify for anything."

"Then why don't they help you?"

"It's complicated." I take a deep breath and release my fists. I know she's just trying to help, trying to fix this, but there's no easy fix.

She shifts her purse on her shoulder, her blouse dipping to reveal a hint of curve from her breast, and my body responds instantly. Dropping my book bag to hide evidence of my attraction to her, I turn to face our leader.

Winter leans in closer to speak, her subtle perfume intoxicating me. "I'm sorry. If you need any help, I'm pretty good at languages."

"Don't worry, I got it. Anything can be mastered with enough effort." And while the offer is tempting, it's for all the wrong reasons. I can't afford to get too close to a girl like her with so much else vying for my energy and attention. When she bites her bottom lip, I look away, convinced more than ever that if I spent too much time alone with her, studying wouldn't be on the agenda.

"Follow me, students," Monsieur Bellugue says. "And please, remember these directions. We will take the metro into the city and walk the rest of the way. Allons-y!"

It's not just that Paris is a foreign country that makes it so different, it's city life anywhere that is foreign to me. A part of me misses the wide-open spaces, the big sky, the smell of hay and fried chicken and the rev of my pickup truck. I am a separate entity in this world of people and tall buildings. Like my hat and boots, I stand out as something 'other', a stereotype from a story. But under the wide brimmed hat and flannel and denim lives another side of me, the side that feels more at home with skyscrapers than haystacks, that prefers sketching the bones of a new building to wrangling cows, and I wonder which side will win out and get the life he wants, and what will happen to the other side that loses.

We enter the metro at its busiest time, professionals heading to work and students on their way to classes. Our group is shoved further in, standing so close I can smell the shampoo, perfumes and colognes of everyone around me. But it's Winter's body that's pressed the closest, her light tropical scent that draws me in and tempts me. The top of her head reaches my shoulder, and if I wanted, I could rest my chin on her head and pull her closer to me.

She looks up, as if aware of my inappropriate thoughts. "Sorry. I'm completely blocked in. I don't mean to invade your personal space."

It's an invasion I welcome, though I wish I didn't. "No problem."

"In New York, this is common," she says. "I ride the subways a lot, but it must feel pretty claustrophobic for you. I've never been to Texas, but it always looks very big and spacious in movies."

"It is. And hot, much hotter than Paris in the summer."

"Do you miss it?" she asks. "Texas? The space? The heat?"

"I miss the sun," I say. "The way it burns through the moisture in the air and warms everything. And I miss the space, the wide-open plains where you can't see another person for miles and the only sounds are from nature."

Someone jostles her from behind and she's pushed forward. I use my free hand to catch her, holding her up against me. My heart pounds in my chest and her face turns rose again, her breathing coming faster.

I don't let her go once she's balanced, though I know I should.

Still, she doesn't push me away either, instead she braces against my chest as she talks. "What about your family?"

"What about them?" I let my hand on her waist drop, and her red lips frown.

"I just meant, do you miss them too? They must miss you."

"As I said, it's complicated." I can't speak about it, about them, without revealing more than I care to, so I stop talking, withdrawing into my own thoughts for the rest of the ride.

There's an uncomfortable silence between us as I follow Winter out of the metro station and into the heart of Paris, but that changes when she stops and stares into the distance.

I follow her gaze and suck in my breath. "The Cathedral of Notre Dame. I have pictures of it hanging in my bedroom back home, but even from this far away it's more amazing in person."

"We're going to be touring it soon," she says. "I can't wait to see the bell. It's so romantic—the building, the history, the gargoyles." She sighs and the sound sends my mind in an inappropriate direction, but I pull it back to the conversation at hand.

I point. "See that rooster at the top of the spire?"

"Kind of. I think."

"They say it holds three relics. Part of the Crown of Thorns, one of Saint Denis's relics and one of Saint Genevieve’s relics."