When the Heart Falls

When called into a private room to face the imposing professor, my mouth is dry. All my confidence is gone, lost in the scribbles on my pathetic dictation sheet.

The professor rapid-fires more French at me like bullets—as if she's trying to slay me with her words alone. She might even succeed.

She sits and waits for me to respond.

I don't understand, but I'm doing my best to learn French. Now, if I could just remember how to say that all in her language, since I fear she'll use a hidden whip on me if I utter a single word in English. I sound out each word in my head before saying it out loud. "Je ne comprends pas. Je suis encore à apprendre le fran?ais." I hope I said that right. I hope that my answer appeases her, that she'll see I'm trying.

When I leave the auditorium, the walls no longer impress me. I just want to get out of there and get some air.

Winter is waiting for me on the lawn. "How'd it go?" she asks.

I sling my book bag onto my shoulder and walk with her. "Not good. You?"

"I think okay."

Jenifer runs up to us and grabs Winter's arm. "I just heard about an epic party tonight from this guy I was talking to. We have to go. Have to."

I don't know if she's talking just to Winter or to us both, but I could use a distraction tonight. "We should go. It sounds fun. What do you think, Winter?"

Her mouth drops open, and she snaps it shut and smiles. "Sure, yeah. But this time I'm not eating anything some random guy gives us."





WINTER DEVEAUX

CHAPTER 7





WE HEAR THE club before we get to the door—loud hip-hop music rumbling through the building.

After getting ready—with Jenifer insisting I borrow her miniskirt and halter-top— we follow other students to a part of Paris I've never been before. I'm lost, so I really hope Jenifer or Cade knows how to get us back to our dorms.

Clutching my purse, Jenifer pulls me forward, and we get through the line and into the club. It's full of writhing, dancing bodies pressed against each other. Outside small groups of people smoke and laugh.

We get to the bar, where Jenifer orders a shot of Sex on the Beach, probably because of the name. The bartender looks at me.

I search for a menu and find none. "Um, something non-alcoholic, please."

Jenifer bumps me with her hip. "Where's your sense of fun and adventure? Have a drink. We're in Paris, for Christ's sake."

"I don't drink." Never. Ever. Ever. Again.

Cade is standing to the side, but I'm hyper aware of him, have been since he helped me with my hand—maybe since the plane. I'm not looking for love, or any kind of attachment, but something about him pulls me in, and that scares me.

When my drink arrives, I take a sip, hoping the cool liquid will ease the itching in my throat. Even my ears feel itchy. Strange.

Jenifer is already dancing with two guys, rubbing up against each of them as they grope her from the front and behind. I don't know how she can allow strangers to touch her like that. The thought of some random guy touching me makes my skin crawl.

A pretty girl in a tight red dress is talking to Cade, and he looks like he's enjoying the conversation. He's smiling, sipping a coke.

My gut tightens seeing them together, but I ignore what that could mean, unwilling to consider the possibility that I could actually be jealous. I don't get jealous and certainly not over a guy who's just a friend.

Cade catches my eye and smiles, then says something to the other girl and walks away from her, leaving his empty glass behind.

"Are you having fun?" He speaks louder than normal to be heard above the music.

I shrug and take another sip of my soda. "I guess. This isn't really my scene."

He laughs and the sound is so warm, so full, that I want to drown in it. "Not mine either, but we should make the most of it. When in Rome, right? Or, in this case Paris."

Something inside me loosens. "You're right. We should."

He holds out his hand and half bows, pulling his hat off as he does. "Would m'lady do me the honor of this dance?"

His behavior is so out of place, so anachronistic, that I feel transported to another time and place. Instead of a miniskirt, I'm wearing a beautiful ball gown. He's dressed in a pressed suit, and we're surrounded by elegant people at a formal ball in a castle. The hip-hop has been replaced by an orchestra, our sodas transformed into fizzing champagne.

I don't enjoy drawing attention to myself, but it's easier to say yes in this new world in my mind. I take his hand, and his fingers squeeze gently. The contact makes me shiver.

We dance to a fast beat song, moving our bodies to the rhythm but not touching. I'm keenly aware of how much skin I'm bearing in this barely-there-outfit and kick myself for not wearing something more dignified.

When the song ends I'm out of breath, but not from dancing. As the next song begins, it's slower and in English.