You're the One That I Want (8 page)

‘Okay, sleepy heads,’ welcomed Miss James with a smile before handing around printed worksheets. ‘Here’s a
rough itinerary for the next few days and the work I expect you to do in each museum or place we visit.’

‘Work?’ queried Robert. ‘But I thought the idea was just to look at the art, Miss. Surely that’s what the artists would want.’

‘Nice try, Mr Miles.’

I swear I saw her blush.

I quickly skimmed my way through the itinerary and longed for the words to pop from the page, but I didn’t see them.

‘Miss? Where’s the Eiffel Tower?’ I asked, unable to hide the panic in my voice. ‘Surely we’re going to go there …?’

To my relief a few of the others grumbled their own protests at the omission.

‘I was planning on talking to you all about that. I thought it might be a nice thing to do the morning we leave to go home – a splendid way to round off what I’m sure will be a great trip. Although that does mean getting up very early, and getting on the bus to go straight back home from there, rather than going from here. Does that sound okay with you lot?’

There was a split reaction from the group – the girls all nodded in approval, beaming great big smiles at the thought of gracing the super romantic spot, and the boys grunted – either because they weren’t as bothered or because it was still too early. Needless to say I was with the girls on this one. Going there on the last day would be all right, I decided. I’d have preferred to go there straight away and get the whole thing over with as soon as I could, rather than having to wait for the entire trip and agonizing
over what was to come, but the important thing was we
were
going there. All I had to do was hold it together until then.

Gazing over the plans for our busy week, we tried to eat the crusty rolls and slices of ham and cheese given to us (none of us were too impressed with that continental malarkey), and then our crazy week of cramming in every tourist attraction Paris had to offer commenced. We gazed up at Notre Dame cathedral while singing the songs from the Disney classic which included a lonely hunchback (then had to stop ourselves from continuing to sing when we were inside the holy building – although I’m pretty sure I heard Robert humming along to himself). We explored the Rodin Museum and copied the moody pose of
The Thinker
, walked around the Picasso Museum and debated whether he was a genius or just off his rocker. Got dragged through Père-Lachaise cemetery as Miss James listed details of a load of dead people we didn’t know – actually we had heard of Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde, but even then it was hardly riveting stuff – they’re dead! Plus, it was freezing cold and standing around bored was irritating. We marvelled over work in the Musée Marmottan Monet, complained how small the
Mona Lisa
was in the Louvre (after queuing for ages to see her – plus the glass case in front of her was dirty) and questioned the respectability of almost every piece in the Pompidou Centre (‘How can
that
be art?’) – all the while making notes and scribbling sketches in our notebooks so that our teachers would think we were actually doing some work, but more so that we had something to show our parents when we got home, giving them the satisfaction
that their money had been well spent. Hardly any crêpes were eaten – one of my biggest disappointments of the trip when it came to experiencing the joys of Paris. Well, that and the fact that our trip to the Eiffel Tower never felt like it was getting any closer.

The days crawled by at a snail’s pace, as if they were purposefully trying to torment my lovesick heart. However, every now and then, in the distance over a bridge or from a viewing platform at one of the museums, I’d catch a glimpse of that metallic beacon of beauty and romance and feel a surge of happiness ping through my heart. Every day, every minute and every second inched me closer and closer to its magic, reminding me that my plan was still intact, that the trip’s grand finale was just around the corner. I had no doubt that the Parisian air had the power to propel us into something new. Something different that would change our lives forever.

In many ways, I was right.

It was our last night in Paris and, as a treat, Miss James and the other chaperones decided to take us out to a little French restaurant for dinner. While we were getting ready and putting on our make-up, my roommate, Kelly Sinclair (one of the cooler kids from our year who always looked perfect with her dark smouldering eye make-up and long tousled brown hair) turned to me – her head leaning to one side as she squinted her eyes at me suspiciously.

‘You and Robert were looking close on the way back today.’

Her comment was nothing new, I was used to being quizzed in such a manner when it came to me and the boys. Sometimes it was Ben and I cuddling that got people talking, other times it was the playful banter between Rob and I that caught their attention. I could usually brush it off, insisting that I didn’t believe in the assumption that girls and boys could never be
just
friends, but on that trip I’d become even more aware of things shifting. Everything between us felt more charged, like we were both just waiting for something to happen. Like the chat on the bus about him waiting for the right girl – was that a hint? And was he questioning me about other guys in our class to suss out my reaction?

I was more than embarrassed when he lay there and mocked my supposed inability to keep my hands off him – I wondered if he could sense what was going on in my head. And if he could, well, that was just humiliating. He apologized for that, actually. The morning after the hands-off incident he’d gone out of his way to pull me to one side and say sorry, but not in a macho can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this way. It contained real concern as he placed his hands on the tops of my arms and held my gaze while he made sure he hadn’t upset me. It did nothing to ease the growing feeling inside – instead it put it on high alert. If I were to be quizzed on Robert’s whereabouts at any point on the whole of that trip, I’d have been able to answer straight away. I was in a permanent state of awareness. Although, funnily enough, there was one moment at the Rodin Museum when I was lost in thought sketching the great bronze statue of
The Thinker
. I must have been sitting on the bench, hidden in the museum’s gardens, concentrating for quite some time (it was the only piece of work I’d almost managed to complete). Being the main attraction of the museum, many people came, saw, replicated for a photo and left – there was a constant buzz around the piece. Once I was nearly finished I looked to the person on my right (they’d been sat there for a while) and found Robert staring at me.

‘Did you know you bite your lip when you’re concentrating?’ he asked with a frown.

‘Do I?’

‘You’ve been doing it for the last half an hour.’

‘You’ve been sat there that long?’

He nodded keenly.

‘Just staring at me like a nutter?’

‘Oh no, I drew you too.’

‘What?’

Before I had a chance to be amazed by his revelation, he turned his sketchbook round to face me. He’d opted for the ‘stick man’ approach. The only part of me that he’d gone into any detail with was my hair – for which he’d used the colour red to draw an aggressive-looking bird’s nest on top of my head. The windy air was clearly doing me no favours.

‘Nice,’ I muttered, raising my hand to smooth down my wild hair.

‘Don’t,’ he insisted as he took my hand and placed it back on my lap. ‘It’s cute.’

I raised an eyebrow at him, questioning his comment.

‘I think I’ve captured you perfectly,’ he smiled proudly down at his work. ‘I’ve called it My Red-headed Thinker.’

The use of the word
my
did not go unnoticed by my hammering heart.

The day Kelly chose to question me there had definitely been another moment between us as we made our way back from the Louvre.

This time I’d started it.

As we walked side by side to the hotel a silence had fallen between us. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one, but nonetheless, I felt the need to fill it with something to stop my wandering thoughts. So I playfully pinched his thick blue scarf and wrapped it around my own neck. I hadn’t expected it to escalate into him grappling me to the ground in the middle of the sanded pathway in the Jardin des Tuileries and me being tickled into hysteria until I handed it back.

It was more than just the two of us mucking around as normal – this time it was physical. It was feisty and intense. However, Kelly pointing it out made me feel protective over the whole thing. I didn’t want to be asked about it. I wanted her to butt out.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes as I pinched in my cheeks and swept on some pink Rimmel blusher.

‘Oh really,’ I sighed nonchalantly, hoping Kelly would get the hint that it was a topic I was bored of explaining.

‘You were flirting,’ she continued.

‘No, we weren’t,’ I protested, my voice hitting slightly higher notes than I wanted it to.

‘You were jumping all over each other.’

‘No. It was flipping freezing so I nicked his scarf. He was trying to grab it back off me. That’s all.’

‘It was classic flirting.’

‘Kelly …’ I flustered, shaking my head.

‘I think he likes you.’

‘Don’t be silly. He’s my friend and that’s all there is to it,’ I said matter-of-factly, trying to end the conversation there.

‘Yes, I know. But you’re not kids any more, Maddy. You must be able to see the way he looks at you and the fact that there’s shitloads of chemistry between you.’

‘There really isn’t,’ I said firmly, almost losing my patience in a way I never had on the topic.

‘Right …’ she sighed, gazing back at her reflection in the mirror. I thought she’d finally relented, but then she added, ‘He is so fricking hot.’

‘I don’t see it …’ I lied with a shrug, watching her as
she expertly applied purple eyeshadow to her already dark eyes, wishing I knew how to do the same to mine. No matter how hard I tried I knew I never matched up to the other girls in the way they took care to groom themselves to perfection – perhaps it was the only downside to being friends with boys over girls. We spent our time in trackies outside, taking on new adventures, while girls experimented with make-up and learned to make the best of what was given to them. I was years behind and it showed. I’d never known what to do with my fair skin – fake tan made me look like an oompa loompa, and I’d acquired far too many freckles to cover up with foundation. My red hair was the only thing I liked – it was thick and manageable, although it was usually thrown up in a ponytail to keep it off my face (even then, wispy bits always broke free and created a frizzy ring around my face – as Rob had nicely pointed out in his drawing). Why would Robert be attracted to someone boyish like me, I wondered, when he could have someone beautiful like Kelly? As soon as I heard the question bounce around the walls of my inner mind, I knew I was in more trouble than I cared to admit. Self-doubt just wasn’t in my nature. Well, not over a boy anyway.

‘You don’t see that Robert is the fittest guy in our year? Really?’ Kelly asked further, looking at me in disbelief.

‘Yes, really!’ I shrugged.

‘Perhaps you should start looking then …’

I smiled at her as I picked up my mascara and unscrewed the wand.

‘Because I’ve got to say, if you don’t look, I might be
forced to make him look in my direction instead,’ she said with a saucy wink.

All at once I started to feel nauseous.

I felt extremely awkward when I joined Robert and Ben in the lobby half an hour later. All I could think about was what Kelly had said, and the realization that I’d definitely developed ulterior feelings for my best friend. I felt irritated by how self-conscious it made me feel – for instance, I was aware of every part of myself, which made me feel like an inexperienced Bambi walking on ice as I approached them. The way Robert looked me up and down with a delirious expression on his face didn’t help (it made my insides flip inside themselves), and neither did the pair of them wolf-whistling at me as I approached.

‘Cut it out,’ I hissed, giving them both a firm shove on the shoulder.

Yes, being with Kelly had prompted me to make a bit more effort than usual – I was wearing more blusher and eyeshadow than my mum would have liked, along with an emerald mini-dress, tights and heels – Kelly’s heels, not mine. I’d felt good as I left my room, sexy and mature, but now their gaze was on me I felt silly and exposed.

‘What? You look hot,’ laughed Ben, smiling at me as he took my hand and gave me his usual comforting three squeezes.

‘Ouch,’ said Robert as he cheekily rubbed the opposite shoulder to the one I’d pushed, giving me a smirk. He was always trying to treat me like a feeble girl, simply because he knew it wound me up. Or was he flirting, I wondered. And, if so, had he always been?

‘I’ll do it harder if you like,’ I warned, perhaps with a bit more gusto than I’d meant.

‘Promise?’

I couldn’t fail to spot the glisten in his eye as he raised an eyebrow at me, tilted his head ever so slightly and licked his lips as they formed a smile. The action had me transfixed and I literally had to pinch myself to pull myself away from the magnetic force of his whole being. It was more than him being his usual cocky and suggestive self, and that knowledge caused a rush of excitement to whizz through my body. I could feel my cheeks beginning to blush at the unexpected sensation.

As I turned away from them both and busied myself with putting my gloves on, I cursed Kelly for putting the thoughts I’d been grappling with into the forefront of my mind. Pull yourself together, I told myself, you do not fancy Robert and he certainly does not fancy you … you silly, silly girl.

Well, there’s nothing like trying to fool yourself into believing something that’s a blatant lie.

We were taken to La Ferme des Beauvais – a little Parisian restaurant on the corner of one of the side streets north of the Louvre. Windows covered the breadth of the external walls, displaying its name in silver-framed red lettering that curved like a rainbow on each pane of glass. Inside, the wooden tables were lined in rows to make the most of the limited space and covered with red cloth, tealights and a single red rose on each one. On the walls were photographs of Paris taken throughout the years, all in black and white. There was no doubt it was a cheap place
to eat, we were on a school trip after all, but it was these little touches that helped make the place more atmospheric and inviting.

The majority of the group opted to eat pasta on our final night, as we had most nights. It was always the safest option – although it was washed down with pieces of French bread, so it did at least have something traditionally French about it.

As our feast was being gobbled up, Kelly turned to Miss James, who was in deep conversation with Miss Stokes, another teacher. We’d never been taught by her before and she’d been very quiet the whole trip – we’d almost forgotten she was there.

‘Miss James,’ Kelly called from beside me.

‘Yes?’ she shouted back.

‘Seeing as we’re in France and we’ve been good all week, can we have a glass of wine each?’ she tried with a cheeky shrug.

Miss James cackled at the request.

‘Come on,’ pushed Robert, hoping his charm would help win her over. ‘We’re eating anyway, it’s not like we’re going to get drunk. It’ll just wash it down nicely.’

‘Nice try,’ she smiled. ‘As lovely and good as you all are there’s no way I’m letting any of you drink alcohol.’

‘You’re having some,’ stated Kelly.

‘I’m an adult.’

‘Oh, go on,’ she pleaded.

‘I’m afraid there’ll be no underage drinking on my watch,’ she finished, turning back to the conversation that had been interrupted.

‘That’s what she thinks,’ Kelly whispered, winking at
Robert before slinking off to the toilet. When she came back she discreetly pulled a bottle of vodka out from underneath her jumper.

‘Where’d you get that?’ I squeaked in shock.

Ben’s eyes, like my own, widened with surprise. Robert looked impressed – something that didn’t go unnoticed by me.

‘Never you mind,’ she laughed, before winking over at one of the waiters at the bar. ‘Pass us your glasses.’ As we did so, she quickly added the alcohol into our Cokes before carefully passing the bottle along to the next table. ‘There’s more where that came from too …’ she teased with a wicked smirk.

I was never one to break the rules, not really, but on that occasion, as I watched Kelly, Ben and Robert grin at each other as they picked up their glasses and gulped away, I certainly didn’t want to be the only person not involved. After just a few mouthfuls the worry I’d been feeling earlier that evening started to slide away, leaving me to feel giddily free and naughty – a feeling that was increased when I lowered my glass to find Robert winking at me. God, I fancy you, I thought, with such clarity that I stunned myself.

Once dinner was finished the tables were cleared away, and cheesy pop songs started blaring from the restaurant speakers, replacing the sounds of Edith Piaf that we’d endured throughout dinner. Miss James had organized a surprise mini disco for us to round off what had already been an amazing trip. None of us needed any encouragement to dance (probably thanks to a certain tipple lubricating our inhibitions), we were up on
our feet as soon as the first intro started. Thankfully we were the only diners in the dimly lit restaurant, so we didn’t have to worry about us teenagers upsetting anyone with our dizzy behaviour. We could just be carelessly joyful and silly as we danced along to the nineties classics being played. Hits by artists like Sugar Ray, Madonna and No Doubt boomed through the room, putting us on even more of a high. Robert, Ben and I were pulling the craziest moves we could muster, singing raucously and making each other laugh hysterically. It felt incredibly liberating.

At some point towards the end of the night, Hanson’s ‘Mmmbop’ started blaring out of the speakers, putting us all into more of a childish frenzy. We jumped around, making even sillier shapes with our bodies, waving our hands in the air and shaking our heads to the music. We might not have looked cool, but it was so much fun we didn’t care.