Swept Away

1 - Juillet

I didn't know that I hated France. If I did, I think I would've voiced it more often in my youth. But as I sit staring at the acceptance letter from the University of Paris, I feel a sudden feeling of despair.

I don't want to go to Paris.

I don't want to go to France.

What am I going to do?

"Maman?" I call for my mother down the hall. She grew up in France and attended the University of Paris. That's where she met my dad. They both have wanted me to attend since I was a kid. I always thought it was my dream. I guess it's not.

She walks through the hallway, her light brown hair bouncing behind her. Everyone always tells me I look exactly like my mom. We're both around 5'6" we both have light brown curly hair, and big round hazel eyes. I look nothing like my dad whose blond hair and 6'4" frame stands out in a crowd. I know my mother is coming just by the sound of her footsteps, "Oui, ma chérie?"

I show her my phone with the acceptance displayed in front of her, "C'est une merveilleuse nouvelle! N'êtes-vous pas excitée?" Of course she would think this is great. How was she supposed to know that I just now decided that I hate this?

"Non," I say quietly. I look down and play with the rings in my hands. I have spent every summer in Paris. And every year I tell my parents how excited I am to go when I'm older, but now? I can't imagine spending the whole year there.

My mom sits down on the couch with me, "Why not?"

"I just don't think it's the right place for me anymore," I say solemnly.

She hesitates for a moment, waiting for me to say more, weighing her next words carefully, "D'où vient-ce?"

I sigh, "I don't know. I think I've known all year that this wasn't where I wanted to be, but it didn't hit me until now."  The acceptance letter still burns through my phone. How could something so small cause so many problems in my life?

"Je ne veux pas que vous preniez une décision que vous regretterez,"she stands up, and pulls out her phone.

"I'm not going to regret this decision. I think I would regret if I decided to go to Paris a knowing that I hated it!" I stand up too, "Wait what are you doing?"

She has the phone up to her ear, "Appeler ton Père."

I freeze, "Non, non, non, don't call Père. Please, please, s'il-vous-plait!" I beg her. I want to be the one to tell him, and I want to have more figured out before I call him.

"He deserves to know," she says. And then she says something into the phone. They go back and forth in French for about 15 minutes. I just sit there staring at my phone. I read and reread the acceptance letter over and over. Nothing changes. I still got in and I still don't want to go.

Eventually Maman hangs up the phone. She sits back down on the couch next to me. She sighs and puts her arm around me, "If you don't want to go, you don't have to go, but I would suggest applying to a few more schools before it's too late."

It's April 7th. Most schools application deadline has already passed.  But there are probably a few I could still apply to. "Maybe Penn State, so I could be close to home," I say hopefully.

My mom gives me a hug, "That sounds like a great idea."

*******

"So I think I'm just going to apply to Penn State," I say to my best friend Ashlyn while on FaceTime.

She looks up from her computer, "Jules, I love you, but you're not getting into Penn State. At least not now," she says in between bites of her chicken nuggets, "I don't think they're still taking applications and even if they were, you would have to be a genius to get in now."

"Merde." I look around my room for my laptop.

Ashlyn sighs, "you know I don't like it when you use French words I don't know," she tucks her blonde hair behind her ear. She's one of those people who were naturally blonde as a kid but it slowly faded by the time she was a teenager. So she's been bleaching it since we were 14.

"Do you know any French words? And if you do how do you not know that one?" I ask as I search the internet for schools still accepting applications.

I head light music coming from Ashlyn's room, "Well I know baise, sexe, tête, balade, cul-"

"So you just know all the dirty ones?" I laugh at her.

Ashlyn pulls her phone closer to her face, "Those are the important ones!"

We are silent for a while besides the typing of my hands on my keyboard. Scouring the internet for any school that I could apply to and get in. "Hey what are you doing anyway?" Ashlyn asks.

I let out a groan, "Trying to find a school to apply to. Every school is either not accepting applications or on the West Coast." If only I could've figured out that I didn't want to go to Paris 6 months ago.

"What if you apply to my school?" Ashlyn suggests, "I haven't found a roommate yet and dance team auditions aren't for another 3 weeks so you would still have time to prepare."

We met in ballet class when we were three and we both have been dancing ever since. I had hoped to continue ballet in college while in Paris, but if I'm in America, a dance team might be the better option for me.

"I don't know," I contemplate, "I know you spend every summer there, but I've never been there before. What if I hate it?"

Ashlyn is going to the University of Remington next year. Remington is a city on the coast of North Carolina. There's a beach in Remington County called Collymore and Ashlyn's incredibly wealthy family owns a house there and spends every summer there. Ashlyn has known she wanted to go to college there for years, but it would be a sudden switch for me.

"You're coming with me this summer, aren't you?" She says as she starts to put her hair in a bun. We have ballet class in an hour, so she has started getting ready.

I stare at her, "Merde."

"I DONT KNOW WHAT THA-"

"SHIT! It means shit. Because. I forgot to ask my parents." I brace myself for some high pitched squealing. But it never comes. Just some laughter.

"I knew you would forget. My mom already talked to your parents, you're coming with us." She says through her giggles, "I just wanted to see you squirm."

I can't even be mad at her so I smile, "You're the worst, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah you love me," we're both silent for a while. Then she says, "So what do you think about Remington?"

I smile lightly, "I think I'll apply."

And there comes the squealing.