A Nice Fling is Hard to Find

Tuesday, July 10, 7:22 P.M.

Tuesday, July 10, 7:22 P.M.

Dear TJ (aka Travel Journal),

I’m here! I’m on the plane! I did it!

I can’t believe I’m actually going to FRANCE. I am so sophisticated.

Okay, fine, in my ratty sweatpants, T-shirt, and ponytail, I am not looking so sophisticated, but that’s hardly the point. I AM GOING TO FRANCE. As soon as the plane takes off. In eight—wait, make that seven!—minutes.

I almost missed the plane due to my parents’ fanatical hugging. My mom was full-on whimpering, and even my Dad’s eyes were glistening (although he tried to pretend he got dirt stuck in his contacts). I reminded them that I would only be gone for eleven days (one night on the plane, four nights in Paris, one night on a train, two nights in the Alps, and three nights in Nice—pronounced Niece—which is on the Riviera), but my mom would not calm down.

“Are you sure you want to go?” she asked, her voice shaking.

I nodded. 

“But what if you break something?”

“Then I’ll go to the hospital,” I said, attempting to sound calm.

“But you don’t speak French!”

“Mom, there’s a translator with the tour.”

“Well, then stay with the tour at all times,” she ordered.

“Of course.” Maybe.

“And don’t talk to strangers, Lindsay,” she warned.

“Sure.” Please. The entire point of this trip is TO talk to strangers. Because in France, I will be wild. I will be wild and have a mad fling with a gorgeous Frenchman named Jacques or Jean-Claude who will look deep into my eyes and feed me Brie on bite-sized baguettes.

“Better safe than sorry,” my mom said, and I rolled my eyes.

See, so far everything about my life has been careful. I’ve never been out of the US before. I’ve barely been out of New York State (one trip to Florida does not a world traveler make). I have a younger brother named Jack, a dog named Ralph, I live in a nice house in Long Island, I have a 3.8 GPA, my parents are happily married . . . and I’ve probably put you, dear TJ, to sleep. Because there is nothing remotely interesting, remotely scandalous, about my existence thus far. I never skip school. I never yell at my parents. I’ve never run for student council. Not that I’m dying to be class president or anything, but my point is that I never take any risks. My mom has always been ridiculously overprotective, especially since I’m a tad bit accident-prone. I wasn’t allowed to do anything growing up—no gymnastics, no skating, no skiing. No fun. This trip is my chance to escape from my mother’s overprotectiveness and live a little.

My chance to finally have a fling—with a hot foreign boy.

The snarky French flight attendant in her cleavage-revealing uniform is ordering me to put up my tray-table for take off. We haven’t even left yet and I’m already causing trouble! Go me! :)

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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Thank you all for reading this novella! I hope you enjoy it. I want to let you know that my new novel DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT will be in bookstores and ebookstores on March 11th! It's about a homeroom of NYC high school students who unexpectedly get telepathy from their flu shots. Imagine you could hear what all your friends were thinking... and they could hear what YOU were thinking. I posted a sneak peek right here on Wattpad. Also! I'm visiting bookstores acorss the country. Check out my profile page to see the complete schedule and follow me for updates. Thank you!!!!