A Nice Fling is Hard to Find

Ten Minutes later

We’re on one of those open-air buses going to the Eiffel Tower so I can’t write for long, but I just want to say that I’ve found him! My fling! His name is Pierre and he is gorgeous! He is our French translator. He is eighteen, and he is tall and blond and has blue eyes the color of the cloudless Parisian sky.

MUST STOP WRITING CHEESINESS.

But he is hot.

He walked into the garden behind the hostel, followed by Mike, Tommy and the other Teens Tour boys. Suddenly it was my turn to drool. Not that I was the only one. Oh, no, the other girls were all staring at the embodiment of French perfection with equal adoration.

“Allo,” he said in an accent that made us all melt in our comfy sneakers.

“Hello,” we responded. Max and Kristin snapped pictures.

“I am the Pierre, ze French translator. I am very pleased to meeting you,” he said and smiled.

And we are even more pleased to meet you.

He went on to say that this was his second of four tours this summer, and that he hoped this would be the best of them all.

“Dibs,” I whispered to Becca when I could find my voice.

“All right, you can have him,” Becca said, turning back to her Texan.

Now I’m in the back row of the bus next to Becca, while Tommy and the Texan, whose name is Harold, oddly (what kind of a cowboy is named Harold?), are sitting in the row in front of us.

The boys want to know what I’m writing about.

None of your concern, American dweebs.

Pierre is sitting upfront with Joanna and Mike. When we all introduced ourselves, he said allo and we fully had a moment of eye contact where my heart nearly exploded. Bam! Of course since all the other girls were likely also feeling the bamming, I’ll need to step up my game. Perhaps by not stopping to write in my diary all the time so I look less like an anti-social hermit and more like a friendly, outgoing international lady of fun.