A Nice Fling is Hard to Find

Same day, 10:00 P.M.

We’re on the train headed toward the Alps. I wish I was under the train.

It’s not the train per se that’s bad. I don’t mind the train. I actually like the train, usually. You can sit and do nothing but lazily watch the scenery roll by the window. In this case, scenery of the green French countryside. Except I am too cranky to be lazy, and it’s too dark out to see the fields of sunflowers or whatever.

After the early wake-up, we went to Notre Dame. I think I would have appreciated the gargoyles and towers more if I’d been in a better mood. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even hide behind a camera, since I still can’t find mine. Of course Tommy was snapping away, looking all professional about it.

Tommy who I still haven’t spoken to or looked at.

Anyway, it took us at least an hour to get up Notre Dame, but from the top you could see 360 degrees around Paris. But then we had to climb down, and I almost passed out on the stairs, because they were the swirly kind and I felt a moment of panic that I would slip, fall and have to be put in a body cast. Becca kept saying don’t look down, but how can you not? I got nauseous, and had to sit down for a few minutes, which the people behind me in line did not appreciate.

I’m not sure exactly how I got down – all I remember is that Becca was holding my hand.

Then we went back to the hostel and packed up and checked out.

Of course I kept an eye out for Vlad, but did I see him? No. Potential fling number two slipped right through my fingers. Good thing potential fling number one is stuck with us. Good-bye, Vlad, good-bye. Love always, Линдсй.

“We’ll always have Paris,” Becca said as we strapped on our gigantic backpacks. The trick is to sit down on the floor, put your arms in and then hoist yourself into a standing position.

At the train station, Joanna purchased us all overnight tickets to the French Alps. Each car on the train has two bunk beds and fits four. Since Joanna said we could pick our own rooms, it should have been Harold, Becca, me, and Tommy. But, when it came time to get into our cars, Tommy was conspicuously absent. It was so obvious. To me anyway. Fortunately, Tommy hadn’t said anything to Becca and Harold about what happened, so they didn’t understand where he was.

“What if he’s not on the train?” Becca asked, concerned.

“I’m sure he’s here somewhere,” I muttered.

“I don’t think so. I’m going to look for him,” she said.

So then it was Harold and me in the car.

“Hey.”

“Howdy.”

Oh, the conversation was wild.

I could hear Becca stomping about, checking the other cars with a, “Excusez-moi, excusez-moi.” Until I heard, “Oh. There you are. Why didn’t you sit with us? I thought we’d left you in Paris. ”

“Oh, hey. I’m going to stay here.” Tommy’s voice was low and rumbly.

“Why?”

I couldn’t hear the answer, but then Becca returned to our cabin and closed the door. She climbed into the bottom bed next to Harold. “That was weird.”

La, la la.

She draped her legs across Harold’s thighs. “I’m going to have a long talk with him. He better not be making moves on one of the Pennies. They are so lame.”

And then to make the night even more excruciating, that’s when our door slid open. “Excellent,” Joanna said. “You have an extra bed. I’m going to join you.”

I wasn’t the only one unhappy about this development. Harold had to move to the top bunk above Becca since sharing a car was one thing, but sharing a bed was another.

Then a half a second later, Pierre popped his sexy head into the car, looked around and said, “Oh zis room is full. Tant pis.”

Javelin through the heart. He separated from Abby for the first time all week and my car is full.

Finally the train took off . . . and here’s my question: how am I supposed to sleep on a moving bed?