23 Days | h.s. a.u.

chapter one

“So your name is Paris? That is so cool!”

I try to smile, watching as Audrey slides into her seat. In her lap is a lavish, overstuffed pink suitcase, its surface coated with stickers. “You know, it’s actually kind of weird because, like, one of the places we stop at is actually Paris! Oh my gosh! That’s really cool, Paris.”

I can’t say I don’t like Audrey, because I do. She is sweet, and funny, and has the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She always smiles, revealing two perfectly straight rows of teeth, and she has the best taste in everything, from clothes to boys. I can’t say anything good about her brains, though. See, Audrey and I aren’t exactly friends. We’re partners. Which means that she really has no right to wrap her arms around me as she does now, her blonde hair—miles tall with all the teasing and upcombing it has to go through—covering my face. “I’m so excited! Are you?”

I nod as I gently pry her off me. She giggles and apologizes, then goes to look for her phone. I sigh as quietly as I can and slide down in my seat, my forehead pressed against the water-stained window of the bus. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on a school bus.

Outside, several of the members of our foreign culture program are trailing out of the school, pulling suitcases or other forms of luggage behind them. The sun has warmed up the glass of the window, and the breezy autumn air blows in through the open windows. I should be happy right now, but I don’t think I can help it. As I watch the students pile into the bus, I can’t help but feel so annoyed at the fact that none of them are here for actual studies, but I guess nobody can resist a school-paid trip to Europe.

The bus fills pretty quickly. Audrey puts in her ear buds and turns on her iPod, then leans back and closes her eyes, which is good for me because now, I don’t have to hear her talk. Dave Kruger gets on the bus, followed by Niall Horan and Paul Desley. All three of them are matching: madras shirts, khakis, and the cleanest hair styles I have ever seen. Behind them, Denise—a redhead—and Melanie—an Audrey clone—try to keep up, their eyes locked on the boys in front of them.

That should be it, I think, fourteen people. We can finally head to the airport now. Everyone gets into their seats, half of them filling up the back, and the other half filling up the middle spots. I’m the only one sitting in the front, except for Audrey, of course.

We should be good now. Lets get going.

I anticipate the slow start of the bus, the doors closing, anything, but nothing seems to happen. I frown and stand up slowly, looking over the seats and making sure to count again. Fourteen people. We aren’t missing anybody. Even Mr. Delaney and the two parent chaperones are already seated.

“Why aren’t we going?” I ask. Mr. Delaney looks up from the brochure he is holding. It looks like it is the one for the hotel we are staying at.

“Settle down, Paris. We have one more student,” Mr. Delaney says with a smile. “Here, have one of these—” He hands me a brochure. “We should be going once he gets here.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. I sit back down, confused. Did somebody join last minute? The registration for this program ended two months ago, and you needed at least a ninety percent on the four final exams before you could go on the trip. It’s impossible to make everything up last minute.

I look down at the brochure. The first hotel on our trip: the Marriot Hotel in Prague. In the front image shows a lavish vestibule with spiraling stairs and dining tables coated with white, fancy tablecloth.

Suddenly, there’s a loud sound, like the roar of an engine. I look up, startled, out at the parking lot. A black range rover speeds onto the school grounds and parks—with near impossible accuracy—in between two teacher’s cars. I gulp as I hear the engine die down and see the driver’s door open. I recognize that car from somewhere.

Out steps a stranger. I haven’t seen him before, and I can already tell he isn’t one of us, even from this far. He runs towards the bus. I can make out brown hair—curly, as crazy as that sounds—and a near sleeveless shirt. He disappears at the front of the bus and then emerges at the door.

At first, I’m too confused to even try and identify him. At least the other foreign culture students try to look the part. This guy, he has tattoos running along his arm, and wears the darkest clothes. His shirt catches my attention the most: Metallica’s logo surrounded by skulls and swears. What is he doing here? Is this a joke? Is this really who we were waiting for?

Audrey’s eyes flutter open, and she takes in the sight of the boy. Her face immediately lights up, and she turns to me and whispers, “I know him! He’s my brother’s friend or something. He’s a freshman in college!”

I frown. “What? What is he doing here?”

She shrugs. “Chill, girl. You look like you’ve just been sentenced to, like, the death penalty or something.” She elbows me in the side.

I sigh, this time louder, and watch him, the boy, walk down the aisle of the bus. He is tall, and he yells out a greeting at one of the guys in the back. Suddenly, everyone is inviting him in, making space for him to sit, but he takes the very last seat and slumps down, ignoring everybody’s comments.

I scoff and turn away. I guess it’s just another idiot wanting a free vacation from school, all work excused. Audrey sighs and closes her eyes again, and the bus finally starts moving.

I guess I should be happy now. Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted?