I See London, I See France

London, England Part 7

There's already a train waiting for us since this is the first stop on the Piccadilly Line. I sit. The seats are plush and fuzzy, which seems like the wrong choice. What happens if someone spills something on them? Like an Americano, perhaps? I hold my coffee tightly.

I can't believe I'm here. On a train in London. Holding a coffee. This is crazy. This is amazing. This is scary. What if I get us lost? I look down at the map in my Travel Europe.

"First stop, London, here we come!" I say, trying to sound brave.

"How many days are we staying here again?"

"Five nights," I say. "Then Paris."

"Is that enough time?"

"Travel Europe says so."

She laughs. "Well, if the guide says it, it must be true."

"Did I tell you there's a Travel Europe app too?"

"You did."

"Did you download it yet? It's only $2.99."

I know I'm doing most of the planning on this trip. But that doesn't mean I want to deal with everything.

"Haven't had a chance," she says. "An app makes more sense, though. That book looks heavy."

"I'm going to rip out the pages when we leave a place," I say. "To lighten it up."

"Smart," she says. "Speaking of leaving places, I'm glad you're not making me go to Amsterdam." She makes a face. Amsterdam had been the only must-see for Matt. Since Travel Europe spent a lot of pages describing how the city was famous for sex tourism and drugs, I could see why Leela had been concerned that he'd been a little too excited about the place.

"We have a packed schedule without Amsterdam," I say. I flip through all the countries. "There's so much to see and do."

"Maybe we should make up our own guide," Leela says. "The American Girls' Guide to Traveling Around Europe While Avoiding Your Ex."

"Maybe just the Girls' Guide to Europe. Snappier."

"Definitely," Leela says. "Where are we getting off again?"

"Covent Garden," I say.

She looks out the train window. "And you know where we're going?" Leela asks.

"Yes," I say, but my voice shakes. I look down at the map in my book. "Maybe. I guess we'll find out."

When we get out of the train, the line for the lift is really long—and there are no escalators.

"Let's just take the stairs," I say. "We've been sitting forever."

"But you're wearing a backpack."

"It's not that heavy," I say. The band around the waist really works. It's pretty smart engineering. "And the line is insane. Is one of the elevators broken? By the time it's our turn, our four and a half weeks will be up. How many flights of stairs can there be, anyway? How deep underground are we?"

It turns out we are very deep underground. After four flights, my heart is pounding. "I bet you're not so sad about your missing luggage now," I pant.

"You'd bet right," she says cheerfully.

"You're so not borrowing my underwear."

"If we ever get out of here alive, I will buy my own underwear. But can I use your deodorant?"

"No. That's disgusting. Also there might not be any left by the time we see sunlight. I think I'm going to have to reapply any second."

"Let me help you with your bag," she says.