On the Brink of Paris Read Online Free Page B

position.
    Must. Write. Now.
    FROM THE PARISIAN DIARY OF
Lily M. Blennerhassett
    We have arrived! We are all practically giddy with excitement. Paris is abuzz with energy. Refreshed and invigorated after our flight, we are ready to sink our teeth into the City of Lights, and what could be a better way than with our first real French meal—shortly to be served at our very own cozy home away from home, the Ville Ecole Internationale. Bon appétit indeed!
    Three hours later I was half dead from sleep. The little nap did nothing to improve my jet lag; in fact, it seemed to have made it worse. I looked like I had a leech stuck under each eye. Our whole group was zonked. We’d shuffled into the dining hall like a collection of extras from Dawn of the Dead .
    The dining room was arranged in picnic-table style. I slid onto a bench between Bonnie and Charlotte and discreetly checked my shirt for drool. Janet sat down acrossthe table from me, practically quivering with excitement. Let her not speak, O Powers That Be. PLEASE. Let her not speak.
    â€œBon appétit, girls!” Janet sang.
    â€œTechnically, one doesn’t say that until the food has been served and eating is about to commence,” said Charlotte.
    â€œWhat do you think they’ll be feeding us to inaugurate our European palates?” Janet asked. “Steak au poivre ? Escargots ? Pommes de terre ? Terrine de—de…”
    We were spared any more of Janet’s musings by the arrival of Madame Chavotte, pushing a wheeled trolley full of plates.
    â€œVoilà! Voici!” she said, handing us each a steaming plate. “Take.”
    In spite of the Supreme Irritation Known as Janet and Her Enthusiasm, I was eager to see what we were having. The entire world has heard tales of the magical French cuisine. These would be the first items for my Mental Pool! I could have a sumptuous dining scene in my novel, with realistic descriptions of every course. I looked expectantly at my plate.
    It was franks and beans.
    â€œHey. HEY! What IS this?” I demanded.
    â€œFranks and beans,” said Charlotte.
    â€œThat was a RHETORICAL question,” I spluttered.“Are you going to eat that?”
    Charlotte had already taken a bite of her frank, wordlessly answering my question.
    â€œBonnie, are you?” I asked. And I glanced over at her plate. Then I went white with rage. (Okay, I didn’t go white with rage, but it sounds good, doesn’t it? One day I plan to go white with rage.) What I actually did was make a little envious, frustrated exclamatory sound. Kind of like “whahuh?!”
    Because Bonnie didn’t have franks and beans on her plate. She had what very closely resembled steamed vegetables, sliced hard-boiled egg, soybeans, and rice. She had, in other words, something that looked…good. Not necessarily French, but possibly novelworthy. And definitely tasty.
    â€œBut…,” I said.
    â€œI’m a vegetarian, dude, remember?” Bonnie said. “So they don’t serve me the same thing they serve you.”
    â€œThere was a box to check on the form that came in the information packet, Lily,” said Charlotte. She had a tiny sliver of baked bean stuck on her lower lip. I was feeling mean, so I didn’t tell her.
    â€œWell, I’ve been giving it a lot of THOUGHT,” I exclaimed, “and I have decided to become a vegetarian. As of right now.”
    â€œBud, that’s EXCELLENT,” said Bonnie, beaming.
    â€œSo I will accept my vegetarian meal now,” I said primly.
    â€œIt doesn’t work that way,” Charlotte said. “You have to tell them when you register. You can’t change without rendering due notice.”
    The piece of bean was still stuck to her lip.
    I sighed and picked up my fork.
    â€œI am currently, but perhaps temporarily, once again a meat-atarian,” I said. I took a bite of my dinner. “But I do think they MIGHT have been