Charlotte in Paris

by Annie Bryant

  Love,

  Charlotte

  I purposely didn’t mention the coat or shoes to the BSG or Dad, and I definitely didn’t mention the lost bag. I wanted to surprise everyone with my new look when I got back, and I figured there was no use worrying Dad with the missing passport and wallet until it was absolutely necessary.

  I crawled into bed, covered myself with the big, pouffy comforter, but I still couldn’t get to sleep. I tossed and turned. A half hour later, I was still wide awake, staring out the window as the moon rose over the rooftops. Just as the ocean tides are affected by the pull of the moon, I felt torn between Boston and Paris. I wanted to know what was going on back home, but at the same time I also wanted to stay in Paris longer. I checked my watch. It was almost midnight here, but dinner time back in Boston.

  I couldn’t help myself. I slipped out of bed to see if any of the BSG had checked their e-mail yet.

  To: Charlotte

  From: Avery

  Subject: SSDD (Same Stuff Different Day)

  Walked Marty today…he says “woof!” going back again tomorrow after school. it’s weird that kids in Paris don’t like peanut butter…that stuff ROCKS! What DO they like over there?

  Later,

  Avery

  To: Charlotte

  From: Katani

  Subject: School

  Hey girl!

  How’s paris? too much homework here! Don’t worry, the BSG will help u catch up. seen any new fashion trends? Say hi to Sophie for me…tell her to come visit!

  Miss u lots!

  Katani

  9

  Pas à Pas

  STEP BY STEP

  The next morning, I was groggy from my lack of sleep, but the bright sunshine helped me get out of bed. Even though it was sunny, I crossed my fingers that it was still cold enough outside to wear my new coat and my Kgirl hat again. I walked over to the window, pushed it open wide, and shivered. The temperature was cool…perfect weather for wearing a coat and a hat.

  I heard someone moving around in the kitchen so I threw on my clothes and tiptoed out the door, careful not to wake up Sophie. The night before, Monsieur Morel said that he would bring me to the U.S. Embassy first thing in the morning.

  “Bonjour, Charlotte. Help yourself to some breakfast, and then we’ll head to the Embassy. We’ll get this straightened out right away,” Monsieur Morel assured me. He was a very comforting kind of dad. I had a sudden pang of missing Dad. I wondered if he was at the computer writing—little Marty sitting comfortably on his lap.

  I quickly drank a mug of hot chocolate and gobbled up a croissant, and soon we were out the door.

  Thankfully, Monsieur Morel was able to act as my witness at the U.S. Embassy. He declared to the official that I was, in fact, Charlotte Elizabeth Ramsey, and not some crazy girl trying to bamboozle my way into getting a fake passport. The French official was acting very suspicious, but that was his job, after all. Luckily, my father had thought to fax Monsieur Morel a copy of my birth certificate just in case of an emergency.

  It took quite a while to get my new passport photo taken, but we finally made our way back to the Fifth Arrondissement, with my brand-new passport safely stowed in the bag I borrowed from Sophie.

  “Thanks so much for helping me, Monsieur Morel,” I said when we were in the elevator of the apartment building. “I feel so much better know.”

  “You’re very welcome, Charlotte.” Monsieur Morel then opened up his wallet. “Here.” He handed me some euro bills. “You’ll need spending money for the rest of the week.”

  He was right—I would need the money. I had no choice but to accept the bills. “That’s so nice of you, thank you, Monsieur Morel. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get home.”

  “Ce n’est pas nécessaire, Charlotte,” he replied. “It’s not necessary—your father would do the very same for my little Sophie.”

  I smiled gratefully. When we walked through the door, Sophie was in the hallway getting her things together for our day in the city.

  “Any luck with the passport?” she asked.

  I gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Génial!” Sophie exclaimed. “Let’s get going, then.”

  Sophie and I decided the night before that we should start our search for Orangina along the river. After all, it was Orangina’s favorite place to hang around, with the many scraps of tasty fish. We planned to start and end our search at the houseboat—it had been home to Orangina for almost two years. He was bound to wander back there at some point.

  We began our walk along the riverside just as the booksellers were setting up for the day.

  Huge, dark green wooden boxes artistically lined the quay. Every morning les bouquinistes arrived to open their boxes and set out their secondhand books. Each stand was a jumble of everything you could possibly imagine, but it was beautiful in its own way. Dad and I used to love sifting through the stacks of secondhand books, maps, postcards, and old magazines to find treasures. Today, however, Sophie and I had more important things to do. I searched behind the dark green stalls, while Sophie showed the vendors my picture of Orangina. Most vendors took a peek at the picture, but no one had any recollection of seeing him. It seemed like everyone was too wrapped up in selling their goods to help us any further.

  Sophie and I decided to cross over to l’Ile de la Cité via le Pont-Neuf, a beautiful white stone bridge with twelve arches. When the sun shines, le Pont-Neuf glows, shimmering above the gray water. I could see the massive walls of Notre-Dame rising up behind the black branches of leafless trees. The walls gleamed like gold in the morning sun. I made a telescope with my hands to see if I could make out the famous gargoyles and flying buttresses.

  “Sophie and I decided the night before that we should start our search for Orangina along the river.”

  ~ pg. 103

  Sophie and I paused on the bridge, scanning the banks for a glimpse of orange fur. Instead, my eyes were drawn to a figure in a khaki raincoat on the other side of the river. He had been walking at our pace, but as soon as we stopped, he stopped too. When he noticed that I had seen him, he took a stutter-step before he continued on, as if he wanted to hide.

  “Regardez! Look!” Sophie cried.

  My heart almost skipped a beat. Thinking Sophie had spotted Orangina, I turned to look where she pointed, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Sorry. I saw a flash of orange, but it’s only that little girl’s jacket.”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay…we can’t expect to find him right away. Did you see—”

  “Qu’est-ce que j’ai vu? Did I see what?” Sophie asked.

  When I looked back to point out the man in the khaki raincoat, he was gone. I scanned all the people walking along the quay, but the man had completely disappeared. I just couldn’t even imagine that the man following us was Mr. Peckham. He was just too nice.

  I shook my head, confused, and mumbled, “Never mind.” The mysterious man I’d seen was wearing a different-colored raincoat every time…what was that all about? Maybe I was just seeing things. Maybe with the time change my imagination was going wild. There didn’t seem to be any other explanation for my strange sightings.

  I used to think of the two islands—l’Ile de la Cité and l’Ile St-Louis—as two huge ships cruising through the heart of Paris. L’Ile de la Cité is studded with monuments and important buildings, the largest of all being la Cathédrale Notre-Dame. We crossed the windswept Paris plaza and stopped in front of the cathedral at a worn bronze plate set in the pavement. I was standing on le Point Zéro—the famous marker on the cobblestone from which all distances in France are measured.

  In front of me, the massive walls of Notre-Dame stretched into the clear morning sky. I stared up at the huge rose window above the entrance. Though I’d seen it a hundred times before, I was still overwhelmed by its grandeur. I turned my attention to the gargoyles—scary, monster-like stone creatures near the top of the cathedral. Some people claim that the gargoyles were made
to keep away evil spirits, but they’re actually used to drain water from the cathedral’s roof. I’d rather think that they were guarding Paris from evil.

  Sophie looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Ready?” she asked. I nodded and inhaled a big breath of air. Climbing Notre-Dame was a ritual of ours. We used to climb it at the beginning of every season.

  “I turned my attention to the gargoyles—scary, monster-like creatures near the top of Notre-Dame.”

  ~ pg. 106

  “Perhaps we will see Orangina from the top,” Sophie laughed as we started up the narrow tower stairs.

  “We should have brought binoculars,” I said, wishing I had thought of that earlier.

  It was 255 steps to the first level. When we were halfway up, the bells began to chime. The biggest ones sent out loud tones that I could feel echoing in the middle of my chest.

  Huffing and puffing, we climbed 125 more steps to the top of the south tower. There we came face-to-face with the famous gargoyles. Their crazy eyes and snarly teeth gave me the shivers.

  Sophie turned away. “Charlotte, look.” She threw up her hands. From high above, we had a spectacular view of l’Ile de la Cité and the Seine. All of Paris was before us.

  “Maeve would fall in love with this view,” I told Sophie. “She’d be striking poses and begging me to take her picture.”

  “Maeve is the red-haired one, non? The one who loves to sing and dance?”

  I nodded. “She’s as glamorous as a movie star. She knows the dialogue of almost every movie she’s ever seen by heart. I need to find the perfect Paris gift for her.”

  “Oh, for Maeve, your romantic friend, finding the perfect souvenir should not be too hard. After all, this is the City of Love.”

  “Oh yes, Maeve will be easy. Avery is another story.”

  “Avery is the little one? Non?”

  “Yes. She loves sports—anything and everything that has to do with sports. She’s a great soccer player. She never seems to get tired, no matter how long she’s been running and jumping all over the place. If Avery were here, she’d want to swing from the ropes of the church bells just like Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. She definitely wouldn’t like anything cutesy or touristy…she’s going to be very tricky.”

  “Hmm. I see. That will require some thought. I will think about it,” Sophie promised.

  From the high tower, we scanned the far edges of the island. There would be no way we could see Orangina from so far up, even if he was nearby. I did spot one cat not too far from the base of the cathedral, but it was a gray tabby…not the bright electric orange that made Orangina famous.

  After our visit to Notre-Dame, we wandered through le Marché aux Fleurs—the flower market. Everyone in Paris went there to buy the freshest, most colorful flowers. I looked under daisies and behind huge pots of irises hoping to see Orangina’s familiar face peering out at me. Instead, I was greeted with wonderful smells and bright blossoms. Where was that cat? I had the strangest feeling he was lurking somewhere close by.

  From le Marché aux Fleurs we wound through the streets of l’Ile de la Cité. We saw plenty of cats, but no Orangina. I got excited once when I spied what I thought was the tip of his tail. Orangina always walked holding his tail as straight and stiff as a flagpole. I saw this scraggly “thing” bobbing down a stone staircase. I ran to the base of the stairs and immediately felt foolish. What I’d thought was a cat tail was actually a baguette sticking out of a woman’s shopping bag. I burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny, mon amie?” Sophie asked.

  When I shared my case of mistaken cat identity with Sophie, she started laughing and couldn’t stop.

  The woman with the baguette looked at us like we had lost our minds and marched off down the street.

  By noon, we were ready for a break. We munched on croque-monsieurs, grilled ham and cheese—my favorite, and sipped on lemonade at Taverne Henry IV, a little bistro that was famous for its cheeses. It was one of Monsieur Morel’s favorites, and the owner was one of his good friends. They both liked to talk cheese. Sophie said it got kind of boring after a while.

  After we refueled from our lunch break, we continued to the tip of l’Ile de la Cité. The far end of the island felt slightly removed from the rest of Paris. Traffic noise grew dimmer, and soon I could hear everything. The birds chirped in the trees and bocce balls tapped as older men, bundled up against the breeze, played their games under the low branches.

  Sophie and I moved toward the fragile-looking spire of la Sainte-Chapelle. Once inside, the hushed interior of the cathedral soothed my jangled nerves. In the lower level, built for the servants, there were no fancy stained-glass windows, but the ceiling was painted with stars. I sat quietly and collected my thoughts as I gazed up at the stars. When I first moved to Brookline, I had thought that stars and books would be my only friends in my new home. That was before I met the BSG. Gently, Sophie touched my knee and motioned that we should go. I smiled up at her, grateful that I now had good friends on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

  I couldn’t leave la Sainte-Chapelle without going up the spiral staircase to peek into the upper chapel. We were surrounded by brilliant blues and vivid reds from the light that poured in through the stained-glass windows. Sophie and I spun around quietly with our arms outstretched, letting the colors whiz by us. I felt like I was at a fairy-tale ball.

  After leaving la Sainte-Chapelle, we spent an hour exploring the shoreline. We walked along the island edge calling Orangina’s name. I hoped with all my might that he would appear beneath a low tree branch or pop out from behind a garbage can. We wound our way back through the streets of l’Ile de la Cité and across the bridge. The quay, which had been rather quiet this morning, was now full of fishermen, artists, fortune tellers, and tourists. An endless stream of people moved down the sidewalk, as if in a colorful march. We had been smart to talk to the booksellers earlier this morning before they were too busy bargaining with customers to pay attention to us.

  Sophie and I walked in silence, searching, always searching, for the hint of a tail or a paw or a flash of orange fur. It was beginning to feel like we were looking for a needle in a haystack.

  We stopped for a minute in front of my old houseboat. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe Orangina had adopted another family along the Seine. I tried peering in windows of other houseboats as we passed by. I was both happy and sad when I didn’t find his mysterious face looking back at me. I wanted Orangina to be safe, but I’d be jealous if he’d found a new home and a new family.

  Sophie and I gave up our search for the day and walked dejectedly back down the quay. The late afternoon sun was still bright as we left the river. The Eiffel Tower stuck out above the skyline, looking majestic against the blue sky. The moon would be full tonight. Seeing couples walk hand-in-hand made me think of what Sophie had said about Philippe. I blushed. Philippe was like Nick in a way—very sweet and not immature (like some boys my age). Philippe was cute, but we really were just friends. It was funny that Sophie thought he liked me. I shook the thought away. I didn’t want to think of Philippe right now. I wanted to find my lost cat!

  After an entire day of looking for Orangina, all I had to show for it were blisters on my heels from my new shoes. On top of that, there was still no sign of my missing messenger bag. I must have looked pretty glum because Sophie linked arms with me and started skipping. I had no choice but to run or skip to keep up with her.

  “Sophie! You know I’m terrible at skipping. And we’re not six years old. Why do you always make me do this?” I couldn’t help giggling as I tripped my way down the path.

  “That’s why, Charlotte. To see a smile on your face again.” Sophie stopped skipping abruptly and held on tight to my arm so I didn’t topple to the ground. “I have an idea. Let’s visit the Ménagerie. We have two hours before Maman will be expecting us for dinner. And it is so close to home.”

  “Oh yeah! Great idea, Soph. I love that place. It’s
just what we need.” The Ménagerie is a little zoo in the Jardin des Plantes. It’s really small compared to other zoos, but that’s what makes it special. I wondered if Orangina ever visited the zoo.

  “Come.” Sophie grabbed my arm. “Let’s walk back across le Pont-Neuf to the Ménagerie. We can keep our, how do you say it, our eyes peeled for any sign of Orangina.”

  Even though it was late in the day, the zoo was still full of people of all ages. Sophie and I walked through the exhibits, spending the most time at our favorite—the African monkeys. They were so cute and curious. Some of them were very naughty and liked to throw fruit peels at the visitors. I guess it must be pretty weird to have people staring at you all day. I decided I would just smile and wave and walk quickly by their cage. With Chelsea’s digital camera, I snapped a couple of pictures of Sophie as she posed near a funny-looking orangutan. I took a few pictures of the birds of prey for Isabel…she’s always looking for inspiration for her next bird cartoon.

  Sophie looked at her watch. “We must go now, Charlotte. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  As we walked out of the Jardin des Plantes, I hoped tomorrow would be the day that I’d cuddle Orangina in my arms again.

  To: Charlotte

  From: Maeve

  Subject: re: English Class

  Hi Char!

  It’s so weird here without you! Kids at school keep asking where you are. Don’t let the Whisperers get you down. BTW, Anna is sooo jealous that you are in Paris. (Nothing’s changed.) Any cute boys around? Don’t forget about us while you’re gone!

  LOVE AND HUGS,

  Maeve

  10

  Jour Pluvieux

  RAINY DAY