by Jen McConnel
I smiled. “They’re so sweet.”
“He’s found someone really special.” Pops paused. “You will too, one day, you know.”
I nodded, suddenly choked up. The song changed to another sweet slow song, and Pops stood up.
“Care to take your old man for a turn?”
I rose and took his outstretched hand. “Okay. But if I step on your feet, it’s not my fault.”
Pops laughed. “I’m used to it.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying I’m not graceful?”
He chuckled, putting his hand on my back and taking my outstretched right arm. “Not at all. But don’t you remember dancing with me at that babysitter’s wedding, whatever her name was?”
A flicker of a memory crept into my mind; me in a crushed-velvet dress standing on Pop’s feet as we waltzed around a ballroom a lot like this one. “Vaguely. I was only five.”
“You stood on my feet then, Joey. I’m happy if you step on me now.”
I laughed. We danced in silence for a few minutes, but then I decided to say something. “I was wondering,” I began, “what you’d say if I told you I really wanted to stay?”
“In Germany?” He raised his eyebrow. “Are you thinking about crashing with Charlie and Petra?”
I shook my head, choosing my words with care. “No. I mean, what if I wanted to just stay in Europe for the rest of the summer? Sarah and Camie will be waiting for me in Florence,” I hurried to add, “and I’ve got my money saved up from the coffee shop, and it’s enough to travel around a little bit before classes start in the fall.”
He pulled back from me and studied my face. “You really want this?”
I hesitated, but then I smiled. “I’m ready for something different.”
He frowned. “But what about your ticket home?”
I could tell he was wavering, and I crossed my fingers. “Please, Pops?”
After a moment, a slow smile spread across his face. “Maybe I can call the airline tomorrow and work something out.”
I stopped dancing and threw my arms around his neck. “Seriously?”
He hugged me back. “If you want to see Europe, Joey, now’s as good a time as any. Get your traveling in before you settle down and start a family like those two,” he tipped his chin in my brother’s direction.
I stared at him, stunned. “You knew?”
He shrugged. “Your mom still doesn’t, or if she does, she hasn’t admitted it to me, but I figured it out.” He tapped his forehead with one finger. “It doesn’t take a genius to notice that everyone around her is drinking like a fish, and yet I’ve never seen Petra with anything except water.” He paused. “They want it to be a secret?”
I nodded. “At least until the wedding is over. Petra was worried about what her dad would say.”
Pops sighed. “I wish Charlie would have confided in me. It’s hard when your kids don’t feel like they can trust you.”
I swallowed, remembering the feel of Vi’s lips against mine. What would Pops say if I told him about her?
He was watching me closely. “We still have to tell your mother about your plans,” he cautioned, “and that isn’t going to be easy.”
I nodded slowly, but I could feel a smile creeping over my face as I thought about meeting up with Camie and Sarah again. “I know. But the best things are never easy, are they?” I squeezed Pop’s hand and made a silent promise to myself that I would try not to hide anymore. When I come home, I thought, I’ll tell Mom and Pops the truth.
I’ll finally be myself.
NOT SENT
From: SarahGirl18
To: Carson (I wish I had your e-mail address)
Subject: Sorry
Dear Carson,
I know you’ll never read this, but I sort of wish I had a way to send it. Even so, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and maybe I’ll feel better if I actually write some of this stuff down. First, I’m so, so incredibly sorry for what happened in Amsterdam. I know that’s not enough, but I wish I could tell you just how hard it is for me to trust people; I haven’t met a lot of good people in my life, and I’m sorry that I took that out on you.
I wish I could see you again. There’s so much I want to tell you, but it’s hard for me to find the words. If there was any way we could have a second chance, I think that’s the one thing I’d want more than anything else right now.
Yours (if you’d have me),
Sarah
Follow the girls on their last adventure to Italy in…
WHAT HAPPENS ABROAD
Jen McConnel
Keep reading for a sneak peek!
From: JoJotheGreat
To: SarahGirl18; CamieLuvsArt222
Subject: SURPRISE!
Okay, girls, get ready for it . . . we’re going to use Italy as our home base for the rest of the summer! I’ve finally convinced the ’rents to let me meet back up with y’all, and my brother and sister-in-law even offered to chip in a little bit toward the travel fund, which means . . .
I’ve rented an apartment for us in Florence! So, start heading that way, ladies. I should be there in two or three days, if everything goes according to plan. I can’t wait to see you both again; it feels like months since we said good-bye in Paris.
If you get to Florence before me, go ahead and pick up the key.
I can’t wait for one last hurrah before fall! See you girls soon!
Hugs!!
Joelle
Chapter One
I gaped at the yellow stucco buildings and romantic tiled roofs. Florence was like stepping back in time; if Paris had felt like the nineteenth century, Florence was more like the Middle Ages. My eyes couldn’t drink it all in fast enough.
“Come on, Camie, keep up!” Sarah was already half a block ahead of me. I shifted my heavy backpack and hurried to catch up.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” I gushed when I pulled up alongside her.
She nodded, her eyes glistening. “It feels like heaven.” With a self-conscious laugh, she added, “or at least summer.”
She was right; it was hot. The cobblestone streets sent the heat back up at us as we walked, and the morning sunlight was already brutal. I could feel sweat pooling under my backpack, and I suddenly wanted to take a cold shower. “Where’s the real estate office again?”
Sarah pointed up the street. “Wait here; I’ll see if Joelle’s beat us.”
She ducked through a narrow doorway, leaving me on the street. I took a deep breath. Florence smelled like geraniums and sunshine—nothing like Paris’s damp, springtime smell even in the middle of summer. Maybe this will be the place I’ll finally be able to forget everything that happened in Paris. The beach hadn’t done it; I hadn’t told Sarah, but I’d woken up in tears most nights. It felt pathetic to cry over a city, but I knew that it was more than Paris I’d been missing.
It was Hunter.
Before I could wallow too much, Sarah popped back into view, followed by a beaming Joelle.
“Ta-da!” she laughed. “I found more than our key!”
Joelle gave me a quick hug. “God, it’s good to see you guys. I can’t wait to tell you all about Germany!”
I grinned, pushing thoughts of Hunter to one side. “You look like you had fun!” I gestured to her short hair. “Super cute!”
She smiled. “Thanks, did it myself. Yes, I was sober,” she added before I could open my mouth.
Sarah giggled. “Unlike in Amsterdam.”
Joelle touched her nose piercing. “I still like it, at least.”
Sarah smiled and linked her arm through Joelle’s. “Good. I like mine, too.”
Before I could ask what Sarah had had pierced, Joelle tugged her arm. “Come on, ladies, let’s go home!”
My heart beat with giddy excitement as we followed Joelle down a narrow side street. She stopped in front of a huge wooden door. “Ready?”
Sarah and I nodded, and Joelle pushed the door open. We paused in the dark hallway. It was cold, almost a
s if we’d stepped into a basement, and the chilly gloom was a big contrast to the oven outside.
Joelle disappeared around a dark corner, and Sarah followed her. Looking around the dim hallway, I trailed after them, but I stopped short.
“What is that thing?” Joelle and Sarah were standing in what looked like a tiny gold cage. There was just enough space for me to squeeze in, if I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Joelle laughed. “It’s an old service elevator. No more braving the stairs with our bags.”
That was a tantalizing thought. Still, I hung back. “Are you sure it works?”
“The landlady said so.”
I eyed the cage. “Will it hold all of our weight?”
“God, Camie,” Joelle rolled her eyes, “just take the stairs if you want. We’re on the third floor.”
I paused, but before I had a chance to decide, Joelle slid the grate closed and pressed a button. There was a groaning, creaking, whirring noise, and slowly, the gold cage began to ascend. Annoyed, I looked around and found a set of stairs.
Three flights shouldn’t be too bad, right?
I started trudging up, trying to ignore the sticky weight of my bag against my back, but it was difficult. I was almost dead by the time I made it to the third floor, but there was no sign of Sarah and Joelle. What if the elevator had crashed?
“Guys?” I called uncertainly, standing at the top of the landing.
“Up here!” Joelle’s voice came from above, and I craned my neck, trying to see.
“Where?”
“One more flight of stairs!”
I wanted to argue with her, to point out that I was already on the third floor, but I just sighed and climbed another flight. I leaned on the wall at the top of the stairs, panting, and Joelle grinned.
“Take the elevator next time, okay?”
“I thought you said we were on the third floor.”
“We are. Italians don’t count the ground floor as the first floor.”
I groaned. “You could have told me that sooner.”
She shrugged. “But you’re here now.” Her eyes sparkled as she inserted the old black key into an ancient-looking keyhole. “Home sweet home!”
She had to lean on the key to get it to turn, but when the door finally swung open, Sarah and I gasped. Directly facing the door was an open window, and through the frame, we could see the top of the Duomo.
Joelle grinned. “Welcome to our new home, ladies!” She stepped into the room and swept her arm in a grand gesture, and Sarah dropped her bag immediately and started exploring. I paused over the threshold.
“Isn’t this expensive?” I asked Joelle, dropping my voice in embarrassment.
She shook her head. “It’s actually cheaper than a hotel. There’s a hostel in this building, too, and they own all the apartments.”
Before I could answer, Sarah called out from the other end of the hall. “You guys, come see!”
I set my heavy bag down and headed toward her voice. Sarah had parked herself in front of a small washing machine and she was staring at it in awe.
“Clean clothes!” she breathed, like a prayer, and Joelle and I glanced at each other before we started giggling uncontrollably. In a moment, we joined Sarah, laughing in a pile on the floor.
~
The apartment had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, the little laundry closet, and a combination sitting and dining room. After some discussion, we agreed to rotate sleeping arrangements, since each bedroom had two beds; one of us would sleep alone each night, but to be fair, we’d all swap beds every night so everyone got the privacy and everyone had to share.
“And,” Joelle added mischievously, “we can always change the rotation if anyone brings home a date!”
Sarah and I glanced at each other, and we both shook our heads. “Not likely,” I answered for us both.
Joelle winked. “Who knows, maybe I’ll meet somebody!”
For the first night, I ended up with the room to myself, and I dragged my bag into the corner. I realized that I could actually unpack; since we’d be staying in Florence for a while, I didn’t have to keep living out of my luggage. That was a tantalizing thought. Looking around the room, I crossed to the windows. They were tall and covered with wooden shutters, and I unlatched them and folded them back only to find another set of shutters. These opened out, over the street, and I leaned out the window, pressing the shutters back against the cream stucco wall, and stared out at Florence in amazement.
Red-and-brown-tiled roofs lined all the buildings I could see, but our apartment was taller than many of the building surrounding us. The Duomo was visible from this window, too, and I stared at it eagerly. The building itself was supposed to be a masterwork of art, and I couldn’t wait to see it.
Leaning out the window, I tipped forward and looked at the slate-gray street below. An aqua scooter whizzed by, shattering the stillness of our narrow street for a moment. The building was on a corner, and if I leaned farther out the window, I could make out restaurant tables on the wide cross street beside us. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. Taking a deep breath of air, I coughed, and my eyes popped open. I hadn’t been expecting the clump of thick air to hit my lungs. It was hot and humid in Florence, not the crisp freshness I’d gotten used to in Paris, but I decided I didn’t care.
I was in Italy, I was with my friends, and for the first time since I’d met him, Hunter was the furthest thing from my mind.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, my deepest thanks to Meredith Rich for believing in these stories, and for helping me fall even more in love with Sarah, Joelle, and Camie…not to mention their flings! Huge thanks to the entire team at Bloomsbury US and UK for, once again, giving me a chance to tell the stories I long for. Special thanks to the talented Ashley Poston for covers that make me swoon.
To the lovely Ally Malinenko, for turning her eyes on an early draft of these stories; infinite chocolate! As always, thanks to Jaye Robin Brown for unfaltering CP advice. Gratitude to Lory Cupero for always being ready to read and offering constant encouragement along this wild journey. Thanks to the fabulous Lisa Burstein for telling me these stories are adorbs, and for finding time to read. Tremendous thanks to the wonderful folks at Inkslinger PR for helping me celebrate these stories. Love and virtual cupcakes to the Witcherific street team, and all my friends on FB and Twitter; y’all ROCK!
This series was born out of my wanderlust, so a huge shout out goes out to all the tour guides, hostel employees, waiters, flight attendants, shopkeepers, taxi drivers, and charming Italian men who made my travels something to remember. Thanks to Lonely Planet for never leaving me stranded, no matter where I wandered. A special thanks to the Western Michigan University study abroad office and Santa Reparata in Florence for the most amazing summer of my college years…Camie would have loved to attend!
Deep gratitude to my family, not just for supporting my writing, but for encouraging all the random trips over the years; biggest thanks to Mom for only freaking out the first time I ran into travel trouble.
And thanks to my favorite traveling companion, Matt; I can’t wait to see where our wandering will take us next.
To each and every one of you reading these books: thank you, thank you, thank you a million times! I’m so glad I get to share these stories with you.
About the Author
A Michigander by birth, Jen McConnel now makes her home in the beautiful state of North Carolina. She writes NA, including the Isobel Key series (Bloomsbury Spark), YA, and nonfiction. When she isn’t writing, she can be found on her yoga mat or wandering off on another adventure. Once upon a time, she was a middle school teacher, a librarian, and a bookseller, but those are stories for another time. Visit www.JenMcConnel.com to learn more!
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Oxford, New Delhi, New York and Sydney
Copyright © 2015 by Jen McConnel
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
&nbs
p; All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This electronic edition published in 2015 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
First published in June 2015 by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com
Bloomsbury is a trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Bloomsbury Spark, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018
Bloomsbury books may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at [email protected]
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request
ISBN: 978-1-61963-788-7
To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com. Here you will find extracts, author interviews, details of forthcoming events and the option to sign up for our newsletters.
Cover design by Ashley Poston
