by Ivy Adams
It was happening, a little voice at the back of her head all but screamed. It was finally happening. I’m gonna get kissed. I’m gonna get kissed. I’m gonna get kissed. The taste of swine would be forever wiped from her mouth.
For one second, the voice of common sense intruded. And it sounded an awful lot like Cassidy.
OMG. Are you really about to kiss a guy you just met, like, five minutes ago?
Hell yes, she was. That was four and a half minutes too long. That’s what being a charter member of the International Kissing Club was all about.
As Raoul closed the distance between them, Piper barely resisted the urge to do a happy dance right there in the middle of the club. The only thing holding her back was that to do one, she’d have to pull away from Raoul. And that so wasn’t happening.
“Does she?” Her voice was breathless, but she couldn’t help it.
“Oui. Vous êtes belle. Magnifique.”
He’d called her beautiful! Raoul—the hottest guy she’d ever been this close to—had called her magnificent. Piper’s heart galloped in her chest, then nearly stopped altogether when he entwined his fingers into her hair.
Tugged her closer.
Lowered his mouth until his lips were barely an inch from hers.
Then he stopped, waited. Piper was afraid to blink, afraid to breathe. Certain that any move from her at all would shatter the moment. Why, oh why, hadn’t she taken Simone up on her offer of gum in the car?
Raoul smiled, almost as if he could read the thoughts flying through her mind at a thousand miles a minute. And then he bridged the small distance between them, his lips brushing against hers, once. Twice.
The whole club lit up as colors exploded behind Piper’s eyes. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, but Raoul didn’t seem to care. Nor did he seem to need any direction, because as her hand came up to clutch at his, he lowered his mouth again. And this time he kissed her. Really kissed her.
He tasted like peppermint and wine and clove cigarettes, and when his tongue stroked slowly over hers, Piper grabbed onto him with both hands—partly to stop herself from falling and partly because she was afraid Raoul would pull away. And she wasn’t ready for this to end. Not by a long shot.
When he finally did lift his mouth from hers, the room was spinning, like it had when she was a little girl and she twirled around so fast and so many times that everything around her had looked blurry and out of focus.
Forcing herself to concentrate, Piper lifted her eyes to Raoul’s dark ones. He looked as amused as she was happy, and then he was tugging her back toward the stairs.
“Do you want to dance, Piper?”
“Sure.” She was shocked she could still form words. “But I should probably find Simone.”
“Don’t worry about Simone,” he said. “She probably expects us to be gone for a while longer.”
A shiver of unease worked its way through Piper. What did he mean? Had this whole thing been a setup? Did he like her or was he just trying to mess with the American girl?
Or did it even matter? She’d been kissed. By a human.
Besides, wasn’t that what she was doing, too? It’s not like she was in love with Raoul. This was all about the experience. What was the point of being young and an artist in Paris if you didn’t kiss a few hot guys? Look at Picasso. Look at—
“There you are! I was just coming to get you!” Suddenly, Simone was right in front of her. She put her arm around Piper’s shoulders and squeezed. “The headliner is about to start.”
The brief feeling of unease slid away like it had never been there. “Who is it?” she asked.
“The Black Keys. They’re an American band—do you know them?”
“Know them? I love their new album. It’s got like three of my favorite songs on it.”
“My brother likes them, too.” Simone shouted to be heard over the sudden riff of live music that replaced the recorded stuff they’d played between sets. “He’s the one who suggested we come tonight.”
“Oh. Is he here?” Piper glanced around the suddenly packed club. How long had she and Raoul been upstairs, anyway?
“I don’t think so. He’d talked about coming, but then he never called me back, so …”
Just then, the first strands of “Howlin’ for You” filled the club and Simone squealed. “Come on, let’s dance!”
She grabbed Piper’s left hand and yanked her toward the dance floor. Piper followed her, conscious of the fact that Raoul still had a tight grip on her right hand. Happiness fizzed up inside her, nearly overwhelmed her. This is what she’d wanted, what she’d hoped for. What she’d spent her life waiting for. And then they were on the dance floor and she let the music take her over. She danced and danced and danced.
Paris, Texas—and the life she had there—had never seemed farther away.
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Messages
Between Piper and Izzy:
Piper
What’s up, sweetie? You sound down. Is Paris even more awful than usual?
Izzy
I just miss you guys a lot. Our table is lonely. I’m actually going to the football game this Friday. Need social interaction.
Izzy
What? No shock and disapproval?
Piper
Do what you need to do. I’m sorry you’re lonely. Maybe you could hang out with the art club. Donna’s okay, and so is Stacy.
Izzy
Yeah, because I’m so artistic …
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Chapter 10
Cassidy
The tires of the 747 hit the runway with a hard bounce, and air roared through the flaps on the airplane’s wings as it raced to a stop.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sydney, Australia.”
Thank God. Cassidy couldn’t wait to stand up and stretch her body to its full height. After twenty hours spent wedged between Mr. Both-Armrests-Are-Mine and the hip-hop stylings of DJ Wannabe and his too-loud tunes, she knew how that last clown must feel when he finally emerged from the miniature car.
As the plane taxied to the gate, she reached into her backpack, pulled out her cell phone, and flipped it on. The international rates were exorbitant, but her mom had asked that she call the instant she landed.
When she’d left Paris, things between Cass and her mom had still been a little tense. Though she hadn’t been truly angry when she’d found out Cassidy had called her dad and asked for the money, she hadn’t been pleased, either. Cassidy knew she’d hurt her mom by going behind her back; the look of betrayal when she’d told her was not something she’d forget anytime soon. And Cassidy knew from her mom’s quiet acceptance of the plan, after she’d explained how badly she wanted to go, that, even more than being hurt, Megan Barlow’s fierce pride was sorely battered. That Cassidy’s absentee father could provide their daughter with such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity while she, the mother who’d given up her whole life to keep and raise her alone, could not was more than a bitter pill.
Guilt twinged inside of Cass, freshly sharp, when she thought about it. Somehow, some way, she’d make it up to her mom. She promised. Because given the choice again, she wouldn’t change anything. She wanted this trip that badly.
The phone finally connected and her mom answered before the first ring finished. “Cass, are you okay? How was the plane ride?”
“I’m fine, Mom. The flight was fine, just really long.”
“Good, good. I’ve been waiting up for your call. It seems like you’ve been gone for weeks already. What time is it there?”
“I don’t know. Daytime,” she answered, looking out the plane’s tiny window at the sunlight streaming in. Flying seven thousand miles and crossing the equator had made her mind too numb to do the math.
“Mrs. Gatwick is going to pick you up from the airport, right?” her mom asked. M
rs. Gatwick would be Cassidy’s host during the trip. Normally, the foreign exchange agency placed students with families that had other kids about the same age, to help with the transition of being in a strange country. Cassidy, however, had been more than relieved when she’d found out she’d been placed with an older, widowed woman. Not having grown up with a dad or siblings, she didn’t think she would’ve been comfortable in a full-on family setting, anyway. Her only real experience with a conventional mom-dad-kids situation was during sleepovers at Piper’s or Izzy’s, and if those weekends had taught her anything, it was that the more family members one had in the house, the greater the dysfunction. This two-person arrangement suited her just fine.
“Yeah, the e-mail said she would pick me up outside of the baggage claim. She’ll have a sign with my name on it so I’ll know it’s her.”
“Okay, then I’ll let you go—don’t want to use too many minutes. E-mail me when you get settled and let me know how it is. Be extra careful and have a good time. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom. Bye.”
At last Cassidy staggered off the plane, her legs barely able to function properly. She had the urgent need to pee. After going through customs she found a restroom and saw herself in a mirror for the first time since leaving North America.
Holy crap!
Stale, recirculated airplane air, confined space, sleep deprivation, and crossing an ocean obviously did not do wonders for one’s appearance. Not that she usually cared about that kind of thing, but come on. She looked like a creature straight out of the movie Zombieland: red-eyed, pale skin, and with a decidedly funky aura. And her hair … even under the best circumstances her hair was about as easy to tame as a horde of flesh-hungry zombies.
With a groan she splashed water on her face, wrestled her hair into a braid, and popped three Altoids into her mouth. It wasn’t much, but until she had her luggage it was the best she could do. She only hoped Mrs. Gatwick would be understanding enough to take her straight home and to a hot shower.
Cassidy joined the thousands of people navigating the ginormous airport’s maze of corridors. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but most of the people looked and dressed just like Americans. Well, maybe not Americans from Paris, Texas, but big melting-pot cities like Dallas or Houston, for sure.
She got to the baggage claim to find the hundreds of bags from her flight already circulating around the turnstile. She cringed when she spied her own from a hundred feet away. Unfortunately, there was no mistaking the 1970s guacamole-colored Samsonite suitcase she’d had to borrow from her Memaw. To make it worse, her Papa had strapped two bright red and yellow bungee cords around it to be sure no one would “poke around” in her stuff. It looked like a rejected piñata from a Cinco de Mayo festival.
She slunk to a spot in back where the fewest people stood before claiming it, then walked toward the exit area where loved ones and others stood waiting for arriving passengers.
With nothing more to go on than the description from Mrs. Gatwick’s e-mail, Cassidy scanned the crowd, looking for an elderly female holding a sign with her name on it. When she didn’t find anyone, she flipped open her phone to make sure there wasn’t anything saying Mrs. Gatwick would be late. Then she decided to open Facebook to check the IKC page and let the girls know she’d arrived somewhat intact.
While she was posting, someone bumped into her and she glanced up from her phone. She caught a glimpse of her name scrawled across a white piece of paper. However, the person holding it was neither old nor a lady.
Oh. God.
Those were the only words that formed in her mind when she saw him. Tall and tanned, in a white tee, frayed cargo shorts, and flip-flops, the golden streaks in his tousled sun-bleached hair setting off deep-set hazel eyes to perfection, the guy looked like summer at the beach.
Their eyes met and he starting walking toward her.
“Are you Cassidy?” he asked in a rumbly, Aussie accent.
“Y-yes,” she managed to croak.
He smiled, a wide, eye-crinkling grin punctuated by a gorgeous little dimple on his left cheek. “I’m Lucas.” He held out his hand, but she hesitated. She was a girl by herself in a foreign country. Hadn’t she watched enough 48 Hours episodes with her mom to know the serial killer always turned out to be the guy with the good manners who nobody ever suspected?
As if sensing her nervousness he said, “Mrs. Gatwick asked me to get you from the airport as a favor. Her car is small and she thought you might have a lot of bags. Don’t worry—I swear I’m not some weirdo who hangs out at the airport trying to pick up cute tourists.” He was teasing her, but it immediately put Cassidy at ease. She laughed at her overactive imagination and shook his hand.
“I’m Cassidy,” she said—then remembered the sign he was holding with her name on it. “But you already know that. I’m sorry. It must be jet lag. Sitting for twenty hours on a plane made all the blood drain from my head to my feet, and—”
Cassidy suddenly stopped herself when she realized she was babbling. Jeez, could I sound more idiotic?
Luckily, Lucas politely overlooked her sudden onset of verbal diarrhea. “Glad to know you, Cassidy. My car’s in the park across the way.” He tossed his head, indicating outside beyond the glass doors. “Let me get your bag for you.”
“No, that’s okay.” Cass stayed planted in front of the monstrosity to hide it from his view. “I’ve got it.”
“I insist,” he said, and before she could stop him, he reached around and took it. “Hey, my gram has one just like this.” Why, oh why, couldn’t the airline have just lost the damn thing?
Outside, he led her to an open-top, faded-blue vintage Bronco with an orange-and-brown-striped surfboard strapped across the roll bar. Of course, she thought. A surfer: as if he could have been anything else looking like he did. When he got into the driver’s seat beside her she smelled the clean, breezy scent of the ocean coming from his skin.
“This your first time in Australia, then?” he asked as they drove away from the airport.
“It’s my first time anywhere,” Cassidy answered.
“So, why did you travel halfway around the world to come to school here? Or don’t they have schools back in Texas?” He winked one golden eye at her.
He was so freaking cute her breath caught just at the top of her throat, making her stammer. “D-did Mrs. Gatwick tell you I was from Texas?”
“Yeah. She’s a friend of my gram. I’ve known her since I was a little bloke. Her daughter and grandkids don’t live in Sydney, so I help her out from time to time.”
“That’s very nice of you. Do you live near her?” If he lived close to Mrs. Gatwick, then maybe he would go to her school. Cassidy imagined the possibility. If Lucas were in her classes, she could actually see herself becoming quite the stellar student …
“No. I live with some mates across the harbor in DeeWhy. I graduated last spring. I’m taking a gap year before I decide on university.”
“Oh.” Cassidy hoped Lucas hadn’t heard the deflation in her tone. See, that’s what happens when you get your hopes up—inevitable disappointment.
They made more small talk as they blew down the highway into the heart of sprawling Sydney. The skyscrapers in the Central Business District gleamed in the sunlight as Lucas drove through the car-and-pedestrian-crowded streets. Already overwhelmed with flight fatigue and the boy sitting next to her, Cassidy could hardly take in the entire whirl of sights and sounds. But, when they drove north across the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge and she saw the great stretch of blue water surrounded by rolling green coastline and dotted with the sails of hundreds of boats, she realized just how far from Paris, Texas, she had come.
The tall business buildings gave way to quieter tree-lined streets, and Lucas pulled to a stop in front of a white two-story house.
“We’re here,” he said. He got out of the car and pulled her suitcase from the back. Cassidy opened her door and stepped onto the curb.
“Thank you for the ride,” she said.
“No worries.” He smiled and his dimple made a charming reappearance. Cassidy ignored the resultant wobble in her step and reached for her bag, but Lucas moved it out of her grasp. “I’ll walk you to the door—Mrs. Gatwick would be on the phone to my gram in a heartbeat if I left you on the curb and didn’t stop to say hello.”
He saw her into the house and after making introductions between her and Mrs. Gatwick, he opened the door to leave. “Well, I’ll see you round,” he said. “The swells are supposed to really be going off today and I don’t want to miss ’em.” Then he looked at Cassidy. “If you need anything or want someone to show you the city, just ring me. Mrs. Gatwick has my number.”
“Oh. Thank you,” she stammered. Cass knew he was just being polite, but still the idea of seeing him again sent her heart into overdrive.
“Have a good time, Cassidy. I think you’ll like it here.”
“Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Gatwick. It was delicious as always,” Cassidy said, finishing off the last bite of smoked ham, poached eggs, and toast. Mrs. Gatwick was an excellent cook and, like all grandmothers, believed food a cure-all for whatever ailed a body. It was a good thing Cassidy had the metabolism of a cheetah or she wouldn’t be able to fit into her school uniform by the end of the month.
She did wish, however, that Mrs. Gatwick believed in sleeping in on the weekends—seven thirty was on the early side for breakfast on Saturday. Especially when that left at least fourteen hours to fill until she could reasonably go to bed and not be a total loser.
“Do you have plans today, Cassidy?” Mrs. Gatwick asked, pouring herself another cup of Earl Grey. “You should ring one of your schoolmates for a day at the beach. I’m sure all the young people will be out on a lovely spring day.”
She could, but there was no one to call. Not that the girls at North Sydney Secondary weren’t nice enough—after two weeks at school, she was at least eating lunch with some of the ones she played volleyball with—but being the “American girl,” she got the sense they found her a bit of a curiosity and none had made any real overtures of friendship. And she wasn’t exactly one to reach out—even if she was so homesick most days that she could barely tear herself away from her laptop screen in case she missed the chance to chat with one of her friends online.
