What Happens in London

by Jen McConnel

  I love you, you jerk.

  —Joelle

  Follow Camie on her night to remember in…

  WHAT HAPPENS IN PARIS

  Jen McConnel

  Keep reading for a sneak peek!

  From: CamieLuvsArt222

  To: ShaunaRae671

  Subject: I love Paris!

  Dear Shauna,

  Paris is perfect. I know, I know, I only got here yesterday, but I’m seriously in love with the city. You were totally right that travel would be the best way to forget about the mess with the scholarship; the only thing that could make this trip more perfect would be if you were here with me! I’ll take lots of pictures, and when we’re back on campus in the fall, be prepared for stories! (Not that anything has really happened yet, but I’m in Paris . . . something amazing is bound to be waiting for me!)

  I’m not sure where I’ll go next; for now, I’m just soaking up the streets and culture. It feels like something out of a movie, and it’s crazy to think that this is my real life!

  Hugs,

  Camie <3

  I’d never actually been on an airplane before, and I felt giddy as the gate agent scanned my boarding pass. Shauna had convinced me to check my backpack for the flight, laughing off my fears of it getting lost, but I still had my faded-denim messenger bag slung over my shoulder when I boarded the plane.

  Nervously, I counted the seats and checked my ticket. I had a window seat about halfway back, and I folded into the seat and buckled my belt immediately. There was a small screen in the back of the seat in front of me, and I pressed it eagerly. A welcome menu sprang to life, and I grinned like an idiot. I didn’t know you could watch live TV on an airplane! This trip was already so much cooler than I’d expected.

  I glanced up at the passengers boarding the plane, and my heart stopped. A gorgeous, tall guy with broad shoulders, sparkling white teeth, and sun-bleached hair was headed toward me with a grin on his face. A navy suit coat clung to his back, and I noticed he had flip-flops under his jeans. He slid into the seat beside me and stuck out his hand.

  “I never get to travel with such a lovely seatmate! I’m Todd.”

  For a minute, I just stared at him like an idiot, and then I shook his hand quickly. “Camie. Is this your first flight?” As soon as I spoke, I realized he’d basically just said it wasn’t, and I cursed myself mentally for being so stupid.

  Todd was gracious. “No, I wish. I travel all the time for business. It can get so boring after a while, but I think it’ll be a nice trip today.” He winked at me, and I shut my mouth quickly, afraid he’d catch me drooling.

  “Today will be good, that’s for sure. I’m just so excited to get to Paris.” Get it together, Cam. I realized I was babbling, and I tried to plaster a bored, sophisticated smile on my face.

  Todd smiled. “First time to Europe?”

  “Yes. I’m so excited. First time anywhere, really!” Shut up, shut up!

  “Are you a student?”

  “Yes. Is it that obvious?” I tried to sit up straighter.

  “Excuse me.” An older woman in a floral dress was standing in the aisle next to us. Todd turned his blinding smile to her.

  “Yes?”

  She gestured at me. “You’re in my seat.”

  I checked my ticket. “Um, sorry, I don’t think so.”

  “This is seventeen A.” She showed me her ticket.

  Todd looked at me expectantly, so I checked my ticket again. “Seventeen A. That’s what mine says, too.” I shifted my hips, trying to plant myself a little more firmly in my seat; no way I wanted to lose the chance to sit next to Todd!

  A flight attendant appeared in the aisle beside us. “Is there a problem?”

  The older woman gestured at me. “She’s in my seat.”

  Todd chimed in before I could reply, which was probably a good thing, because I was getting ready to give grandma a piece of my mind. “It seems like both their tickets have the same seat number.”

  The flight attendant reached for my ticket and stared at it for a minute. Then she stared at the old lady’s. “There must have been a computer error.” Her eyes scanned the cabin, and I realized that most of the other people were already in their seats ready for the flight. Was everyone watching us? I sank back into my seat, embarrassed by the thought of everyone watching the little seat drama play out. “Would any of you be willing to move?”

  For a moment, nobody spoke. I glanced at Todd, hoping he wanted to stay put as much as I did, but as soon as I looked at him, he spoke up. “I don’t mind.” He smiled at me as he stood up and winked. “Enjoy Paris, Camie.”

  The flight attendant looked relieved. “Thank you so much for your flexibility, sir. I’ve got one seat open in first class, if you’ll just come with me.”

  Granny and I eyed each other for a minute, and finally she sighed and slid into the aisle seat. I closed my eyes and sat back, trying not to breathe too deeply; she smelled like mouthwash and stale cigarettes.

  “You know, dear, it would have been polite for you to offer me the window seat.” Her voice was raspy, but I kept my eyes closed.

  This was going to be a long flight.

  ~

  Eight hours, two movies, and way too many little bags of pretzels later, I arrived in Paris. I staggered off the plane into the cold chrome airport, and I waited blearily in line for the customs agent to glare at me, rattle off a few sharp questions, and stamp my passport. When I finally made it through the line, I followed the signs downstairs until I found the baggage claim. It was some kind of miracle when Shauna’s huge backpack circled around the conveyer belt at the front of the other bags. I grabbed it and tried to heft it up onto my shoulders, but something tugged it back. Was it stuck on the conveyor belt? I gave it another yank, and a male voice right behind me snapped, “What the hell?”

  I spun around to find a tall, skinny guy with chestnut-brown hair and the hint of stubble holding my bag. Too tired to be polite, I tugged again. “Can I have my bag back?”

  He looked at me like I’d sprouted another head. “It’s my bag.”

  Why does everyone keep trying to take my things? First my seat, now my bag. “Listen, dude, I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running, but it won’t work. Let go of my bag. Now.”

  The guy just glared at me, so I gritted my teeth.

  “Security!” I hollered. A few people turned around to stare, but I was too jet-lagged to care. This bozo was not going to steal my bag. “Security!”

  The dude didn’t let go of my bag, but he shook his head like he wanted me to stop.

  I waved my arms and finally got the attention of one of the blue-uniformed guards loitering near the baggage claim. He sauntered over casually and smiled. “What seems to be the trouble, mademoiselle?”

  I kept one hand on the top of the backpack while I pointed to the guy. “This man is trying to take my bag.”

  The guard crossed his arms and glared at him. “Is this true?”

  My attacker barked a laugh. “She’s crazy. This is my bag.”

  The guard looked between the two of us, thinking. “We can prove ownership easily enough. Mademoiselle, what’s in your bag?”

  “Uh, clothes. I packed a blue-and-pink polka-dot dress near the top.”

  The guard smiled. “And, monsieur, what’s in your bag?”

  “Just clothes. No dresses, though, and nothing with polka dots.” He snorted, and I glared at him.

  “Voila!” The guard leaned over and unzipped the bag before I could warn him about the coming clothing explosion, but nothing tumbled out of the bag. Maybe the flight mashed everything down?

  I leaned forward to peek inside and caught a whiff of gym socks and pine cologne. I gagged and glared at the guy. “God, what did you put in this thing?”

  He crossed his arms and smirked triumphantly. “So you finally admit that you were trying to steal my bag?”

  Startled, I shook my head, but the guard was watching me closely. “No! This looks just l
ike my bag. I swear.”

  The guy shrugged as he zipped his bag and hoisted it onto his shoulders. “Whatever, princess. I’m not sure what a girl like you would be doing with a bag like this, but I’m sure the nice officer will keep you company until you figure out which bag is really yours.”

  He pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered around us, and I glared after him.

  “Mademoiselle, if you would be so kind as to come with me, please.” The guard put his hand on my elbow, but I took a step back.

  “What? No! There’s no reason for that. It was just a simple mistake.”

  The guard took a step forward. “I think not.”

  Frantically, I scanned the conveyer belt, but I didn’t see Shauna’s bag. “Can’t we at least wait until the plane is empty before you jump to conclusions? My bag will be along in a minute.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and gave me a look that reminded me of my seventh grade science teacher. I gulped nervously.

  “Very well,” he finally said. “We wait.”

  I swear it was the last possible bag to hit the conveyer belt, but finally Shauna’s bag came into view and I grabbed it, frantic to get away from the guard. “See, here it is.”

  I started to walk around him, but he stepped in front of me. “If you’ll permit me to check the bag, mademoiselle, to make sure that the dress you described really is there.”

  Before I could stop him, he’d unzipped the bag and a stack of clothes and crumpled underwear fell onto the floor. Horrified, I scrambled to gather it up while the guard looked on.

  He poked the blue-and-pink dress with his toe and sniffed. “Very well, mademoiselle. It is yours.” Without offering to help, the guard walked away.

  “Welcome to Paris!” I muttered as I stuffed my clothes back in my bag. When I looked up, my eyes landed on a familiar face. Thrusting the last of my clothes into the bag, I picked it up and stalked across the airport.

  “What are you still doing here?” The man whose bag I’d almost stolen was leaning against a window, watching me with a smirk.

  “I wanted to make sure you found your bag.” His eyes drifted to my bare legs, and then back up to my face. “Besides, that was a great show. Most action I’ve had in weeks.”

  I glared at him. “You’re an ass.”

  He shrugged. “So I’ve been told.” With that, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd. I could hear him chuckling as he went, and I flounced off in the other direction.

  Acknowledgements

  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.

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  This electronic edition published in 2015 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  First published in June 2015 by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

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  ISBN: 978-1-61963-789-4

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  Cover design by Ashley Poston