“No one will even notice we’re gone. And the girls won’t mind.”
I hesitate for a moment, but I know I want to get away, too. Louis and I have so little time left together. We’ve been talking about all the things we’d like to do in Paris, all the places I still want to visit, and the ones Louis wants to show me, but I realize we were just happily daydreaming.
Now reality is catching up with us.
It’s dark outside now, and a little chilly. I’m only wearing a light top, but I warm up as soon as we start walking.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Louis shrugs. “Paris seems so big, but it’s actually really easy to walk around. In fact, that’s the best way to see it; just wandering down streets and letting your feelings guide you.”
“Okay,” I say, taking his hand. “Let’s turn right here, then.”
We walk without a purpose or a destination for an hour, maybe longer. We pass by a large square called Place de la République, then find ourselves heading down winding little shopping streets. But we’re both quiet. I have a suspicion that we’re thinking about the same thing. I’m leaving. And there’s nothing we can do to stop it.
“This piece is by a really cool artist from the south of France,” Louis says as we pass a mural of a girl in dungarees and an Afro made out of colorful umbrellas. She looks like she’s going up the stairs on her way to the banks of Canal Saint-Martin.
We walk past a train station I haven’t seen before, one of four in Paris, and come across several centuries-old churches. They seem to pop out of even the smallest corners like hidden jewels of ancient times. I’d like to visit them all, but that’s not going to happen.
A bus stop advertisement announces back-to-school deals, and I think about how the yearlong students will be taking over for us soon. In the last couple of years, I’ve toyed with the idea of switching high schools to attend a dance-specific program in New York City, but I always abandoned it before I even brought it up with my parents. I wasn’t sure I was ready to live just forty minutes away from home, and I felt pretty certain that Mom wouldn’t let me go anyway.
“Would you come back?” Louis asks, like he’s reading my mind.
“To the school?”
He shrugs. “To Paris in general, I mean.”
“I would love to…one day.” I look away. I shouldn’t have said that last part, especially now that I see the shadow of disappointment crossing his eyes. But it’s the truth. I would love to come back to Paris, but it probably won’t happen any time soon. This trip already cost my family a ton of money. During the school year, I spend many of my evenings and weekends dancing, which makes it impossible for me to get a job. Aside from the odd babysitting session here and there, I’ve been relying on Mom and Dad, with some help from Grandma Joan, for all my ballet expenses, including this amazing treat of nonstop dancing in Paris.
“Hmm,” Louis replies. He stares down at his shoes. “One day sounds a little far away.”
I don’t want to tell him what I’ve barely admitted to the girls. Yes, it would be amazing to come study in Paris after high school, but by then, Louis will have forgotten all about me. I feel a tear coming on and discreetly wipe it off. I’ve been asking myself the question a lot over the last few days. Is there a future for Louis and me? The reasoning varies, but the answer remains unchanged: no, probably not. I’m going home for my senior year. Louis is starting college in September, as an English major at the Sorbonne, a prestigious college near where he lives. Our paths are simply not destined to cross again.
Suddenly I realize we’re at the bottom of the stairs of the Sacré-Cœur once again, and we both look up in awe at the Basilica. Even though it’s really late now, there are dozens of people sitting on the stairs, and even more all the way up, admiring the city by night.
“Let’s go up again,” I tell Louis. “I want to see that view one more time.”
He smiles. “Anything you want.”
The climb is even steeper than I remember. I’m supposed to take it easy and let my muscles recover in between rehearsals, but my glutes just have to take one for the team.
We’re both a little out of breath when we get to the top and turn around to face the vastness of the city beneath us. I’ve been in Paris for weeks, but I’ve barely scratched the surface. “I wish I could just spend my last few days exploring the city.”
Louis lets out a laugh, but it sounds kind of sad. “No, you don’t. You’re going to spend your last few days performing the role of a lifetime in front of all the right people. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
I shrug. “I know, but this,” I say, taking in the gorgeous panorama of the city once more, “has to be the most beautiful and romantic place in Paris.”
A smile forms on Louis’s lips. “The most beautiful, maybe,” he says, “but for the most romantic, there’s a lot of competition. Come on, let’s go.”
He pulls on my arm, and I follow him down the backstreets of Montmartre. It’s quiet at this hour—both the portraitists and the tourists have gone home. Yet it feels so familiar to me now. We shared our first kiss right here. I’ll always think of Montmartre as ours.
A few minutes later, we arrive on Rue des Abbesses, which is lined with restaurants, cafés, and more charming shops. Louis leads us to another smaller square that looks like it’s straight out of a movie, with its green wrought-iron métro entrance, a colorful carousel, and a small gated park.
“Here it is,” Louis says as we cross over to the other side. It’s pretty dark, and I don’t see what he’s talking about at first. But then, as we stop under two streetlamps, I see it: a large wall spanning at least thirty feet long and over ten feet high, covered in blue tiles with white handwriting and red little squares all over it. I step forward to get a closer look.
“What does it say?” I ask, trying to read some of the words on the wall. “This isn’t in French.”
Louis turns to me. “I love you.”
