“Do you remember what I told you about your curfew?” I nodded and picked up my clutch. She surveyed me, which felt nice. Lily’s and Mina’s moms used to do the same thing before we all went out, and I’d always felt the emptiness of not having a mom to perform that ritual. She nodded. “The blue suits you. Bon, you are ready.”
I walked into the living room, and Nick’s eyes lit up. “You look gorgeous,” he said.
I smiled, the warmth of his compliment driving away my jitters. “Thank you.”
He looked gorgeous, too. Most guys I knew back home with shoulders that wide wore their shirts too big, ballooning over their pants. Even debate guys, who had to wear suits to meets, tended to go oversized. But Nick’s trimly cut shirt fit like it loved him. He’d rolled the sleeves up to just below the elbow, and the crisp white fabric glowed against the honey color of his skin. The shirt rode neatly over a pair of slim black trousers. Nobody I knew back in Portland wore trousers. They wore pants. Trousers were stylish and adult; pants were…comfy. I looked up at him and regretted choosing the flats. I could have used the extra inches.
“One a.m.,” Madame Dupuy told Nick, giving him her best glare.
—
The clubhad a main level with an enormous dark wood dance floor. In the center, a DJ spun tunes from the middle of an antique carousel. On the walls, gilt-framed mirrors reflected the warm red-and-purple lighting and the still-sparse crowd. Nick steered us toward a wide, curving staircase with sinuous wrought iron railings. On the second-floor mezzanine, mismatched vintage tables and chairs jostled together. Wrought iron gates hung on the red wall to our right. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like a rainstorm of sparkles. Pillars and garden statuary covered the opposite wall, which was turquoise blue, and a giant Buddha presided over the zinc-topped bar. I spun, taking in the room, the people, the fantastic artifacts. Then I turned to Nick, my eyes wide.
“It’s like an enchanted carnival. I’ve never seen anything so amazing.”
He smiled and held his hand out. “Would mademoiselle like to dance?”
I nodded like a bobblehead. It was Latin night, and the speakers thumped with a cha-cha. Nick swung me into a dance hold, and I shook my head, embarrassed. “I don’t know how to partner dance.”
“No worries, mademoiselle. The Nick Wallace School of Dance is at your service.” He raised his arm and twirled me under it so that I stood at his side, surprised, exhilarated, and pleased with myself for not stumbling or kicking him. He walked me slowly through the steps, his arm around my waist so I could feel how he moved. I could barely focus, though. The warmth of him so close made me tingle all over. He took us through the pattern again and again until I felt comfortable with it. Then he swung me into a dance hold, making me giggle with pleasure. He smiled with his whole face. A current of electricity sizzled up my backbone as we started the push-pull of the dance. We advanced and retreated, spun away and came together, our eyes only on each other. When the song ended, he twirled me into an embrace and held me so close I felt his heart beating to the same rhythm as mine. Then he twirled me back out, facing him. We balanced on the moment, glowing and exhilarated.
“Nick!” a girl’s voice called, breaking the spell.
He looked around. “Martine! Youssef!” He waved a girl and a guy over. “How are you?”
A dark-haired, doe-eyed Amazon in a sleeveless black shift dress accessorized with a thick silver rope-braid necklace and large diamond stud earrings model-walked up to us, arm in arm with a dark-haired guy wearing an improbably stylishcombo of a purple checked shirt and ochre-colored jeans. The girl kiss-kiss-kissed Nick on the cheeks. Jealousy stabbed me. She was gorgeous, she’d stolen our moment, and now she was kissing Nick. But then the boy she was with kissed him, too, and I thought,Oh. Right. I’m in France.
The Amazon towered over me, her height augmented by skyscraper heels. She wore her hair swept back into a complicated-looking twist. I ran my hands over my curls, trying to smooth down the sproingy mass, feeling unsophisticated and really,reallyregretting my shoes.
“Tosh, this is Martine,” Nick said. Martine bent and did kiss-kiss with me. “And Youssef, her boyfriend,” Nick continued. Youssef also kissed me on each cheek. Given the way I felt about people in my personal space, I was surprised not to feel weird and uncomfortable, but the way they did it was as matter-of-fact as a handshake. We moved off the dance floor and found a table.
“Tosh just moved here from the US,” Nick told them as we sat down. “She’s from Oregon.”
“I am not familiar with this city,” Martine said.
“It’s a state,” I told them. “The city I’m from is Portland.”
I got out my phone to show them a map. Martine looked and said, “Oh, it is near California.”
“Just five hours and a million miles from the border.”
“Amillionmiles?” Youssef frowned. “I do not understand.”
“Metaphorically. It’s like they’re two different countries,” I said. “California is the fifth-largest economy in theworld—bigger than France’s.” They looked shocked that their country’s economy was outclassed by a mere American state’s. “Oregon, on the other hand, is the twenty-fourth-largest economy inthe US, which is good, and better than it used to be when we just logged and ranched, but it’s like a kids’ soccer—sorry, football—team playing France in the World Cup. Very not in the same league. California’s economy influences Oregon in almost every way, and we don’t really benefit—What?”
Nick and Youssef were staring at me like I’d just said I liked to sacrifice kittens to my alien overlords. “Wow,” Nick said. “Are you the expatriate arm of the Oregon Chamber of Commerce?”
I died a little. I was at aclub. InParis. With cosmopolitan French people.Say something normal, I scolded myself.
“Sorry.” I grimaced. “Debate-team flashback. One of our research topics last year was about the economic dis—” I stopped myself and shook my head like,Yes, I’m a complete nerd. “I get excited about this stuff,” I said. “I really, really love research. Like an unnatural amount. I’ll stop now.”
I put my hands over my face, feeling awkward times ten.
“Debate team?” Martine said, her tone bright. “Have you ever done Model UN?”
I took my hands down and smiled at her. “I went to a session once, and it looked interesting.” I’d been looking for a debate-type event that didn’t require a partner, but Mr. Donnelly wouldn’t let me change events that close to State. “Is that your event?”
“Yes. You should try it. It is very fun.”
