When the Heart Falls(8)

Le sigh.

Feeling the heat rush to my face, I nod my head in my most regal fashion and turn away as the scrawny 20-something guy working behind the x-ray machine asks me to follow him so he can inspect my bag.

He steps to the side and opens my red carry-on, shuffling through my iPad, a change of clothes and other staples I was told to always carry with me in case my luggage was ever lost. There are perks to being one of the youngest in a family of world travelers.

My jaw drops when he pulls out a gallon sized plastic baggie and dumps the contents—items I've never seen before in my life—onto the counter. Holding up a pair of red G-String panties with a matching bra, if that slip of silk can be called a bra, and a handful of—oh my God—condoms?

He smirks at me and reads aloud the note that's in the baggie. "Winter, Have some fun this summer. Here's a starter sex kit to help you out. All my love, your favorite cousin, Daring."

I want to die.

I want the floor to open up and swallow me, or lightning to strike me dead.

I want them to arrest me, just so I can get away from the dozens of eyes taking in my humiliation.

I fight the urge to tell them I have a bomb, or maybe that I am the bomb. Or to tell them I'm a drug mule. Anything to divert attention from the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.

And then I remember the hot cowboy.

Who's standing behind me.

Who heard and saw everything.

My cheeks, I can already feel, are a flaming red. I probably look like my head is about to explode. I wish it would, so I won't have to live in this moment any longer.

An older woman, probably the supervisor, grabs the note and the panties from the jerk staring at me. "I think you've sufficiently searched this bag." She nods sympathetically at me and shoves Daring's gift back under my clothes, zipping my suitcase shut. "Sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. You can take your belongings and head to your gate now."

I grab everything, slipping back into my shoes as I half-run, half-trip away, my jacket and belt dangling from my arm. I don't look back to see if the hot cowboy is watching the most ungraceful escape ever made by a girl. I just can't deal with him.

This is worse than the time I bought my first box of tampons and found that the checkout clerk was the sexy upperclassman I'd had a crush on since I was in middle school.

Worse than when I threw up in public at a football game.

Worse than anything I can even imagine.

My only consolation is that I'll never see any of those people again. This is one of the biggest airports in the country, and they will be scattered all over the world within a few hours. I'll live down my humiliation in the privacy of my memories.

I dash into the nearest bathroom and hide in an empty stall, waiting for the horror to die down. I can't believe Daring put these things in my suitcase. No wonder she was so anxious to help me pack. Through the years she's played pranks on me. Sharing a room with her has always been an adventure, but this tops the cake.

Once my heart rate returns to normal, I spend the next twenty minutes looking for my gate and debating whether or not I'm going to call my cousin and chew her out, but I don't have the energy for a fight. Better to just forget it and move on.

When I reach my gate, the first thing I see is Monsieur Bellugue, my French professor, holding a sign that says "Summer in France Program". A group of college-age students huddles around him, and I join the mill. Only two of us are from Sarah Lawrence, the rest have flown in from other participating universities. It's an elite program, and I'm still in awe that I got in.

The second thing I see is the sexy cowboy.

Standing with my group.

Looking right at me.

Oh dear God in heaven, why won't you let me die?

Someone places their hand on my hip, and I turn ready to chew them out for invading my personal space, when my mouth goes dry, heart palpating at the sight of Rodney Payne, or as I like to call him, Mr. Asshat.

"Hey, babe," he leers at me. "Long time no see."

"What are you doing here?" I step back, away from his touch.

"I had a last minute opportunity to join the group, and when I found out you'd be here, I couldn't resist. Aren't you happy to see me?" He slides his finger over my cheek and I cringe. "No? Still the Ice Queen I see."

"Don't call me that." He gave me that name when I was a freshman in high school and it has followed me ever since.

My professor spares me further contact with the Asshat when he smiles at me and walks between us, calling us to gather for a little speech. His thick French accent carries through the terminal. "We are all here now, very good, very good. Your seats have all been assigned; please do not change seats during the flight. When we arrive in Paris, we will be picked up by a van and taken to the dorms. There will be testing and an orientation over the next few days so that you know what to expect for your summer. Very good, very good."

He lowers his sign and sits down, crossing his legs in a slightly effeminate way, and tugging on the cuffs of his tweed coat. He bends his salt and pepper head over a book, and I find a seat for myself and do the same, ignoring Mr. Asshat and the pull of the sexy cowboy's eyes, knowing I'm eventually going to have to face them both with such a small group, but putting that off for as long as possible. My book draws me in, an intriguing mystery written under a pen name by our illustrious French professor. I researched him last spring and found out about his side career. With his words, I get lost in another world as time disappears.