Again, But Better(31)

Babe and Chad get off at the third floor, leaving Pilot and me alone in the elevator as we head up to six. When we get to our room, the lights are dimmer than before, and there are bodies asleep in two of the beds in the far left corner.

Pilot sighs and collapses onto his bed with a grin. “I’m gonna crash. I’m knackered.”

I snort. “Knackered sounds so wrong without an English accent.”

Quietly, I maneuver my suitcase out of the locker and roll myself to the other end of the room. There’s another door here, and it must lead to the bathroom. When I push it open, heavenly light blazes out into the sleeping area. I stumble in as quickly as possible and lock the door behind me.

It’s a restroom. There’s another door across from this door, which suggests that you can enter from another room as well. Joy. I lock that door too before catching sight of myself in the mirror. My mass of blond hair looks matted and disheveled.

I strip down and switch out my boots for flip-flops before stepping into the shower with my travel soaps. It’s a tiny claustrophobic white rectangle. I imagine this is what it’d be like to stand vertically in a casket lined with white tile. I close the flimsy plastic curtain behind me and look for a shower dial. There’s only a button. One button. A giant, rounded silver dome amongst the tiles. What the fudge?

I step as far out of the way of the showerhead as possible (not far at all; any oncoming water will be inescapable) and smash my hand against the button. Water sprays out of the showerhead right onto my face. It’s warm, but nowhere near comfortable levels. I sigh, speeding through my cleaning ritual. About twenty seconds into wetting my hair, the water goes off.

And now I’m freezing.

“Are you kidding me?”

Oops, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I smash my hand against the button again. More lukewarm water falls over me. I soap up my hair. Forty-five seconds later, the water turns off again. Deadpan, I smack the button. What the heck is this shower that only turns on in forty-five-second spurts?

Five minutes later, I step out, seething, and pull on a tank top and sweatpants. Do I have to wear a bra? I bra up. I’m not ready to be walking around braless in a room alone with Pilot and two strangers. After brushing my teeth and taking several deep breaths, I exit the bathroom.

It looks like I had nothing to worry about. Pilot’s already asleep. He lies on his side, facing the door. I tiptoe over and slide into the bed next to his, shifting myself into a comfortable position, facing his back, when suddenly Pilot turns to look at me. I nervously yank the thin white blanket up to my neck.

“Night, Shane,” he murmurs sleepily.

“Night,” I whisper as he turns back toward the door.





14. Sail?



I’m up at 7:00 a.m., washing my face and doing my makeup in the bathroom. I pull on dark blue jeans and a black turtleneck, because it’s freezing outside, and leave my hair down. Back in the room, one of the strangers is gone, but the other is still asleep. He looks oldish, in his forties or something, and he’s wearing a sleep-apnea mask.

I’m sitting on my bed playing Angry Birds, dressed and ready to go, when Pilot stirs awake a little before 8:00 a.m.

“Morning,” he says, sitting up.

I drop the iPod in my lap. “Morning.”

“What’s that?” He yawns, nodding at it. His eyes narrow. “Are you Angry Birding without me?”

“Um.” I smile guiltily.

He laughs, bringing his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on jeans. “How dare you?”

Pilot grabs his bag from our gym locker. He eyes me with surprise. “Are you already ready?”



* * *



“So, guys, I signed us all up for Paris Pass,” Babe explains as we walk toward the Metro. “It’s this all-inclusive thing that gives us unlimited access to the Metro for the next two days and includes tickets to the Louvre and Versailles. We have to go pick it up first, but maybe then we head to Versailles and do the Louvre and everything else tomorrow?”

“Saturday night, we hitting the club scene for my birthday, yo! It’s gonna be sick,” Chad adds.

“Sounds good,” Pilot says. “I took a look at the map. Our hostel is kind of far from everything, but we’ll make it work.”

It takes us an hour to get to the convenience store and pick up the Paris Passes. Pilot wasn’t exaggerating when he said we were far from everything. But once we get there, it only takes Babe a minute to run in and emerge with our tickets. She hands us each a pass.

“So, how do we get to the palace now?” I ask with a hop.

“Now, we catch the RER,” she answers cheerily.

“The what?” Chad interjects as Babe leads us away.

“What is this, RER?” Pilot questions in a ridiculous French accent.

“It’s a bigger train that goes to farther places,” Babe explains as we trot behind her down the street.

“So we’re taking the Rerr?” I say goofily.

Babe laughs. “The R-E-R,” she repeats.

“The Rerr,” I repeat back.

“We’re hitting up the Rerr,” Pilot backs me up.

“I’m so pumped for the Rerrr, you guys,” Chad pipes in. I laugh, and Babe starts chuckling along.

“Okay, the Rerrr,” she concedes loudly.