Grace Read online

“What is it?”

  I hesitated. “Well, we just have to come up with the right idea. But we have time. We have the whole summer ahead of us!”

  Josh gave me that brotherly look that said he didn’t quite believe me. Somehow, that made me more determined than ever as I hopped on my bike and followed my friends down the street.

  Blackstone Valley at one time had miles of man-made canals near the Blackstone River, with towpaths running next to them so that horses could pull barges along the canals. Now those dirt towpaths are part of Mom’s running route—and my favorite bike trail. This morning, Ella, Maddy, and I shared the trail with runners and walkers, many of them walking a dog or two.

  “I know!” I piped up. “How about a dog-walking business? Do you see how many people walk their dogs here? I bet we’d have a lot of customers.”

  “That’s a great idea, since I already have a dog to walk,” Ella said. “Every single day.”

  “Exactly!” I said.

  “And we wouldn’t have to spend anything to get started,” Ella said. I could see the math wheels of her brain turning. “We wouldn’t have to buy leashes or food or dog-waste bags because people will already have what their dogs need.”

  “I’m liking it!” Maddy agreed. “We’d have to put up signs,” she added, talking faster. “But I could help make them on the computer and print them out.”

  “We could start by posting signs along this trail,” said Ella. “It sounds super easy.”

  “And really fun!” I joined in, excitement fizzing up inside me.

  The more we talked, the more eager we were to get our dog-walking business launched. Before we reached the one-mile marker on the trail, we turned around and raced each other back to my house. It was time for online research!

  Soon my friends and I were sitting at the computer in the corner of my kitchen, next to the bay window. With Mom’s permission, we looked up kids and business and dogs. All kinds of ideas popped up.

  Dog sitting.

  Dog washing.

  Dog grooming.

  Dog training.

  And no surprise: dog walking!

  But just then, Mom stepped back into the kitchen and cleared her throat, her cell phone in hand. She was frowning. Had I done something wrong?

  “I just got off the phone with Aunt Sophie,” Mom explained slowly. “Her doctor says she needs to go on bed rest until the baby comes.”

  Bed rest? That sounded serious. “Is she going to be okay?” I asked.

  Mom nodded. “I think she is. But she’s going to need a lot of help around the house and at her bakery. I’m almost wondering if I should go be with her.” Mom paused, and then a smile crept across her face. “And maybe you could come, too, Grace, to help out and keep your cousin Sylvie company.”

  Sylvie is Aunt Sophie’s stepdaughter. I had only met her once, at Aunt Sophie’s wedding in Boston a couple of years ago, and I couldn’t remember very much about her. I tried to picture her face…

  “Paris?” said Maddy, interrupting my thoughts. “You get to go to Paris?”

  That’s when it hit me. I was going to France? I was too dumb-struck to know what to say.

  “We’ll have to talk to Dad first,” Mom added, “because it’s a long time to be away—I’m thinking about five weeks.”

  “Wow,” Ella said quietly. “That’s like half the summer.”

  Mom glanced at Ella, and her expression softened. “I’m sorry to interrupt, girls,” she said. “I know you were making plans together.”

  Plans? We’d just spent the whole morning working toward launching a business together! It was like flying along at high speed on a bike and hitting a wall. No, not a wall exactly. More like getting a flat tire. But Paris?

  It was all so sudden. It changed everything.

  “Grace,” Mom said, “I can see you need a little time to get used to the idea. Let’s talk about it later today, okay, hon? When your dad gets home. We won’t be able to leave until we can get to Boston and have your passport rushed through, which could take a week or more. That will give us some time to plan and pack.”

  When Mom turned away toward the living room, I looked at Maddy and Ella and held up my hands.

  “Paris?” Maddy said again. “That’s so not fair! I would love to go to Paris for the summer.”

  “I didn’t know you had a cousin there,” said Ella. “How old is she?”

  I tried to remember. “I think she’s a year younger than we are. I only met her once, when I was like seven. I don’t remember her all that well—we didn’t have much time together.”

  “Is she nice?” Ella asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

  Maddy’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What if she’s not?”

  I hesitated. “Then it could be a very long trip,” I admitted.

  “And what about our dog-walking plans?” Maddy asked.

  I sighed. It felt as if I’d just ruined someone’s birthday party. “You two will have to go ahead without me. I can join you when I get back.”

  Ella combed her fingers through her black hair, as if considering the pros and cons. “No, Grace. It wouldn’t be the same without you. I’d rather wait.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Maddy agreed. “Maybe when you get back.”

  I felt a wave of relief, and then a little bit of guilt, too. “I’m really sorry,” I said.

  Maddy laughed. “You’re going to Paris! What’s to feel sorry about?”

  like having time to plan ahead, like with last year’s surprise party for Ms. Tureno, the world’s best third-grade teacher. I started baking cupcakes two weeks ahead and freezing them. Then I invited friends over to help frost and decorate them with round pink, green, and orange candies.

  Because the theme was “Happy Birthday to Our Star Teacher,” I asked some students to cut stars out of construction paper. Then others taped them all over the desks and walls. When Ms. Tureno stepped into the classroom, she flipped on the lights and almost cried. It was a H-U-G-E success!

  But Paris? How do you plan for going to another country? And for half the summer?

  As I started researching Paris online, I began to get a little better handle on what to expect. And that’s when I started to get excited. This is a trip lots of girls dream of! I printed out maps, information about popular tourist sites, and some French travel phrases that I could learn before the trip.

  The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t wait to get to know my aunt’s new stepdaughter—my new cousin—better. And yet…another part of me worried that no matter how nice Sylvie might be, I was going to miss hanging out with Maddy and Ella for five whole weeks.

  To make myself feel better, I started writing a packing list. Mom came into the kitchen and looked over my shoulder. “You’ll have to cut it down, Grace. One rolling suitcase each.”

  “But we’re there for five weeks!”

  “We don’t want to be tripping over our luggage,” she said. “We’ll do laundry while we’re there.”

  Mom had been to visit Aunt Sophie once before, so I had to trust her. I packed tennis shoes, sandals, shirts, shorts, and skirts. And then Mom and I drove an hour north to Boston to get my passport and to shop. Along with a travel guide, maps, and a French–English dictionary, we both looked for a few special outfits.

  After a couple of hours of shopping, I gazed at my reflection in the dressing-room mirror of a small boutique. I almost didn’t recognize myself in the pink béret and matching skirt with black bow. Leaning over, I smoothed out my T-shirt so that I could read the words printed beside the Eiffel Tower: Paris Je T’aime.

  “It means ‘Paris, I love you,’ Mom said. “And it’s perfectly lovely.”

  “And so French,” I said, tilting my beret slightly on my head. Now I felt more excited than ever about the trip. I was ready!

  A few days before leaving, we shared a going-away barbecue dinner with Grandma and Grandpa.

  “Five weeks is a long time,” Grandma s
aid, her eyes getting watery.

  “Just don’t get any crazy ideas about living there. We’ve already ‘lost’ one daughter to Paris,” Grandpa added with a smile.

  It was hard to say good-bye that night. I was going to miss my grandparents so much! And then I started thinking about Josh and Dad, and my friends, too. As I stood by the window, watching Grandma and Grandpa’s car pull away, I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  The day before I left, I invited Maddy and Ella to a picnic near Bentwick Dam, which was just off Bridge Street. I didn’t want my friends to forget me while I was away.

  Under a hot sun, we spread out a blanket between the old stone mill and the river. I sat down and closed my eyes, listening to the water rushing by. Grandpa once told me that the Blackstone is the fastest flowing body of water in America next to Niagara Falls. I tried to memorize the sound. Would I miss it while I was in Paris?

  I sighed and opened my eyes. Three kayaks made their way downstream below the dam, bright red against the sparkling water.

  “They look like rubies,” I said as I took my first bite of my peanut butter-honey sandwich.

  “Yeah,” Ella said. “Beautiful.”

  “Speaking of beautiful,” said Maddy, turning to me, “you’re going to see so many amazing things in Paris. You’re going to have to send us photos and e-mails!”

  “Even better,” I said. “I’ve been thinking of a way we can stay in touch and you can see Paris, too. A travel blog.”

  “Do you know how to do that?” Maddy asked.

  “My mom uses a blog with her class. She already said she’d help me use her site. I’ll let you know how to get onto it.”

  “Cool!” said Maddy.

  “That makes me feel better, too,” Ella said, juice box in hand. “I’m missing you already.”

  To prepare for the trip, I tried practicing a little French around the house.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Josh!” I said as I stepped into the living room. But the words came out all wrong and stiff-sounding.

  Josh glanced up from the piano and laughed, but he kept playing without skipping a beat. “Keep practicing,” he said.

  His fingers found their way around those piano keys as easily as mine worked with ingredients in the kitchen. But unlike baking, trying to learn French felt impossible. “I know, I know,” I said with a sigh.

  “Hey, Grace,” Josh said suddenly, resting his hands on the keys. “Take lots of pictures, okay?”

  “I will,” I promised, “but I wish you and Dad could come, too.” My brother is sometimes a pain, but I had never been away from him for more than a week before.

  He swiveled on the piano stool to face me. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m trying to get lots of hours at Cycle Sports this summer. Besides, I heard from someone who went to Paris that the French aren’t all that friendly.” He grinned at me.

  “Really?” My stomach clenched, but then I remembered something I’d read. “Wait, I’ll be right back,” I said as I headed down the hall toward my bedroom.

  Armed with my travel book, I raced back to the living room, where Josh was now playing around with a new melody.

  “Okay, here’s what I found,” I announced. “It says that Parisians are ‘sticklers for politeness’ and exchanging formal greetings—like hello, good-bye, and thank you.” I scanned the next paragraph and tried to summarize. “Americans, this book says, are so casual when it comes to manners that we can seem impolite to the Parisians.”

  Josh brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up. “Huh.”

  “So it helps to start with a simple hello, or bohn-zhoor.” I struggled with the zhoor part. “Oh, and always say please, or seel-voo-play.” I made a face at my clunky-sounding pronunciation. Then I went on. “And always say thank you, or mehr-see.”

  “Nice,” Josh said. “They’ll think you’re fluent, for sure.”

  “At least I’m trying,” I said in my own defense. “Plus,” I continued, “they call men and boys Monsieur, women Madame, and girls like me”—I flashed him an exaggerated smile—“Mademoiselle.”

  “So…it sounds like the French just have different ideas about manners than we do, Mademoiselle,” Josh said with a wink.

  “Exactly, Monsieur,” I said politely. I closed my book, did a little curtsy, and then danced out of the room.

  When June twenty-seventh finally arrived, Dad and Josh dropped us off at Boston’s Logan International Airport. I’d been on a plane only once before, to visit Grandma and Grandpa Thomas in Sarasota, Florida, when I was three or four. I didn’t remember very much about the trip, and honestly, the thought of leaving the ground and being way up in the sky made me a little nervous. I tried not to think about it as I watched Dad pull our luggage out of the trunk and set it on the curb.

  “What will I do without you two?” he said, kissing Mom and then kneeling to look me in the eyes. “We’ll have to video-chat once a week, or I’ll surely perish from a broken heart.”

  “Dad, you’re silly,” I said.

  But when tears budded at the edges of his blue eyes, a big lump of sadness leaped into my throat. I wouldn’t see him or Josh for such a long, long time. I blinked back tears of my own and gave him my biggest hug.

  When Dad stood up again, he squeezed my shoulders and said, “You have a wonderful time in Paris, Grace. And also, you take care of your mom while she tries to take care of everyone else. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said.

  While Dad and Mom hugged good-bye, Josh gave me two soft fist-bumps to my shoulder. “Have a blast, but make sure you come back soon,” he said. “No staying there like Aunt Sophie did.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. Then I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face into his chest.

  The little bit of French I’d been using at home must have rubbed off, because when Mom and I wheeled our suitcases away from the car, Dad and Josh sent us off with waves and “Bon voyage!”

  “Au revoir!” I called back, before being swallowed up in the airport’s revolving door.

  I’d never seen so many people bustling around, headed to every corner of the earth. I wanted to know where everyone was going! But at the same time, I didn’t want to get separated from Mom. I stuck close to her as we headed through the long security line.

  When we reached the security guard, we showed her our passports and boarding passes. Then Mom removed her shoes and put them on the conveyor belt. From her shoulder bag, she removed her laptop and set it in a plastic bin on the conveyor belt.

  I tried to follow Mom’s lead. But as I removed my tablet and phone from my backpack, she shook her head. “No, those can stay in your bag.”

  “Shoes off?”

  Again she shook her head. “Kids under twelve can keep them on. Just set your backpack in the bin, Grace.”

  So many rules! I worried I was going to make a mistake. My backpack disappeared down the belt into a screening system as another guard waved me to step forward through a freestanding doorframe.

  I glanced tentatively at Mom, who had just passed through it and stood on the other side, beside the guard, waiting for me.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Go ahead, Grace.”

  I stepped forward and put my hands overhead, the way the guard had shown me. As I stood still, something whirred around me, taking a quick X-ray. Then the guard motioned me toward him. “Step out.”

  Phew!

  I joined Mom and picked up my backpack from the conveyor belt.

  “Now all we have to do is find our gate and get on our plane,” she said, stepping back into her shoes and sliding her leather bag over her shoulder.

  That’s when it really started to sink in. I was going to Paris—on an airplane!

  “Mom, I don’t remember much about flying to Florida when I was little,” I said as I hurried to keep up with her. “I remember pretzels. That’s about it.”

  “That’s because we flew at night,” she said. “You slept most of that trip. I hope you’ll sleep a bit
on this one, too. It’s a seven-hour flight!” She reached over and tousled my hair.

  But I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to remember every moment.

  With a roar of engines and an amazing sense of power, we sped down the runway. I gazed out my window as we lifted, lifted, lifted…into the air! The runway sprawled below us, and planes, service trucks, and buildings stretched and then shrank as we lifted higher. Pressed back into my seat by the steep upward climb, I squeezed Mom’s hand. “This is amazing!”

  From so high up, the city of Boston seemed to spread out forever. With Mom’s help, I spotted the John Hancock Tower and the steeple of the Old North Church. The harbor gradually shrank to the size of a puddle, and still we kept climbing through a mountain of white. We were in the clouds!

  When the plane leveled out, I looked down on puffy cotton balls, lit golden by the sun. I felt as if I were dreaming. I couldn’t look away!

  Eventually, lulled by the hum of the engine, I settled back in my seat. As I studied my French phrases, I felt as if I were cramming for a test. I’d be in Paris soon, and I had to be ready.

  Time passed and daylight faded to darkness.

  When the steward came by with a platter of rolled washcloths and, using a pair of tongs, handed one to each of us, I looked at Mom in confusion.

  “For freshening up before dinner, I think,” she said with a shrug.

  Hot, steamy, and lemon-scented, the washcloth felt wonderful on my face and hands.

  Next, we lowered the trays on the backs of the seats in front of us to eat dinner. I chose the chicken pasta, and when the steward placed it on my tray, I saw that everything came wrapped separately or was tucked into the compartments of the plate: a dinner roll, a tossed salad, and a chocolate mousse dessert. Yum!

  As soon as I was finished eating, Mom surprised me with a small velvet box. “For you,” she said.

  “Really?” It had to be a jewelry box. I snapped it open, and sure enough, there was a pretty bracelet made up of silver links with a little silver bow.

  “A charm bracelet,” Mom explained. “I thought you might want to fill it with charms that remind you of moments and places from our trip.”