Beautiful Americans (33 page)

“Jay, I’m really sorry but you have to go.”

“But Livvy, aren’t you going to help us?” Zack asks.

I take a breath. “I am. Just give me . . .” I look at the grandfather clock in the foyer. “Give me a half hour. I’ll meet you at Alex’s!”

Just as the boys leave, the buzzer rings. Oh, no! My parents! But it’s not them; it’s the taxi for Mme Rouille and Thomas.

“Olivia!” Mme Rouille greets me. “
Où est ta famille
?”

“On their way!” I answer cheerfully. “Any minute!” I can’t help being jumpy. I am, after all, still wearing her son’s shirt.

She doesn’t notice. “Elise will be here for anything you need today and tomorrow. I’m so sorry that you are leaving me so soon. We were just getting to know each other. You’re welcome here anytime. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to meet
ta famille
.”

“Another time,” I say in a rush, trying to push her out the door. “Thanks for everything!”

Thomas gives me a
bise
on either cheek, each one lasting a bit longer than the custom requires. “Well?” he says. “There’s still so much of France I’d like to show you. Will you ever come back?”

“I’ll keep in touch,” I say hurriedly. God, how could I not? Memories of us, our bodies touching, flood me, nearly knocking me over. “Happy holidays!” I wave freakishly out the window until I can see that their taxi has driven off, Thomas looking up at me from the back window. I’m not worried about him, not after last night.

I run back to my room to prepare for my parents’ arrival. I put on my “O” necklace, knowing my mom will appreciate the gesture. She’s not going to like what I have to tell them.

The buzzer rings again, just as I’ve slipped into my jeans. I answer the door, their four smiling faces lined up in the doorway.

“I can’t go back home with you,” I blurt out, not even saying hello. “I don’t want to.” I stand back to let them into the apartment. My dad and Brian are wearing red sweaters that they bought here (none of their other clothes were quite warm enough), and my mom’s blonde hair is in pigtails.

“Livvy, what do you mean?” my dad says, reaching out to me for a hug. I hadn’t noticed that I’d started crying, but when I wipe at my face, it is wet with tears.

“I’ve been offered a place in the Paris Underground Ballet Theatre. I’ve been dancing with them for almost a month,” I tell them, my voice sounding different now that I’m not trying to please them with everything I say. “It’s a really prestigious company. More experimental, funkier. I love it.”

“What?” my parents gasp. Vince’s face is stricken.

“I’m accepting the offer. It’s my dream come true.”

“But, Livvy,” my mom protests, “what about UCLA?”

“What about me?” says Vince.

“Maybe one day, I’ll go to UCLA,” I say. “But I’ve made up my mind—I’m staying in Paris for now. I want to dance here.”

Some small part of me had been expecting that they would be able to talk me out of my decision, that when they got here, my family and Vince would convince me to come home to California tomorrow with them after all. Some part of me had actually been hoping for it. After all, it isn’t going to be easy here. If the guilt doesn’t kill me, the rigorous rehearsal schedule of the Underground might.

“Livvy, when did this happen?” my mom asks me. “How could you audition for a job without even discussing it with us? How could you do this to me?”

My dad intercedes. “Leslie, she’s not doing anything to us. She’s just going after her dream.”

“But I thought your dream was to go to UCLA,” my mom says. The bags full of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts are still in her hands.

“It
was
my dream,” I say. “But my dream changed. I’m a different person than when I left San Diego in September. When I came over here, I was scared, excited, and was having fun, but all I cared about was UCLA. When I sprained my ankle—”

“You sprained your ankle?” my parents ask in unison. Oops, forgot that I hadn’t told them that so they wouldn’t worry.

“Yes, but it’s all better now.” I continue. “When I sprained my ankle, I thought my chances at UCLA were over. I even danced on my ankle before I was supposed to because I was so eager to stay in shape.”

“Oh, Livvy,” my mom clucks in shame. “You know better than that.”

“When I danced on it, I made it even worse,” I admit. “But the day I went to class, a talent scout from the Underground was there. I didn’t even know I was trying out. But my dancing was so good that day because I’d been aching to dance for so many weeks that I felt like all the emotion was pouring out of me. I have to dance just to dance, not as a means to another end. As much as I’d love to be a doctor one day, I don’t know if that’s really what I want to be going for right now.”

My dad and mom look at each other for awhile, and then back at me.

“And what if we had said no?” my mom asks me. “You’re still a kid, you know. You still have to run important life decisions by us.”

“Then I would have had to defy you,” I tell them. “But I would never want to do that. So I can stay? You’re not mad?”

“Of course not,” my dad says. “This is amazing news. I’m thrilled for you!”

“Oh, Livvy, I’ve been going crazy without you,” my mom admits, hugging me. “And I do want you to go to college—that’s why we supported your decision to come to Paris.” Here she looks up at my dad, then back at me.

My dad has tears in his eyes. “You’re the best daughter we ever could have asked for,” he says, his voice breaking. “When you love someone, you have to let them go when the time comes. You deserve this, Livvy. You’ve worked so hard.”

“I’ll miss you so much, Livvy!” my mom says through her tears.

I hug them both, not wanting to let them go. Behind us, Vince clears his throat.

I throw myself into his arms next and sob into his chest. “I’m so sorry, Vince,” I say, meaning it.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds me for a long time.

“So you can cancel my ticket?” I ask finally.

“Of course,” my mom says, smoothing my hair. “Just let us know when our superstar ballerina wants to come home for a visit. We never did get your hair fixed, did we? Maybe you can do that when you come home.”

“I was thinking I might go back to my natural color,” I tell my mom. “I don’t know if I want to be a blonde anymore.”

She’s taken aback. “Livvy, I’ve had about enough for one morning. Let’s just take one thing at a time.”

My dad rolls his eyes at her. “Who’s ready to open some presents?”

I lead them into the living room and help them set their gifts under the tree.

“Elise made coffee and tea for you guys,” I say. “It’s all in the kitchen. I’ll have her bring it out before she leaves for the holiday.”

I hesitate, hating to disappoint them again, but remembering PJ. If she needs me, I have to be there.

“I have to run out for awhile,” I tell them, making a break for the door. “Don’t open presents until I get back!”

Zack and Jay meet me outside Alex’s apartment building. When I get there, I realize that in all the drama of the past few weeks I haven’t seen my friends in quite awhile. I realize how happy I am to be here, despite whatever the creepy circumstances are. I need my new friends right now, to reassure me, to make me feel like Paris is home.

“What’s going on, you guys?” I ask Zack and Jay as we climb the stairs to Alex’s homestay.

“PJ ran away,” Zack says, before Jay can answer. “She left Paris, and we don’t know where she went, or why she ran.”

 

Alex looks thin and gaunt she answers the door and shows us into her bedroom. She curls up on her windowsill, practically drowning in her bulky sweat. I can imagine her sitting here before we buzzed up, her ears plugged into her fancy Bose headphones that are hanging around her neck now, smoking and ashing out the window. Marithe has strict rules about smoking inside the apartment—Alex is well aware that this is way against the rules. But the stink of the room tells me that she’s been smoking in here all morning.

I grab her iPod to see what she’s been listening to.

“Edith Piaf? Jeez, Alex, what happened?”

Her headphones, combined with the oversized hooded sweatshirt she’s got on, make her look sort of tough. She’s got a haggard look on her face, like she’s seen it all in her short life so far. It’s unlike Alex to be so dejected.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Alex smirks at us. “Nothing happened. I’m just feeling sick lately.”

“It’s freezing in here,” Jay comments, and I realize that whatever is wrong with Alex, it’s not very sensitive of us to bring Jay into it—she barely knows him

“Jay, I’m really sorry,” I say hurriedly. “Can you give us a minute alone with Alex?”

“Sure,” Jay says gamely, though I know he’s impatient to get down to business.

Zack plops down next to Alex, closing the open window behind her. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”

Alex shrugs. “Not much, as you can see.”

I look around her room. The scene is grisly. There’s a fetid, rotting-food smell emanating from under the bed. Clothes are strewn everywhere, empty cartons and cigarette packages that were tossed near the waste basket but did not quite make it inside.

“Alex, are you ok?” I ask, suddenly aware that we’ve found Alex in the midst of a deep depression. Her face is thin and her eyes cloudy with undisclosed troubles.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. “What brings you here to disturb my tragic malaise, anyway?”

“You can tell us, Alex,” I coax her.

“Is it about George?” Zack asks, gently pushing her face towards his. “Did something happen?

“Ha!” Alex snarls. “He wishes.”

“Is it because your mom didn’t come to Paris for a visit?” I ask.

“No! I told her not to come. I hate her.”

Zack and I exchange a look, thinking that maybe we should come back later, when Alex is feeling better. Poking out from the piles of magazines on Alex’s nightstand is an envelope whose return address is clearly that of the Programme Americaine. That must be her Final Comp grade. Is Alex depressed over how she did on the test? Or is it something worse?

Jay knocks on the door. “Can I come back yet?” he asks.

“Yes,” Alex calls to him. “It’s fine.”

Jay comes back in, and we tell him to show Alex the postcard he got from PJ so early this morning.

“We think she ran away; that she’s in some sort of trouble.”

Alex snorts. “Right. The only trouble with PJ is that she’s a giant
dork
,” she says meanly. “After all this time, haven’t you guys learned at least that much?”

“Alex!” I scold. “We’re all really worried about her. And she is
not
a dork.”

“Alex,” Jay interjects. “You know France better than any of us. If we have any chance of tracking PJ down, of helping her with whatever happened to her, you are it. You out of
everyone
on the program can make this happen.”

“Why do you say that?” Alex asks, perking up just slightly.

“That’s just the kind of girl you are,” Jay says. “I barely know you and I can see that whatever Alex wants, Alex gets. Am I wrong?”

Alex sighs heavily and puts her head in her hands.

“You are wrong,” she corrects him. “But that doesn’t matter. You need me, so I’ll help you. I hate to say it, but as you can see, I obviously have nothing better to do. Isn’t that funny? All these plans, and none of them worked out how I thought they would.”

Jay hugs Alex, then Zack, then me. “Alright!” he exclaims. “I knew you’d come through!”

“Let’s do this,” Alex says determinedly. “She couldn’t have gotten to Paris without me. I can definitely get her back here.”

“What?” we ask, confused.

“I’ll explain another time,” Alex brushes us off. “Let’s just work on finding crazy old PJ, wherever that girl might be. At least this gives me something to do since I stupidly told my mom not to come to Paris. What was I thinking? Christmas is going to be so
boring
without her.”

“God,” Zack says, his eyes resting on mine. “If you’d told me four months ago, I’d be spending Christmas Day sitting in a stinky bedroom plotting how to bring a Vermont hippie back to Paris, I’d have told you to eat me.”

“That’s how Paris works,” Jay says. “You never know how things are going to turn out.”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Haven’t you learned that, Zack?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ve learned,” Zack says. “I’ve learned that a pretty girl who smells as bad as you do right now is a girl in distress. Why don’t you take a shower? It’s Christmas, darling. Do it for us.”

Alex glares at Zack. “I do not smell anything but fabulous.”

“Girl, you smell like a pack of cigarettes threw up on you.” Jay’s face is solemn, but his eyes sparkle.

“You guys,” I say. “What are you doing for Christmas morning?”

“My family’s still sleeping,” Zack says.

“Mine, too,” Alex says.

“Mine didn’t go to bed till it was light out,” Jay agrees.

“Weird tradition, huh?” I say. “Staying up all night on Christmas. You guys want to come over and meet my parents? And Brian? And Vince? We could open presents, be together the way Americans are on Christmas. Before the sun goes down again.” Paris is so much farther north than San Diego. Right now, on the shortest days of the year, the dusk settles before four P.M. “And we could figure out how to find PJ.”

“Would we ever!” Zack shrieks. “We finally get to see Prince Charming!” he remembers this morning, and his eyes widen. “Oh, yes, Livvy. I
definitely
want to come over. I’ve been dying to meet Vince!”

“Is there gonna be food?” Jay asks.

“Yes,” I laugh. “Elise made breakfast before she left to spend the day with her own family. There’s plenty. Do you want to join us?”

“Definitely. I’m starved.”

We all look at Alex. “Your real family is going to be there? And your boyfriend?” she asks me.