After some much-needed rest on Saturday, I’m excited to be officially out on the town. This excursion was optional, and surprisingly few people from my dorm signed up.
“Hard pass” was Audrey’s answer when I asked if she was going. Anouk is off catching up with friends she made last year, and Lucy’s parents are in town from Manchester for the weekend. So the field trip is just me and a few other students I don’t know.
We walked along the riverbank to get here, mingling with the weekend crowds and tourists, to the tune of an enchanting melody played by an accordionist, an older man wearing a vest and a khaki beret. There were little green kiosks all along the way, and I peeked at the vintage books and antique posters in the stalls, which gave off a delicious whiff of old printed paper.
Inside, we’re led toward the Impressionists floor by Max and émilie, two of the student instructors at school, who are only a couple of years older than me. I wonder if they actually wanted to join us or just got stuck with chaperoning duties. It doesn’t matter anyway; as soon as we arrive in the Degas area, everyone scatters to explore at their own pace.
When I was little, Grandma Joan, Mom, and I would make annual trips to the Met in New York City, and we’d always stop by to admire The Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer, Degas’s famous sculpture of Marie van Goethem, a Belgian ballerina. The sculpture was reproduced after his death, and the different versions are exhibited around the world, but, from what I’ve heard, the original wax one is right here in the Musée d’Orsay. If the family legend about my great-great-great-grandmother is true, she and Marie van Goethem would have been around the same age. They probably danced in the same ballet, or posed for the same paintings. Isn’t that wild? I know, I know. If it’s true.
I make my way through the collection, stopping at each painting for several minutes, taking in every detail: Degas’s ethereal combination of pastel colors, the delicate grace he conveys with just a few quick lines, and the spirited movement of his dancers—which proves he was drawing right there in the same room. I snap a picture of each with my phone, so I can look at them again later. After Dancers in Blue, I move on to The Star, then to Seated Dancer. I lean forward to scrutinize the dancer’s face when I sense a presence behind me.
“Excuse me, Mademoiselle. You’re not supposed to get so close to the art. Please step back.”
My heart leaps to my throat and I jerk away, ready to apologize, when I realize I know that voice and that oh-so-cute accent.
“Louis?” I say, turning to face him.
“Salut,” he says with a wide smile.
Louis leans in to give me la bise, and for one crazed moment I think he is going to kiss me, like really kiss me. I want it to happen more than I would ever admit out loud. My eyes grow wide and a grin takes over my face, until I realize that he’s just greeting me like he would anyone else. I’m only slightly awkward as we touch cheeks and pull back.
“Are you following me?” I mean it as a joke, of course, but it comes out totally tongue-tied.
Louis shakes his head. “That’s my best friend, over there.” He points his chin toward Max, the student instructor. “He’s been working nonstop since the start of the program, so I figured I’d come by to hang out with him.”
“Oh!” I say, probably sounding too excited. “So that’s who you were waiting for the other day?”
“Well, hmm…” Louis looks over to Max and émilie. She frowns back at us. “I didn’t know his girlfriend would be here,” Louis says, pulling away. “Maybe I should leave them alone.”
I take it to mean that he’s not staying. “So, I’ll see you around?” I ask, trying to sound upbeat.
Louis pauses, then says, “I feel like I should stay with you, just in case you get in trouble.”
“In trouble for what?”
“I don’t know…You looked like you were very close to stealing this painting.”
“True. I am going to need your help if I get arrested and thrown in jail for extra art appreciation.”
“Exactement,” Louis says seriously. “So, shall we?”
I look back and notice that our chaperones have moved on to another room. They told us at the start that we were free to do whatever we wanted, and leave whenever, so I’m going to take them up on it. Louis and I methodically make our way to each painting and sculpture, and I stop to read the explanation card every time.
“You’re really into this guy, huh,” Louis comments as we get near the end. “I guess you kind of have to be.”