Inside the building, the hall is very quiet. According to my admission packet, my room is on the third floor, and I pull my suitcase up the curved stairwell one step at a time as Audrey rushes ahead with her duffel.
“I knew it!” she calls down the stairs. When I catch up, she’s standing in front of a door, shaking her head.
A handwritten sign reads: Audrey Chapman & Mia Jenrow
I take a deep breath. Roommates. Ugh.
In the room, two single beds with metal frames are tucked against opposite walls, which are painted in dirty beige. There are also two tiny closets and a small wooden desk barely big enough for a laptop. The window looks onto the building on the other side of the inner courtyard, letting in very little light, even though it’s now the middle of the day. Okay, so it’s not as glamorous as I’d imagined.
Without a word, Audrey pushes past me and claims the bed by the window. She quickly pulls out fresh clothes and makes a dash to the communal showers. I grab a striped tee and a flowy navy skirt and follow suit. Ten minutes later, we’re both back in the room and ready to go when I notice the cardboard tube peeking out of my suitcase. I stop in my tracks.
“What now?” Audrey asks, standing by the door. Our flight delay means that we have to leave immediately if we want to get to orientation in time.
I don’t want to have to explain to her that inside that tube is my favorite painting in the whole wide world. I’d promised myself I would hang it up as soon as I got to Paris. It’ll only take a minute.
“You should go ahead. I…” I pick up the tube and open it. “I need to do something.”
Audrey gives me a funny look, her big brown eyes framed by thick but perfectly curved eyebrows. I’m sure she’s going to run out the door and not speak to me for the rest of the summer. Instead, she retrieves the few pins from the corkboard above the desk and kicks off her shoes. “Quick,” she says.
I’m too shocked to respond as I join her on my bed. A moment later, I smile as I take in the image I’ve woken up to for as long as I can remember: Ballet Rehearsal on Stage, the Edgar Degas painting featuring tulle-clad ballerinas rehearsing on the stage of the Paris Opera. It’s so striking; I can practically sense the tension before the curtain lifts.
“It’s a superstition—” I begin.
Audrey cuts me off. “I get it. I put my ballet clothes on the left side of my body first. The left strap over my shoulder before the right, the left leg in my tights, my left shoe…I can’t dance if I don’t do that.”
I grin. Audrey and I may have never exchanged more than a few icy words before, but this is promising.
“It’s a nice painting,” Audrey admits.
With the Degas dancers watching over me, my Paris adventure can finally begin.
THE SUDDEN KNOCK startles us both. Our bedroom door opens, and in bursts a petite girl with brown skin and long black hair.
“Mia, Audrey, finally!” The girl’s voice is bright, with a strong British accent. “I’m Lucy. Everyone else has left for orientation already, but Anouk and I wanted to wait for you.”
Lucy steps aside, and in walks a very tall, pale, blond girl. Anouk waves and gives us a sweet smile.
I’m overcome with gratitude. These girls are total strangers, and they waited for us—who even does that? “So nice to meet you!”
“Anouk was in the program last year, and she knows Paris really well,” Lucy says, motioning for us to rush out the door. “Come on, let’s go.”
“We’ll take the ten and then the five,” Anouk says in an accent I can’t place. Then, at my confused expression, she adds, “The métro lines.”
“Oh, right!” I say. We might be late, but at least we won’t be lost.
“Oh, and here,” Lucy adds, fishing something out of her tote bag. She pulls out two croissants wrapped in paper napkins along with two mandarins. “We saved you this from breakfast this morning, in case you didn’t have time to grab anything.”
I hadn’t realized how much my stomach was grumbling. “Thank you!” I say, accepting my half from her and immediately biting into the pastry. Whoa. The buttery flavor is delicious, and I wish I had more time to enjoy my first taste of France. “You two are my favorite people in the world right now,” I say in between two mouthfuls.
Audrey mumbles a vague “thanks” as Lucy hands her the food. It’s kind of rude, of course, but Audrey’s not here to make friends.
I wish I could be that disciplined, too, but I like friends. Friends are…nice. I throw my bag over my shoulder and slip on my shoes. “Ready,” I say.