Chapter 10
The Uber pulls up, but I refuse to get in until Tyler tells me where he plans to go.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “We’re going to the Pont Alexandre.” He opens the car door, then turns back to glance at me. “Come on. Don’t you want to see the Eiffel Tower?”
I feel a flash of excitement. Item number three on my list! I can’t help but smile as I get into the Uber behind Tyler, and the driver wordlessly whisks us off.
“Why do you want to see the Eiffel Tower from that bridge specifically?” Tyler asks as we zip through the dark Paris streets.
“Someone told me it’s the best place to see the tower from,” I say.
That someone was Mom. She said that on their honeymoon, she and Dad had gone to all the bridges over the Seine, and the Pont Alexandre III was optimal. Not too close, not too far, and it offered a perfectly panoramic view of Paris’s most famous landmark.
Tyler nods. “Okey-dokey.”
I give him side-eye; I can never tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. “Aren’t you going to say something about how the Eiffel Tower is way overrated?”
Tyler gives me a slightly offended grimace. “Why would I say that? The Eiffel Tower is definitely not overrated.”
“You think?” I say. “That surprises me. I’d think the Eiffel Tower was too …” I trail off.
“Too what?”
“… I don’t know, too obvious for you.”
“Hey, I like some obvious things,” he says, his eyes glinting in the streetlights shining through the car window. “Your beret was obvious, but I liked that.”
I turn to him, scowling. “You did not like my beret.”
“Yes, I did!”
“You roasted me for it within an inch of my life.”
“So? That doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. Besides, you roasted me back.”
I guess he did hear my dix joke. I let out a cackle. “In that case, I’m whipping it back out,” I say, taking the beret from my tote bag and putting it back on my head. “Is it perfectly jaunty?”
Tyler looks over at me and squints. “Wait, let me fix it.”
He reaches over and turns my hat a few degrees to the side. He tucks part of my bangs under the brim, and lets half of them hang down. The focused expression on his face is back—the same as when he was appreciating paintings in the Louvre.
“Okay, now it’s perfectly jaunty,” he says, his smile returning. “But I’ll have to be extra vigilant. That thing is a scammer magnet.”
“Hey,” I say, shoving him lightly, “it’s way too soon to joke about my scammer.”
I hold up my wrist to show him my LONDON BOY bracelet.
Tyler winces. “Dude, you’re still wearing that thing? You should throw it into the Seine.”
I shrug. “I like how it goes with my other bracelet. Besides, it’s not like I’m in a position to throw away gifts from cute guys.”
“What are you talking about?” asks Tyler, sounding a little angry. “That guy wasn’t cute enough for you. I’m sure tons of guys are into you.”
I’m about to tell him how wrong he is—how not everyone gets asked out by every male-attracted member of the LGBTQIA+ Alliance within a month of arriving at school the way he did—but I’m distracted by something else.
I look at Tyler, confused. “I thought you said you didn’t see him.”
“See who?”
“The scammer.”
“I—I didn’t,” stammers Tyler. “I just mean that if he steals from tourists, he’s obviously a giant loser. And even though you have a bad sense of direction and you haven’t, like, been particularly nice to me, you definitely deserve a whole lot better than a loser.”
Tyler clears his throat. It’s weird to see him lose composure. He’s fidgeting, tugging at a hank of hair on the back of his head, and then he releases a fake-sounding cough into his fist.
“Uh, thanks?” I say, still confused.
Before I can read too much into what it all means, the Uber comes to a stop. Tyler and I thank the driver, and I get out of the car—and I gasp. It’s as if a curtain has parted and I can see all of Paris at once. We’re facing the Seine River.
Whoa.
It’s not every day that the reality of a thing beats the expectation—especially if your imagination is as wild as mine is—so when it happens, you have to stop and take it all in.
There’s Notre-Dame Cathedral, sprawling and proud and grand in the moonlight.
All around us, there is a sea of gabled rooftops straight out of a fantasy land.
And then, in the distance, the Eiffel Tower blazing like a glorious torch.
The ripples of the Seine’s surface reflect every light of the city.
It’s breathtaking—literally, all the air escapes my lungs. I manage to gasp out, “This is better than the movies.”
“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “Paris really delivers on the views. No notes.”
We walk in silence onto the bridge, Tyler leading the way.
My heart starts to thrum. I think of Mom and Dad on this bridge in their photo, and I feel a small lump in my throat.
I look around for the bench where they might have been sitting, admiring the otherworldly little lamps and golden figures of winged horses and warrior gods perched atop ornate columns.
This bridge is a work of art itself. I can’t wait to tell Mom I was here.
At the center of the bridge, I stop and gawk at the Eiffel Tower, which is lit up dramatically. Tyler checks his phone, and I glance at his screen, too. The time is 11:59 p.m.
Tyler grins at me. “Okay, it should be starting any second now.”
“What should?” I ask.
Suddenly, the Eiffel Tower goes totally dark. It disappears against the black sky.
“Hey, where did it—”
Then, suddenly, from top to bottom, the Eiffel Tower is glittering. It’s as if a million flashing fireflies decided to swarm in an Eiffel Tower–shaped formation. Little golden lights from every metal beam of the structure shoot off sparkles, shining like jewels.
“I DIDN’T KNOW IT DID THAT!” I scream, grabbing the railing and jumping up and down.
Tyler lets out a whoop. “I did know it did that, but still!” he shouts.
I laugh as the Eiffel Tower continues to sparkle and shimmer.
It’s like the Fourth of July. It’s like New Year’s Eve.
Fireworks, but silent. The other people standing on our bridge—and the people standing on the other bridges spanning the Seine—cheer and point and snap pictures.
Every nerve in my body is firing with joy.
I wish I had my phone, but I see Tyler taking photos.
I shake my head, mesmerized by the golden lights. “How does this exist? What is this, even?”
“The Eiffel Tower sparkles like that every hour on the hour until midnight,” Tyler says proudly. “I thought it would be cool to see.”
“It is cool,” I tell him. “Very.”
I steal a glance at Tyler. He’s not watching the tower. He’s watching me watching the tower. And his eyes are twinkling like the surface of the water. There’s a tiny, barely perceptible smile on his lips. But when he catches me looking, he glances away.
Weird.
I look back at the Eiffel Tower. It’s not glittering from top to bottom anymore. It’s still lit up and pretty, but the show’s over. I feel a little deflated.
“So!” I pipe up in a fake, forced-cheery voice. “That was better than the Mona Lisa.”
Tyler startles, as if shaken awake from deep sleep. He runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s not ugly,” he says, sounding casual.
There he goes again—pretending not to be impressed, pretending not to care.
I remember how excited he seemed a moment ago, when he was taking photos like the rest of the tourists.
“Can you send me those pictures you took?” I ask him.
I want to send one to Mom eventually—to tell her I made it to her and Dad’s special place.
I feel a lump in my throat again. I can’t believe my parents were right here, in this magical spot.
Another wave of sadness washes over me as I realize that the photo of Mom and Dad on this bridge is gone, along with all the other photos on my phone.
Or maybe they’re saved to the cloud? I don’t even know, and suddenly I sort of feel like crying again.
Ugh. NOT IN FRONT OF TYLER, I tell myself sternly.
“Sure,” Tyler says, seemingly unaware of all my emotions as he scrolls through his phone. “I’ll text it now—”
“I don’t have my phone,” I remind him flatly. I imagine evil thief Clark and his evil thief brother randomly getting pics of the Eiffel Tower at midnight on my phone and cracking up about it.
“Oh. Right,” Tyler says, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’ll email them to you, then. I have your Sandy Springs High School address.”
“Oh, and can you cc my friend Ashley?” I want my bestie to be part of this moment. Of course, she’s going to think it’s totally weird to get an email from Tyler Travers with pictures of the Eiffel Tower, but I’ll explain everything to her later. “Her name is Ashley Al—”
“Ashley Alford,” he finishes for me. “I know. That super stylish girl you’re always hanging out with, right?”
I nod. I’m a little stunned that Tyler has any idea who I spend my time with. But I guess Ashley draws a lot of attention with her outfits—she’s split on whether she wants to be secretary of state or the next Christian Siriano when she grows up, both of which seem equally possible for her.
“Okay, sent!” Tyler announces with a big, relaxed grin, tapping his phone.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling lost and empty without my phone.
Or maybe it’s just my stomach that’s empty?
I hear it growl, and I realize I haven’t eaten a thing since those measly spoonfuls of French onion soup hours ago.
I’m ravenous. “Sorry,” I add, patting my still-growling stomach. “I know we already ate and all, but …”
“Are you kidding?” Tyler says, sliding his phone back into his jeans pocket. “I am starving.”
“You are?” I ask, blinking at him. Then I remember that he couldn’t stop himself from pulling out a sandwich during what was supposed to be our glorious reunion two months ago.
“Aren’t you?” Tyler says. “I could totally do a second dinner. Want to grab a bite?”
I want to say no, to pretend like I don’t care about anything, either. To tell Tyler I’m done with this night. But now that Tyler has suggested getting food, I can’t think of anything else. Maybe we could get crêpes. Or a buttery croissant. Mmm …
“Where would we even go?” I ask, glancing around. “What’s open after midnight?”
Tyler smirks. “This is Paris. What isn’t open after midnight?”