A Summer in Paris by Cynthia Baxter Page A

It’s just not important to me.”
    “Hmmmm. Yes, I can see that that might get to be a real ... what is the word? ‘Pull?’ “
    “What? Oh, I think you mean ‘drag.’ Yes, Alain, it can get to be a real drag.”
    Just then, the man came over to their table. But instead of speaking to her, as she had expected, he addressed Alain. He spoke in a low voice, so quickly that Kristy couldn’t make out what he was saying. She caught a few words and phrases, but nothing that would let her make any sense out of his animated conversation.
    Alain, meanwhile, simply shook his head.
    “No, no,” he said, turning away. “Not today.”
    The man finally went away, looking crestfallen.
    “What was that all about?” she asked.
    “Oh, nothing. That man just wanted some money. He was ... what is the word? Ah. A beggar.” ‘
    “Goodness! He was so well dressed!”
    Alain smiled. “This is Paris, remember?” He took a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. Kristy glanced up at the sky in confusion. She hadn’t noticed that it was getting any brighter.
    Alain, noticing her puzzlement, commented, “I get these terrible headaches sometimes. My eyes are very sensitive.”
    “If you’re not feeling well, Alain, perhaps you should get some rest. I could accompany you home on the métro, if you like.”
    “Oh, no, no. That is all right. Thank you, but I ... I have some errands I must do.”
    Kristy smiled. “This was fun,” she said sincerely. “I really enjoyed having lunch with you today.”
    “Well, then, we must do it again soon. How about tomorrow?”
    With a laugh, she said, “I’d love that, Alain.” Shyly, she added, “I’ve really enjoyed talking with you.”
    Alain frowned. “Kristy, before we go any further, there is something I feel I must tell you.”
    “What, Alain?”
    “I...I am not like you. I am not from a wealthy family. My father, he runs a small store on the outskirts of Paris. My mother, she is happiest when she is just sitting by herself, daydreaming, lost in her own little world. We are just ordinary people, not like you at all.”
    “Oh, Alain!” Kristy cried. “I don’t care about that. I ... I like you just the way you are.” She smiled at him flirtatiously. “So, lunch tomorrow, right?”
    “Lunch tomorrow.” Alain returned with a grin, looking relieved. “Kristy Connor, you are a date!”
    * * * *
    When Kristy returned to the LeBlancs’ house later that afternoon, she was overcome with a mixture of emotions. What a day it had been. First, her exciting courses, opening up a whole new world to her. Then, meeting Alain. She liked him very much, and she was already looking forward to seeing him again.
    But superimposed over her joy over all the good things that had happened to her that day, there was her uncertainty about what she had told Alain. All those stories about how famous she was. Then there were the things she had said about how important her parents were, how much they adored her, how she was so much in demand socially ... why, she had made it sound as if she were the hottest thing around.
    Part of her wanted to toss her head and say, For goodness sake, what Alain doesn’t know won’t hurt him. This is my chance to fly ... to be somebody important.
    But another part of her felt bad for having fibbed—especially to someone as nice, someone as trusting, as Alain. Now she would never really know if he liked her ... or if he liked who he thought she was.
    Her worrying about all that was put aside, however, as she was greeted by Madame LeBlanc, her host “mother.”
    “Ah, Kristy, there you are,” the woman greeted her in French, wearing a big, friendly smile. “Your classes were good?”
    “Very good. I’m already learning so much. Today I learned how to yell at a taxi driver who tried to cheat me on the change.”
    Madame LeBlanc laughed. “That will be very helpful during your stay here, I am sure! Kristy, a package came for you today. It is from