On the Brink of Paris by Elizabeth Cody Kimmel

me.
    Plus, I couldn’t imagine ANYTHING more important, more inspiring, more legitimately Parisian than visiting the actual home of that genius écrivain , author of the masterpiece Les Misérables , Victor Hugo. It absolutely went without saying that the bona fide home of this Universally Acknowledged Literary Great would be bursting at the seams with gems and nuggets for myMental Pool. Just standing within those four walls, breathing that literary air, would probably inspire me to write the first sentence of my Great Parisian Novel!
    I trotted alongside Charlotte happily, while Janet brought up the rear. But then we found ourselves deviating from the plan.
    Charlotte started to cross the street, yet Bonnie was walking really fast—almost flying, in fact—down the Rue de Turenne. She looked, Dear Readers, like she was on a Mission from God.
    â€œBonnie! Bonnie, it’s this way!” Charlotte called. Janet had caught up with us and was panting and heaving, muttering that we all walked trop vite and we needed to slow down a little and enjoy la vie . But there was no time to stand around gasping for air and listening to Janet itemize her complaints. Bonnie was a full block away and steaming ahead at full speed. If we didn’t take off after her immediately, Bonnie would become Separated from the Group.
    And that was not allowed.
    So we went after her.
    â€œJe need rester!” Janet was calling. “ Je veux Diet Coke….”
    We made up a little ground when Bonnie had to pause at an intersection, but as we got closer, the light changed and she charged on. She seemed to be headingfor the river. But then she made an abrupt turn down a curved street. By the time Charlotte and I reached the spot, we couldn’t see Bonnie at all. We exchanged a quick look, ascertained (on the basis of the garbled fake-French–accented exclamations coming from that direction) that Janet was indeed behind us, then headed down the street where Bonnie had disappeared.
    And came upon a vision.
    It was as if Bonnie had walked right into a fairy tale. Directly in front of her was what looked like a small castle. But REAL. I mean, it put Sleeping Beauty’s Castle to complete and utter shame. There were towers. There were arched windows. There was a massive Gothic doorway. All it lacked was Heath Ledger in a suit of armor atop a white stallion.
    Bonnie was standing in front of the castle looking hypnotized. I know you’re not supposed to disturb people who are sleepwalking, because you might startle them and they might accidentally attack you and yank your ears down below your waist. But I wasn’t sure if the same thing held true for people who stood outside castles looking hypnotized. As a Writer I wanted to know immediately and in great detail what was going through Bonnie’s mind, so I could add it to my Mental Pool. As a Human Being I was slightly freaked.
    The dilemma was solved by Janet, still wheezing andhuffing and muttering about obtaining cold drinks. She marched up to Bonnie and tapped her sharply on the shoulder.
    â€œBonnie. Can we go now, s’il vous plaît ? I have le thirst terrible .”
    Since Bonnie didn’t rear back and swipe off Janet’s head with her metro map, I cautiously approached her.
    â€œUm…Bon? You okay?”
    I have to say she looked okay. She was still staring at the castle, looking all golden and fresh like a daisy in a field. (Ew. Sorry for the oversentimentality.)
    â€œI’m fine, man. I’m phat.”
    Janet made an explosive sound.
    â€œYou’re not FAT, Bonnie. If anyone here needs to cut back a little on the carbs, it’s—”
    â€œWhat IS this place?” I asked, nodding toward the building.
    â€œI used to live here,” Bonnie said. She looked at me with a pleased smile, like she’d just worked out the theory of relativity all by herself, with a crayon on the back of a napkin.
    â€œYou used to live