PROLOGUE:
I guess I'm not sure how I should tell this story. My story. My story of growing up and of turning the corner between childhood and adulthood. It happened a long time ago, but even now, when I think about it, my heart stands still. A bit of nostalgia takes me back to that sweet night in Paris, where I lost my virginity but kept something even more precious – the ability to wish on a star and believe it will come true.
******
CHAPTER ONE: PLANNING THE TRIP
I have to start before that night. I have to start somewhere in my senior year of high school. For everyone who's ever been a senior, you probably recall the feeling. It's intoxicating. You're the big fish in the small pond, you have everything to live for and nothing to lose, and the biggest stress on your mind is passing finals. But there was more. Not only had I come down with a bad case of senioritis, I was also sick in love.
I was in love with my best friend. It sounds romantic, doesn't it? I had fantasy after fantasy of the two of us going out on Friday night and somehow ending the night in each other's arms. I must have worked out a hundred ways that one of us could make 'the move' and change our relationship forever. Reality, of course, was much different. The reality was that even though we were each other's 'on-call' Friday and Saturday night dates, the most romantic they ever got was heading to the mostly-vacant local pool hall and laughing at each other over a pair of pool cues, playing one 50-cent game after another until curfews sent us home, each evening ending as platonically as the one before.
Dale wasn't a stunning boy toy, nor was I some gorgeous piece of fluff. We were high school students, not models. He was tall, lanky, and more prone to skate hockey than hitting the gym. His light brown hair was cropped short, and his skin was pasty-white under his torn, baggy jeans. I wasn't much better. My long, dark blonde hair was perpetually stuck in a ponytail, and I wore baggy clothes that hid... well, nothing, really. I was skinny and didn't have much of a figure – I was always just Sarah, Plain and Tall. We didn't hang out with the same groups, although we wound up in a lot of the same honors classes together. I'm not even sure now how we met and became friends, but that's irrelevant now, I suppose. What matters is that by our senior year, we were each other's best friend. I talked him into learning tae kwon do with me; he was teaching me how to drive a stick-shift. He helped me with my calculus homework; I would write his essays for English. Hardly a day went by that we didn't talk. My friends were perpetually commenting on how much like a couple we seemed, but I managed to hide my infatuation even from them. They hardly would have respected my secret, let alone understood why I was keeping it a secret in the first place.
About December or so, Everyone – with a capital E, as in "Everyone is doing it" – was talking about senior trips. Some of our friends didn't have the money for trips or were heading someplace blasé like Mexico or a ski resort, but since Dale and I both had jobs and were pretty cheap when it came to 'essentials' like CDs or the latest fashions, we each had a few thousand dollars stashed away that we were truly ready to drop on something big. He proposed Europe. His dad had to take a business trip to Denmark right after graduation, and Dale asked about dozen people to come with him, evenly split between girls and guys. The plan was simple. We would fly into London, tour Europe on our own for a while, check in with his dad, and then lounge around unsupervised for another week or so before coming home.
Of course, I was all for the idea. Like I was going to miss a chance to spend two weeks with Dale! So I put the idea to my father, since my mother would follow his lead if I could get his OK. He hemmed and hawed and called Dale's parents several times before finally assenting, provided there would be other girls along to protect me. At the time, I wasn't sure what they would have protected me from, but that was my father's sole condition. I agreed readily.
I never have told my father that all the other girls backed out when the time came to book the trip, but they did. In retrospect, I don't think any of the adults knew I was the only girl along, but when the tickets were bought, the head count was four guys – Jared, Bryan, Brad, and Dale – and me. We were to leave the Monday after graduation and spend two weeks in Europe, seeing all the sights we could handle and backpacking it from one city to the next. It was the perfect trip. We had money, freedom, innocence, and... at least in my case... love.
*****
CHAPTER TWO: ARRIVING IN LONDON
Dale picked me up bright and early that fateful Monday. I tossed my backpack into the back of his truck and hopped in, bleary-eyed but OH-so-excited. By the time we got to the airport, which was nearly deserted at that time of morning, the gas station coffee had kicked in, and we were both jumpy. We parked his truck in the airport parking lot and scooted inside, where the rest of the guys were waiting at the airport gate for us. We watched and waited impatiently, the guys mostly talking while I stared out the window. Eventually the plane was ready to board.
I remember that Dale walked up next to me as the first- and business-class passengers were called, and I could smell his musky cologne (I had bought it for his birthday that March) hovering around him. I half-closed my eyes to gather the scent, which is part of my life forever.
"You ready?" he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
I looked up at him and smiled.
"I'll never be more ready than I am right now," was my ambivalent answer. "I guess this is it, huh?"
"Yup," he said, smiling back. "I guess it is."
We paused for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts.
"HEY!" Brad's voice cut through my mental fog. I had been dreaming yet again that Dale would give me a hint of something more than friendship. "We're boarding. Y'all comin' or not?"
I never cared for Brad. I never cared for Bryan, either. Jared wasn't bad in his own way, but... oh, I'll get to all that in its own time.
"Yeah, we're comin'," Dale shot back for both of us. We caught up with the other three as they joined the line heading into the walkway.
Takeoff was uneventful, and soon enough, the flight attendants began their slow trek down the aisles, handing out drinks and snacks. Our tickets had given us specific seats on the plane, but since the plane was nearly empty, the guys swapped so they could talk. This meant I had the window, and once the guys got together, I had no one to talk to. I was too excited to really notice, and the flight was a short one – only an hour before we hit JFK for our connection to London.
We made it through the New York airport with minimal problems. We only got lost once before Bryan snagged an attractive female employee to point us in the right direction. Soon enough, we were in the air again. This time, because of the vast number of business passengers traveling coach, the guys didn't get to sit where they wanted. I wound up sitting next to Bryan.
*****
Bryan was an asshole. A womanizing, patronizing, dehumanizing asshole. I never really knew why Dale hung out with him, but who was I to judge his friends? Being stuck next to him for a seven-hour flight over the Atlantic was not what I had in mind. It wasn't what he had in mind, either, and he ignored me completely. When the flight attendant reached us with our lunches, he started chatting her up. Unfortunately, she was one of those perky young flight attendants that give the job its reputation, so she giggled delightedly at this attention from a handsome – yes, Bryan was handsome if you didn't know he was an asshole – young man. I tried not to listen, but snippets of conversation still slipped through. She had to move on, but once she had made her rounds, she came back to inquire if he needed anything and stayed for another five minutes while Bryan flirted obscenely and eyeballed her ample tits. I guess she was flattered, because she brought him a Crown and Coke. I'm not sure why. Apparently she just decided it was irrelevant that he was only 18 and had no intentions of paying for such a drink.
He downed the Coke in about two seconds, and she kept them coming for three or four more rounds before she thought better about giving him any more. He got mad at that, called her a bitch, and then – joy of all joys – turned his attention to me.
"How come women can be such bitches?" he snarled drunkenly. "How come they always just tease? I bet you're like that, aren't you? Do you give it up?"
I tried to ignore him, but he wasn't having it.
"Come on, baby," he crooned, apparently realizing he might have come off a bit rough. "You wanna piece of this, doncha?"
"Bryan...," I began, not sure how to continue, "you're drunk."
"Naaaaaaahhhh," he drawled, "the only problem I got right now is this."
He motioned with his right hand to his pants, which were bulging.
I rolled my eyes.
"Well, take it elsewhere," I said, trying to return to the book I had brought along. "I'm not interested in your problems."
Bryan tried to tug the book out of my hands.
"Come on, baby," he repeated, leaning over, pressing himself against me and talking louder. "You know you want it."
"Bryan! Piss off!" I hissed. "I am NOT interested in you!"
