Hey, y'all! Here's chapter 2... sorry it took so long, but I was away. So... um, please keep reading, and tell your friends about it! And please please please vote, it would mean so much! i really want to see more than 4 votes for this story by next week, please! Thanks so much, and comment! I don't have any comments and it makes me so sad... please comment, guys, even if it's to tell me that this sucks. Really. I mean it. Just don't be too harsh... but i can take critique, i promise. Thanks so much!!
<3 vb123321
P.S. pic of Josh --------------------->
Chapter Two
♥ Astrid ♥
Airplanes in general are boring. Unless you’re flying them yourself. Which I wasn’t, as I sat slumped in a seat on a plane flying for France. France! Of all the countries I could be sent to…I wasn’t really the Paris sort of girl; personally I didn’t care about the big city stuff. And did France even have French fries? I hadn’t thought to ask anyone before I left.
Pity.
I glanced across the aisle to where Josh was sitting, his head back and eyes closed, earphones snaking out of his ears. Most likely asleep. As a typical teenage boy, he spent every minute he could asleep. As I should have been. I sighed, staring blankly out the window. The movie in front of me had long since ended, and it had been boring anyway. The flight attendant assumed that since my passport was French that I would enjoy watching a movie in that language.
I was fluent in the French language, and my passport was French as part of my cover, but that wasn’t the point. And people always claim they can spot an American in a crowd? Yeah right. I must have looked the stereotype picture of a teenage American girl so bored it had to be illegal. But maybe that’s just me.
It seemed to take hours – okay, it actually was hours – to finally land in Marseilles. I knew next to nothing about France, but I could tell by the way that the sun was shining that I definitely wanted to get to one of those famous southern beaches. But of course, my first trip to France would be work.
I stepped out of the plane, Josh right behind me. According to our passports, we were cousins or something, visiting France to see relatives. I personally was very glad that Pierre was not a relative. I mean, you can’t date your cousin, can you?
Josh shoved me in the back as we grabbed our bags. “We take a taxi to that hotel right outside of town, remember?” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Josh: two things. (A) I’m not stupid, and (b) does the word photographic memory mean anything to you?”
He grinned, making his blue-green eyes sparkle. A blonde French girl standing behind us gave a little gasp, running her eyes over him. I thought about rolling my eyes again but decided not too. Not worth it, I thought, looking at the girl’s decidedly slutty outfit. Just another French chick. I had the feeling we were going to be meeting a fair number of them.
Josh glanced at her, and then back at me. “Astrid,” he said, in French of course, “now I have to point two things out to you. (A) ‘photographic memory’ is two words, and (b) you don’t have a photographic memory.”
“Partially photographic,” I dismissed. “Big difference.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve heard it. I’m just reminding you. So stop jumping down my throat.”
I glared at him, and then turned to the girl. “If you’re considering asking for his number,” I said coldly, “forget it. He’s a real jerk.”
She looked stunned. I hesitated. Didn’t they talk like that in France or wherever the heck I was? Maybe not. I grabbed a laughing Josh’s hand and tugged him in the direction of the exit. “Oh, shut up,” I muttered.
He was grinning, shaking his head at me. “Jealous, Astrid?”
I stared at him. “Heck, no!”
I mean, I guess Josh was cute, with those sparkling eyes and carefree manner and everything, and truthfully girls were always going after him, but I didn’t think of him like that. He was too… Josh. He’d been my best friend since I was a kid, and I couldn’t imagine it differently.
Now he just laughed, and led the way out. I was immediately hit by a blast of hot air, almost as if I had stepped into a Dutch oven. Or possibly a French oven. I pushed my long dark hair away from my face, gasping for air. “Gosh!” I said, amazed at the intensity of the heat. “It’s August! Isn’t this heat like illegal or something?”
“Astrid,” said Josh, sounding like he was trying to remain patient, “please try to act like you’ve been in France before.”
“Uh… Right.” As if I could forget! I tightened my hold on my bag as a dark-looking figure walked in front of us. “And don’t call me Astrid. It’s Angelique, remember?”
He glanced sideways at me. “Is that French for ‘angel’?” he deadpanned. I raised an eyebrow – where was he going with this?
“Because if so, it’s a complete lie.”
I glared at him.
“But anyway,” he continued quickly, “that goes for you, too. Call me Georges.”
I grinned. “Zhorzh,” I drawled, over-enunciating the French sound of his name; in other words, deliberately annoying him.
“Idiot,” Josh muttered.
“Where to now?” I asked, changing the subject.
“That hotel, remember?” Josh was rolling his eyes again. It really didn’t become him. And it was annoying.
“Yeah, I remember,” I said grumpily. “Now can we move?”
He stepped into the street, crossing to the opposite side and staring at a girl who looked suspiciously like a model walking down the street. I sighed. “Josh. I mean, Georges.” I even tapped my foot to emphasize my annoyance, something I hadn’t done since, uh, three years ago. Okay, last week, but you get my point.
He turned back to me. “Right. Sorry.” He glanced over my shoulder and I snapped my fingers in front of his nose. He looked down at me. “Really, Astrid, uh, Angelique, I think you are jealous.”
I glared at his smirking face and then said, “Are we or are we not going to find Pierre?”
Josh laughed. “Oh, right,” he mocked. “I forgot about the most important person on Earth. How could I ever accuse you of jealousy, mademoiselle? Forgive me, please!” And at my impatient glower, “Well then, what are we waiting for? Move!”
I was offended. “Who you telling to move, chico? Who was it that was just staring at some blonde chick walking down the street with next to nothing on? And yes, I know that was Spanish, don’t push it!”
He laughed again, pushing me in front of him and forcing me to walk. “Right, well, now it can be your turn to stare at Mr. Beautiful once we find Pierre, okay? I can even ask him to take his shirt off for you, if you want… then again, it’s so freaking hot he might just anyway.”
I huffed, walking a little faster. “Why don’t you do the world a favor and shut up?” I glowered at him. “No one asked you anyway. Don’t say it!” I added sharply as he opened his mouth.
Josh looked innocently at me. “Say what?” he asked, fooling a grand total of nobody. He grinned at me, and then stepped up to the curb of the sidewalk. “Now… the question is, do we risk a taxi?”
Fair enough question. Take it from me, taxis can be deadly. I mean, the drivers anyway. The oldest trick in the book is to grab someone while pretending to be a taxi driver. So honestly, I wasn’t looking forward to a ride in one of them. I sighed, saying, “Is that our only option?”
He shrugged. “Well, what’re we supposed to do?”
“We can call Pierre,” I suggested, hoping I didn’t sound too eager. Josh grinned at me but didn’t say anything. “It’s our only other option,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “I suppose. You got his number?”
I almost blushed, but caught myself in time. Josh smirked at me, and I glared at him. “Actually, no, I don’t. Anyway, he has a different phone for this assignment. Stupid idea,” I muttered.
Josh exhaled in a mock-weary sort of way. “Whatever. Guess we’ll have to walk, then.” He didn’t look to happy about it, and I wasn’t either. I glowered at the sidewalk.
“Do they have bike rentals or something in this dang place?” I demanded, glaring at a passing woman who gave me a startled look.
He chuckled. “We could always call a helicopter for you,” he said mockingly.
“I’m serious!” I persisted. “Why should we walk like three miles? Can we please just risk the freaking taxi? I am begging you!” I wasn’t, really, but I didn’t want to walk three miles in this blazing heat if I could possibly help it. To make matters worse, we both had backpacks. And it was definitely more than three miles. “Think about it… air-conditioned cab… Come on, Josh…”
“Fine,” he relented. “Just this once; and please don’t do anything stupid. And for the last time, it’s Georges.” I grinned, and patted the pocket of my jeans.
“Have this, will shoot,” I chirped. “I’m surprised it didn’t show up on the airport screening.” I shrugged. “Guess Delta knows its stuff.”
Josh rolled his eyes. Again. “Well, duh,” he said annoyingly, and then waved down a bright yellow taxi. “Green Palm Hotel, 732 Chêne Boulevard, s’il vous plait.”
I looked over the cab as I opened the door. “Jaune. Yellow. Can we get more original in our color schemes, France?” I muttered. Something about yellow taxi cabs really annoyed me. The driver gave me an affronted look and Josh smothered his laughter as we climbed in.
I was glad I took the taxi. It was, as I expected, loads more than three miles. The ride took probably fifteen minutes, but it felt like at least three hours. Honestly, France – well, at least Marseilles – is not that exciting of a place. The same old stores and malls and even a McDonald’s… with French labels, of course. I pretty much zoned out until we reached the Green Palm Hotel. Or, really, Le Vert Palmier Hotel, seeing as we were in France.
Josh glanced at me as we stepped out. “Um… got any money?” he asked, gesturing to the cabby.
I grimaced. “Negative.”
We looked at each other, and then started laughing. It was all so dumb. We came to France with no money and no means of transportation? I got control of myself, and said, “Wait here, maybe I can find Pierre.”
Josh shrugged, digging in his pocket. “Okay… wait. I found some.” Looking relieved, he handed a few whatever-the-currency-is-here to the aggravated-looking cabby, apologizing quickly. I smirked, and turned to the hotel. It actually looked fairly well-kempt, with a cute little garden out front, and a few trees surrounding the tiny courtyard. I glanced at Josh.
“Looks okay,” he said, shrugging. He pushed open the white doors and stepped into an immaculate lobby. The person at the front desk was a twenty-year-old girl who straightened visibly as Josh came towards her. I tried to hide a smirk, and I was pretty sure I failed. Miserably.
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” she said, smiling sweetly at him while glaring daggers at me through the corner of her eye. “What will it be for you?”
Josh’s face broke into a dazzling smile – that is, she thought so anyway. I couldn’t care less. I cleared my throat, and hissed at him, “Too old.” He grinned, and ignored me, to my annoyance. I mean, hey, I had an honest point. She had at least three years on him. Plus she was French. And a blonde.
“Merci, mademoiselle, I have an apartment with un ami here. We–” he gestured at himself and I “– are sharing it with him.”
“Oh?” Her gaze grew colder as her eyes flicked over me. “And who would that be?”
“Uh…” Josh froze up under her laser-like glare. Wow, I could take some lessons from this girl.
I stepped in for Josh. “He’s registered under Monsieur Pierre leVert,” I said, striving not to sound amused. I think I failed. Again.
She gave me an wintery look. I didn’t think it was humanly possible for anyone but I do that. I gave the girl her own sweet smile back.
“Room 12B, fourth floor,” she snapped.
“Merci, mon cher,” I said politely, wiggling my fingers in a wave as I pulled Josh away. If looks could kill, I would be pushing up the daisies right now. I looked back at her, slightly confused. Did I get my French wrong? It was possibly that I called her a tank. Char, cher, little difference there.
I shrugged it off as we stopped in front of shining elevators. I gulped slightly. “Uh, Josh, can we take the stairs, please?” I asked as casually as I could.
He glanced at me, smirking. “Right,” he said, “I forgot your phobia of elevators.”
I glared at him. “It’s called claustrophobia, smarty,” I snapped. “I just don’t like closed spaces. And the movement of the elevator. It makes me feel sick. And…”
Josh put his hands up in surrender, laughing. “All right, all right,” he agreed. “We take the stairs. Come on, then.”
The stairs, admittedly, were not as nice as the elevators, but I felt more at ease. Besides, elevators are dangerous. What if we got stuck? That was my worst nightmare. We stopped at the fourth floor, stepping into the pristine, silent hallway.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was intoxicating: a big empty space just right for doing something stupid. So I obliged, running and doing a cartwheel through the hall. Well, really, attempting to do a cartwheel. I crashed on the floor, looking up groggily to see someone standing over me. He had come out of the door which I had landed near.
“What,” he said, irked, “don’t you understand about silence is golden?”
I looked up into deep green eyes in a tanned face. My breathing quickened. I grinned crookedly at him.
“Yoodles, Pierre,” I said cockily. “Silence is made to be broken, anyway.”
He sighed, running a hand through dark tousled hair. “Can you try to be mature?” he asked. “And I really don’t think French people say ‘yoodles’, whatever the heck that’s supposed to mean. I pity you, Josh,” Pierre added as a laughing Josh came into view.
“I don’t,” he said, grinning. “Makes for some comic relief in my life.”
I glared at him. “Very funny.” I sat up, holding up my hand. “Help me up?” I looked at Pierre, who rolled his eyes, reaching for my hand. Thrills of pleasure ran up my arm at his touch, but I kept my face straight. It was something I’d been trained to do and I couldn’t help being glad for it right now.
Josh followed me into the apartment. I sighed in pleasure. “Thank goodness this is air-conditioned,” I said blissfully, flopping down on the bed. “I could almost live here.”
“You will be living here,” Josh pointed out in his usual annoying manner. I rolled my eyes.
“You know what I mean.” He smirked, and I stuck my tongue out at him.
Pierre pulled a Gatorade from the mini fridge in the adjoining room and joined us. His green eyes were half-amused, half-irritated. “When you two children are done…”
I straightened up immediately, saluting in his direction. “Of course, sir!” I said briskly. “Von Shauff, reporting for duty, sir!”
He rolled his eyes, swirling the Gatorade in the bottle he held. “Grow up, Astrid,” he said, but smiled crookedly, making my heart flutter slightly. I smiled back at him and then stretched out on the bed.
“So what’s going on, Pierre? Why the heck were we dragged to some godforsaken place in who-knows-where?” I asked, putting my arms under my head for maximum comfort.
The eye rolls from the boys were getting extremely irritating. “It’s France,” Pierre pointed out, “not some godforsaken place.”
I rolled my eyes back at him. “Yeah, I know. But why are we here, anyway?”
Pierre looked over at Josh, drinking more Gatorade. “Did Young tell you nothing?” Like me, he wasn’t one to hide the contempt he felt for the head of the Delta association in New Jersey.
Josh shrugged. “A bit about this Decrioux guy and some drug dealing group,” he said, sinking down on a chair. “Not much.”
Pierre sighed, and looked over at me. “Seriously?” He shrugged. “All right. I’ll fill you in.”