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PROLOGUE
DAPHNE
“I’m moving to Paris.”
“Right, and I just bought a house in London. We should summer together in Spain.” My best friend Xana laughs before biting into her eggs Benedict. I don’t laugh. “Wait,” she says around a half-chewed mouthful of eggs and English muffin once she realizes I’m not joking. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.”
She chews furiously, swallowing the bite. “Paris as in France? The country?”
“One and the same.”
“Why? How?”
“I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I will.” I shrug. “And you know why. The last two years for me have been a nightmare, for lack of a better word. I need a change of scenery, change of pace.” I glance out the window of our favorite brunch café in downtown Chicago. I love this city, always have, but ever since I lost my mom and my fiancé less than six months apart, it feels like this place is a haunted tomb to me. A constant reminder of what my life could have been, what itshouldhave been.
“You can’t just up and move to another country, Daph. People like us don’t move to Paris. It’s one of the most expensive cities in the world and last time I checked, you’re not a secret millionaire.”
“I know but people do it every day.” Her lack of enthusiasm is a little frustrating, but I know it’s only because she’s worried about me. How would I feel if she just up and told me she was moving halfway around the globe tomorrow?
“What people?”
“I don’t know, people! I watchHouse Hunters Internationalall the time and people are constantly relocating to other countries.”
“Yes, those people usually have a job that is already there or transferring them or they have family there to help them.”
“Yeah, well, I can easily find work. I can be an au pair, teach English, work in a pastry shop, or any number of jobs.”
Her face softens a touch when she sees my frustration. “Daph, listen, I’m not trying to be a Debbie downer who rains all over your parade, but running away to Paris isn’t the answer to your issues with Chicago and what you’ve gone through. What about that job at Crestwood Academy you applied for? You were so excited about that opportunity.”
“I haven’t heard from them and it’s been months. They made it sound so promising after that second interview, but then poof”—I make a motion with my hand for emphasis—“nothing.”
“Did you reach out to them?”
“Twice. No response.”
“Well, it is the end of the school year so maybe they’re just swamped. You know how it is being that we’re both teachers and going through it ourselves at the moment. Speaking of, I’ll be spending my Saturday night and all day Sunday grading my freshman biology students’ finals. Fun, fun,” she says sarcastically.
Xana and I met in third grade and have been inseparable ever since. As the always outgoing extrovert, she immediately befriended me. We bonded over the fact that we both thoughtScooby-Doowas a far superior cartoon to any of the Nickelodeon ones. We went to the same college here in Chicago and both studied education.
“I can’t imagine teaching middle schoolers or high schoolers, they’re so intimidating.” I shudder at the thought of feeling constantly judged by teenagers every day.
“Nah.” She laughs. “You just have to know how to handle them. Most of the time they laugh and think I’m being super corny when I try to be cool. Sometimes, though, they can be little shits. I won’t lie. So are you doing tutoring this summer again or summer school?”
Every summer we usually pick one or the other, either tutor privately or teach summer school in our district. It’s not exactly like you make enough teaching at a public school to get by. Most of us have summer jobs to make ends meet.
“Um, about that.” I pick nervously at the wadded-up napkin on the table in front of me. “I may or may not have told the school that I wasn’t coming back after this year.”
“You quit?” Her eyes practically bug out of her head.
“Yeah, I guess that’s the correct way of putting it.”
“Jesus, Daph.” She drops her fork and rubs her forehead. “Why? Did you actually put in your notice and tell the district?”
“Yes, and because I—well, first I thought I was getting that job at Crestwood. They dangled that carrot pretty close so I thought I had it, but then after not hearing anything, I realized that moving to Paris was a better idea anyway.” I smile, really trying to sell the idea to Xana as a thought out plan and not an impulsive decision that I’m very close to regretting.
“Okay, well, I’m sure that your administrator will be more than willing to take you back. You’ve worked at Davis Elementary for three years. They love you there.”
