Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or locations, although I suppose I do own Université Rousseau, which is fictional.

C'EST LA VIE
Chapter 1

Amherst
Barnard
Boston University
Dartmouth
Northwestern
Tufts
University of Chicago
Yale.

I had saved the best for last, my pen lingering over the page as I looped the l and drew out the final upward curve of the e. My first-grade teacher, Ms. Kittleson, used to praise me on my penmanship. I try not to scribble, even during lectures where the teacher talks at breakneck speeds. I write very neatly, very deliberately. I love the sight of a well-organized set of notes, all in order with headlines and sub-headlines and bullet points and lists.

Anna would think I'm crazy. I'm not. I just take pride in my work.

Carefully, I drew a tiny star next to Yale, marking it on paper as my number-one choice. Marking it as my top choice in my mind wasn't necessary – that had been sealed for me since my sixteenth birthday.

Anna, Greer, and everyone else I knew had all asked for cars on their sixteenth birthday. I had asked for a trip through the US, for the opportunity to tour all the major colleges and begin my list from there.

Satisfied, I wrote "Final College List (August 22)" at the top of the page, then tore it out of my notebook and slid it into a red folder labeled COLLEGE. Pushing back my chair, I pulled out my lower desk drawer that opened up into a filing cabinet. Once I returned the red folder back to its proper place, I pulled out a different folder with a vivid blue cover and three black words emblazoned across the top that sent a tingle through my skin.

Le Huit.

In the midst of all the madness of junior year, I had carved out special time to work on my application and portfolio for Le Huit (translated into English as The Eight). Le Huit was an international study-abroad program for high school seniors, sponsored by Université Rousseau. Eight students selected from eight different countries spent their last year of high school at the university, studying their area of interest in the heart of the most beautiful city in the world. Paris, France. Université Rousseau received hundreds of applications each year; the competition, I knew, was cutthroat.

But I had been determined, and as I had slipped the final application package into the mail, my hands hadn't trembled a bit.

I had had a chance to visit Paris once before, which I'd deliberately sabotaged in an extremely uncharacteristic fit of childishness. I wasn't about to pass this opportunity up.

May had arrived, bringing with it flowers, sunshine, and a fat package from Université Rousseau in the mail one Monday morning. As thrilled as I had been to see the words Congratulations, Miss Kilbourne! staring up at me in the opening letter, I have to admit – I hadn't been terribly surprised. It had felt like a congratulations well-earned, a validation.

I opened the folder in front of me now, feeling a shiver of anticipation down my spine. I was usually careful about giving myself over to too much emotion, but not now: I let the excitement crash over me in waves. In two days' time, I would be on a plane to Paris.

Brochures, lists, and other various papers lay strewn before me. I was just about to dive in when the phone rang, startling me.

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Shannon?"

"Anna!" I gripped the phone tighter, smiling now. "Hi. How are you?"

"Good. Great. Hey, I was wondering, do you want to come over right now? Mom's not home so Abby and I ordered pizza, but now we're swimming in it. You could stay a little afterwards too."

I hesitated, my eyes lingering on the pile of Le Huit paraphernalia before me. But only for a moment. Anna is my best friend. "Sure," I said. "Give me some time to get ready. I'll be over in ten."

"Great," Anna said. She sounded pleased, which pleased me in turn. "See you soon."

I hung up, pleasantly surprised. Anna and I are close, but we do lead awfully separate lives. I hadn't seen her since the welcome-back lunch we'd had together after she returned from an orchestra summer field trip. She and a few other friends were driving me to the airport when I left, but I hadn't expected to see her before then.

Before leaving, I paused for a moment before my full-length mirror and gave myself a cursory once-over (a habit I'd inadvertently picked up from my mother). I was still dressed from attending an academic achievement banquet earlier in the day – a black A-line skirt and a burgundy camisole underneath a light, summery white cardigan. Anna had made fun of me during our lunch for showing up fresh from a Barnard information session, clad in a pencil skirt and heels. Leaving the top half of my outfit intact, I swapped out the skirt in favor of a pair of dark-wash jeans.

My ears caught the sound of my bedroom clicking open behind me, and I whirled around to see Maria's bright eyes staring up at me. "Where are you going?" she asked, apparently by way of greeting.

I reached for a tube of mascara. "Anna's," I answered, unscrewing the cap and leaning in closer to the mirror to touch up my face. "I might be gone a little late. There are leftovers from last night in the fridge, okay?"

She shrugged. "I guess. Mom just got home. She says that today in culinary class they did custard tarts, and she' s going to make them for us tonight." Maria smiled then, a full, true, twelve-year-old smile.

I didn't even make an attempt at covering up my surprise, a possibly foolishly undiplomatic move. "Mom's home? Already? It's only six o' clock."

My mother spends a lot of time taking classes at either the community center or the local university. Although she no longer works, she doesn't spend her free time at home (she says God did not create her to be a housewife. This I agree with). Often she's at classes or at her various friends' houses. I think they've all joined a book club together. On a typical night, I won't expect her or my father home until well after nine.

I set the tube back down and examined my handiwork in the mirror, wondering if my mascara was too clumpy. Leaning in closer, I flicked away excess mascara. My eyes traveled down to run critically over my clothing; I knew my mother didn't approve of jeans. I threw a longing look at the black skirt I had tossed aside. Should I change, just quickly?

"Are you going to come downstairs? She asked where you were."

Maria's inquisitive voice broke into my thoughts. I shook myself out of my reverie and into action, grabbing my keys and heading for the door. "Come on," I said, taking hold of Maria's shoulders and steering her briskly out into the hallway. "Let me go say hi to Mom. And remind her that even if they're homemade, custard tarts are dessert and you and Tiffany should not be eating them for dinner."

Maria turned back to look at me, scrunching up her face in a grin that reflected something that looked rather like pride. "She bought Chinese food for us too."

Homemade dessert and a store-bought meal. It was an odd combination.

My mother's voice met my ears as soon as Maria and I hit the bottom of the stairs. "Shannon! Where is my darling first-born? I sent Maria up to fetch her but they must just have vaporized, the both of them. Tiffany, would you mind…"

I released my hold on Maria as we stepped into the kitchen, at which point my mother turned around mid-spiel and broke into a smile. "Oh, darling, there you are. And you, too, Maria. Now, girls, egg drop soup? I bought three different types of chicken, I wasn't sure what you would all agree to…by the way, Shannon, darling, what on earth are you doing in denim? Didn't you have a banquet today?"

My mother is a definite "darling" person. Greer's mother is, too. Anna's mother isn't the pet name type at all, which I somewhat appreciate.

"I just changed, Mom," I said, stepping up to the counter. I started helping her unpack the food, continuing to talk as I worked. "Actually, I'm not staying," I added. "Anna invited me over for pizza with her and Abby, so she's expecting me pretty soon."

"Oh, the Stevenson girl?" She removed a few cartons from the bag and opened one of them. The scent of lemon chicken wafted through the kitchen. "Oh, all right, I suppose we'll save a few custard tarts for you, then. Don't you spend quite a lot of time with Anna, though, darling?"

"Well, we've both been busy throughout the summer. She is driving me to the airport in the morning on Monday, though, for," I paused, "Paris."

She looked at me. I smiled.

A moment passed, and she smiled too.

"Right, right, Paris. Par-ee," she said. "Well, darling, I'm glad you finally got the chance. I'll see you tomorrow night at dinner before you leave. Send my love to Anna and her mother."

I smoothed down an imaginary wrinkle in the fabric of my jeans. "Bye, Mom," I said, and kissed her briefly on the cheek as I left.

The walk to Anna's house was short. We were in the middle of summer, meaning that tonight, like all other nights lately, was comfortably warm. As I rang the Stevensons' doorbell and waited, I pushed up the sleeves of my white cotton sweater, vaguely wondering exactly how long I would be required to stay in order to be polite. It wasn't that I didn't want to see Anna, of course not – my mother being home so early in the evening was just such a rare occurrence that I felt as though I should savor it. In particular, her sudden domestic urge to bake pastry delights for her daughters was so out-of-the-ordinary that I felt like I should see it in person, if only out of respect for posterity. It wasn't an event that was likely to happen again anytime soon.

The door flung open and Anna's face, strangely flushed with excitement, greeted me with an ear-to-ear smile. "Shannon! Hi! Come on in." She ushered me inside, closing the door behind me.

I couldn't help but laugh at her odd enthusiasm. "Hi, Anna. Why so excited?"

"Just…." She waved her hands in the air dismissively. "Really good pizza." Then she laughed, too, and took me by the hand as she pulled me along into the Stevensons' living room. "Come on."

I followed her lead, slightly bemused. "Anna, are you – "

"BON VOYAGE!"

An array of happy faces stared out at me from beneath a huge, hand-painted banner stretched out wall-to-wall across the living room. AU REVOIR, SHANNON, the words read.

I gasped and spun around to look at Anna, who was beaming. "You…"

Greer emerged from the small throng, holding a flute of sparkling apple cider in one hand and reaching her other arm out to me, evidently for a hug. I hugged her back. "Oh, Shannon, you couldn't think we'd let you abandon us all for la ville-lumière without a real goodbye to remind you of all the perks of small-town life." She rolled her eyes dramatically and threw her head so that waves of hair cascaded down her back. "Paris! A whole year! Oh, I could just kill you."

I've known Greer for years, and I know she's longing to break free of Stoneybrook. The only comfort our town holds for her is its close proximity to New York City. I know how she feels sometimes.

Laughing, I kissed her on the cheek, because that's Greer's sort of thing, and hugged her again. "And you've all been planning this? For me? I can't believe you, this is wonderful!"

"Oh, yes," said Greer. "It was Anna's idea. I just helped up her round up these unsavory characters," she waved a hand at the group of people assembled in the room, "and threatened them on pain of death into showing up here at five forty-five sharp."

Anna and Greer aren't exactly that close, as Anna goes to Stoneybrook High and Greer and I have been at SDS all our lives. They are friends, though. My schedule is so cluttered with school and extracurriculars that I don't have a great deal of time to spend with my few really close friends. I've ended up forcing them to hang out with me at the same time, and so they've gotten to know each other over the years. I wouldn't call them best friends (I think Anna finds Greer a bit frivolous, and Greer finds Anna a bit dull), but they do get along, at least.

I turned again to Anna and hugged her, too. "Thank you!"

Polly, an old friend whom I slightly drifted apart from in the craziness of junior year, stepped forward. "We're going to miss you, Shannon," she said.

"Oh…I'll miss you, too!" The words came out of my mouth unbidden. I said them because they were expected, but the truth was, I doubted I would miss much about Stoneybrook at all, aside from Anna and Greer. And Tiffany and Maria, of course. I had been looking forward to college since ninth grade; Le Huit offered the exact same kind of escape. I was eager to get away from nearly everything in Stoneybrook, everything right down to the kneesocks of our uniforms.

The party passed in a blur of laughter and music. At around nine, the chorus of goodbyes began as people started filing politely out, no doubt on their way to some party with more excitement (i.e. alcohol). I had long made it clear that I strongly disapproved of junk like that, and besides, Anna would have never allowed it in her mother's house as it was.

Eventually, Greer, Anna and I were all that remained. Greer was splayed across the living couch as though she owned it, one hand pressed against her forehead like a melodramatic B-movie murder victim.

As the last guest left (Sophie, a girl I knew from French Club), she immediately rose and leaned toward me in a confidential manner. "Don't worry, Shannon," she said comfortingly. "This isn't all we've planned for your great farewell."

"It was fabulous!" I protested. It was true, it had been fun – and besides, I could practically feel Anna's forehead crinkling at that. "Honestly, it was so thoughtful of you two. I had a really good time."

Greer waved my words away and continued almost as though I hadn't spoken. "We're going to New York City tomorrow. All day," she announced. "It's your last full day with us! The interior of Anna's living room might not make you very sad to leave Stoneybrook, but the Big Apple will remind you of everything that's good and great and true about the US of A."

I smiled, but in my mind I was doing a rapid run-through of anything I might have scheduled for tomorrow. It was summer, but that didn't mean I still didn't have commitments. And precisely because it was summer, I was away from my usual school year routine and not quite on top of all the events on my calendar as I typically was.

"And if you're wondering if you have any Future Ivy League Alumni meetings to attend or anything, I checked your datebook," Greer added triumphantly, reading my mind as she often did. "You're free. And you're coming!"

I held up one finger. "One thing. I forgot to tell you, but I'm having dinner with my family tomorrow in some fancy Stamford restaurant. It's a farewell thing for me. Eight o' clock."

I hadn't exactly forgotten to tell them. Honestly, a formal family dinner like the one planned for tomorrow was so rare that I hadn't wanted to make too much of a big deal out of it – for fear of jinxing it, and for fear of raising my hopes too high.

"Eight o' clock?" repeated Greer. "Well, I suppose that's all right. The two of us can take the train back at six. You'll be home safe and sound. Well, not necessarily sound." She winked, the kind of move that only Greer could pull off.

At the words "the two of us," I looked at Anna. "Aren't you coming?"

"No," she said, sounding truly regretful. "I'm sorry, Shan. I have an orchestra thing in the middle of the afternoon, so I can't make it. You guys have fun, though."

"That's too bad." I gave her another brief hug, probably the hundredth one of the night. "Thanks for having this party for me. It was wonderful."

She smiled. "No problem. I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Definitely." Greer and I both got to our feet and struggled to the door. Outside on the front doorstep, Greer kissed me airily on the cheek, told me that she would call me early in the morning, and floated away to her car. I walked home, wondering what I would find when I got there.

The driveway was empty as I let myself into the house. I can't say that I was exactly surprised. As I walked inside, I found Tiffany and Maria in the family room, watching some Lifetime movie on TV.

"Let me guess. She has a brain tumor, and her husband is leaving her."

Two heads turned toward me: Tiffany's golden blonde head, that matched Mom's and my own, and Maria's head of wiry auburn curls. "You've been gone awhile," Tiffany commented.

"The pizza dinner turned into a surprise farewell party," I said, leaning against the doorway. "Where's Mom?"

Tiffany shrugged. "She went to the Rossums' house. She said to tell you she left some dessert for you when you got back."

In the kitchen, I found a plate bearing three homemade custard tarts and a handwritten note. Shannon, it read. I'll see you tomorrow at dinner, darling. Viva la Paris! Love, your mother.

I picked up a tart and bit into it. It tasted sweet.