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trip becomes. I absolutely cannot wait to land, walk into the airport, and be surrounded by everything French. And I can’t wait to see Sophie! There’s so much I want to talk to her about! My new house, my friends, the Tower, Nick…I hope she and I will be as close as we used to be. What if she’s more grown up than me and thinks that I’m immature? She seems like the same old funny, kind Sophie in all of her e-mails and letters, though. But you never know. Things change.
    My eyes started feeling really heavy. I checked my watch…almost eleven p.m…. five a.m. Paris time. I stuck the little white pillow under my head and closed my eyes.
     
    I woke up to a familiar rattling noise. My head had slid to the right, just inches from Madame Giroux’s shoulder. I sat up quickly, checking to make sure I hadn’t drooled onher beautiful blouse. It would have been mortifying to say, “That glop on your shirt would be from me. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Well, Miss Charlotte!” Mr. Peckham bellowed, as upbeat as ever. “You’re just in time for breakfast.” He gestured to the plastic tray in front of me.
    I couldn’t believe it when my watch said 2:10 a.m. Had I switched the time? Paris was six hours ahead of Boston. “I wasn’t asleep for three hours, was I?” I asked.
    “Indeed you were! I expect you must have been exhausted from the whirlwind of travel preparations,” Mr. Peckham explained. “That always happens to me.”
    “Boy, I guess I’d better change my watch,” I said. I adjusted the hands and smiled. We only had another hour or so left!
    After finishing his tea, Mr. Peckham peered across the aisle and through the window. “Our long journey’s end is in sight. Perhaps I should visit the loo before we land. Will you excuse me?” Mr. Peckham unbuckled his seatbelt, got to his feet, shook out his legs, and headed to the back of the plane. Loo is such a wonderful word, so much more polite sounding than bathroom , I thought.
    I looked out the window. I could hardly believe it! We’d flown over the entire Atlantic Ocean! I glanced at Madame Giroux to my right. She looked very much like the illustration of Sleeping Beauty—if Sleeping Beauty had an eye mask and ear plugs. I couldn’t help but hope that some of the Parisian sophistication and style would rub off on me this week. Not that I wanted to changecompletely, but a little style never hurt anyone, Katani was fond of saying.
    After Mr. Peckham returned, the pilot made an announcement that we would be landing soon. Madame Giroux awoke and checked her appearance in a small silver compact. “We’re almost there, Charlotte!” She smiled brightly. I nodded my head and squeezed out a tired smile. She was the picture of poise. How could that be? I wondered. Maybe it was the French food that made people so stylish. I, on the other hand, was hot, crumpled, and wrinkly from sitting in such a cramped space for so long. I hoped with all my might I’d be able to remember enough French to communicate with the locals.
    The plane touched down, and for the second time that day I felt as if there were a gazillion butterflies racing around my stomach. I kept telling myself that we were in France, but I could hardly believe it. As we taxied to the gate, blue lights flashed and odd-sounding European sirens wailed as police cars went zooming past our plane.
    “My, my,” Mr. Peckham murmured, trying to see the activity out the window.
    “Do you think there’s a problem at the airport?” I asked.
    “Not to worry,” Madame Giroux reassured us. “Just because you see police at the airport doesn’t necessarily mean there is a real emergency. Paris police are cracking down on all sorts of crimes. Just last week, they arrested a jewel thief trying to smuggle jewels into the country. Theywere waiting for him in the terminal when he got off the plane. With such high security these days, most criminals don’t have a chance!”
    Mr. Peckham jumped to his feet as