Just One Day Read Online Free PDF Page A

late,” Melanie says. “She says to meet her by
     the WHSmith. Whatever that is.”
    “It’s a bookstore,” Willem says, pointing across the interior of the station.
    The inside of the station is pretty and redbricked, but I’m disappointed that it’s
     not one of those grand stations with the clattering destination boards I was hoping
     for. Instead, there’s just a TV departure monitor. I go over to look at it. The destinations
     are nowhere that exotic: places like High Wycombe and Banbury, which might be very
     nice for all I know. It’s silly, really. I’ve just finished up a tour of big European
     cities—Rome, Florence, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Berlin, Edinburgh, and now I’m in
     London again—and for most of it, I was counting the days until we went home. I don’t
     know why now all of a sudden I should be struck with wanderlust.
    “What’s wrong?” Melanie asks me.
    “Oh, I was just hoping for one of those big departure boards, like they had at some
     of the airports.”
    “Amsterdam’s Centraal Station has one of those,” Willem says. “I always like to stand
     in front of it and just imagine I can pick any place and go.”
    “Right? Exactly!”
    “What’s the matter?” Melanie asks, looking at the TV monitors. “Don’t like the idea
     of Bicester North?”
    “It’s not quite as exciting as Paris,” I say.
    “Oh, come on. You’re not still moping about that?” Melanie turns to Willem. “We were
     supposed to go to Paris after Rome, but the air traffic controllers went on strike
     and all the flights got canceled, and it was too far to go on the bus. She’s still
     bummed out about it.”
    “They’re always on strike for something in France,” Willem says, nodding his head.
    “They subbed Budapest in for Paris,” I say. “And I liked Budapest, but I can’t believe
     I’m this close to Paris and not going.”
    Willem looks at me intently. He twists the tie on his backpack around his finger.
     “So go,” he says.
    “Go where?”
    “To Paris.”
    “I can’t. It got canceled.”
    “So go now.”
    “The tour’s over. And anyhow, they’re probably still striking.”
    “You can go by train. It takes two hours from London to Paris.” He looks at the big
     clock on the wall. “You could be in Paris by lunchtime. Much better sandwiches over
     there, by the way.”
    “But, but, I don’t speak French. I don’t have a guidebook. I don’t even have any French
     money. They use euros there, right?” I’m giving all these reasons as if
these
are why I can’t go, when in truth, Willem might as well be suggesting I hop a rocket
     to the moon. I know Europe is small and some people do things like this. But I don’t.
    He’s still looking at me, his head tilted slightly to the side.
    “It wouldn’t work,” I conclude. “I don’t know Paris at all.”
    Willem glances at the clock on the wall. And then, after a beat, he turns to me. “
I
know Paris.”
    My heart starts doing the most ridiculous flippy things, but my ever-rational mind
     continues to click off all the reasons this won’t work. “I don’t know if I have enough
     money. How much are the tickets?” I reach into my bag to count my remaining cash.
     I have some pounds to get me through the weekend, a credit card for emergencies, and
     a hundred-dollar bill that Mom gave me for absolute emergencies if the credit card
     wouldn’t work. But this is hardly an emergency. And using the card would alert my
     parents.
    Willem reaches into his pocket, pulls out a fistful of foreign currencies. “Don’t
     worry about that. It was a good summer.”
    I stare at the bills in his hand. Would he really do that? Take me to Paris?
Why
would he do that?
    “We have tickets for
Let It Be
tomorrow night,” Melanie says, assuming the Voice of Reason. “And we’re leaving on
     Sunday. And your mom would freak out. Seriously, she’d kill you.”
    I look at Willem, but he just shrugs, like he cannot deny the truth to