Starry Nights Read Online Free PDF

turn the pages carefully, not wanting to damage this record that’s seen more than a century of new years. I find the listing of members. I run my index finger down the page, then the next one, then the next one. I reach the
V
s.
    Suzanne Valadon. Admitted 1894.
    Then her residence. The same address as the house on the curving corner of the hilly street in Montmartre where
The Girl in the Garden
currently resides.

Chapter 5
And Music Is Her Scent
    I keep trying to connect the dots between Bonheur’s family, Valadon, and the painting by Renoir. I briefly consider that
The Girl in the Garden
might be a fake, or maybe a Valadon instead of a Renoir. But my mother is thorough and all the authenticity tests have checked out. The painting is undoubtedly from the hands of Renoir. Which means I don’t know what to make of these disconnected links so I shift my focus to Emilie.
    The party starts soon, so Emilie and I are near Bonheur’s home, sitting outside at a crowded café with sleek metal tables and creaky wooden chairs, the perfect mix of old Paris and new Paris. Nearby in the square, a boys’ choir sings under the direction of a rather stout older woman as passersby drop coins into a hat. Lucy and Simon are down the street, checking out Lucy’s favorite American retro shop.
    â€œDo you ever go to the ballet?” Emilie asks me.
    â€œSometimes. My parents are total fanatics. Season tickets and all,” I say, and sure, guys aren’t supposed to know much about the ballet, and that’s why I generally keep my knowledge of dance close to the vest. But if there was ever a chance as a seventeen-year-old guy to admit that that you’re familiar with this world, it would be with a ballerina.
    â€œCool. What was the last ballet you saw?”
    â€œ
Swan Lake.
”
    â€œ
Swan Lake
? Where was that being performed?”
    I catch myself. Because of course the impromptu
Swan Lake
at the museum wasn’t being performed anywhere anyone else could see. “Just a little indie theater, I think.”
    â€œOh, how cool. What was it like? Good production?”
    â€œIt was just like a Degas.”
    â€œAs all good dances should be,” Emilie says, understanding what I have said perfectly, even though she has no idea I meant it literally. Emilie couldn’t be anything but a dancer. When she and Lucy walked over to meet us a few minutes ago, I noticed Emilie’s body first because it’s impossible not to, especially when she looks as if she can bend in amazing ways. But she also moved like she was onstage, captivating an audience. “Though, I have to admit, I do kinda prefer modern ballet.”
    â€œLike Joffrey, or Martha Graham?” If I were keeping score I’d be earning some serious points right now for tossing out those names.
    â€œExactly. But honestly, I’d rather do Balanchine with maybe a streetwise type of dance.”
    I smile, thinking of the dancers in the museum the other night, and how I had hoped to rearrange them. “Like if
Swan Lake
had been danced to some sort of techno pop,” I muse.
    Her eyes light up. “Totally! Like Protracted Envy. Do you know that band?”
    â€œDo I know that band? I love that band,” I say, then we trade song recommendations. She says she’s never heard of Retractable Eyes but they sound cool, and I tell her I’ve never heard of this Dr. Jade she likes so much, so I grab my phone and download some new music, and she grabs her iPod and does the same, telling me that I must check out Jane Black’s new album too.
    Since we’re comrades-in-musical-arms evidently, she leans closer and whispers, “Can you keep a secret?”
    â€œOf course. Keeping secrets is one of my specialties.”
    â€œWhat are your other specialties?”
    â€œAccents,” I say, sliding into one, which makes Emilie laugh, since one so rarely hears Australian-accented French. I like making her