Free French kiss by Aimee Friedman Page B

outfits.
    She was screwed.
    Clutching the phone card and her bags, Alexa limped into the phone booth. With wildly trembling fingers, she dialed her dad in New Jersey; she knew
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    he'd calm her down and give her the cousins' number. But the answering machine picked up, so Alexa, craving emotional support, tried her mom in New York. No luck there, either -- Alexa was left sniffling to the sound of her mother's "Kiss, kiss, dahling" voice mail prompt.
    Who was left? Alexa knew Portia's and Maeve's cell numbers by heart, but calling them now, in this sorry condition, would be a disaster. Alexa could all too vividly imagine the girls gloating over her split with Diego. Some support that would be.
    Resting her head against the cool glass pane of the phone booth, Alexa finally broke down crying. This was a nightmare. She was boyfriendless, friendless, parentless, penniless, starving -- and freezing in her silly spaghetti-strap dress. Couldn't she have at least changed back at the hotel? Alexa wished, not for the first time, that she were a more practical sort of person. Someone like, say, Holly Jacobson would have surely slipped into jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie before taking on the streets of Paris by night.
    Oh, my God, Alexa realized, catching her breath. That was it.
    Holly Jacobson!
    Of course. Hadn't Holly said Alexa could call her cell while she was in London? And Alexa was positive she remembered Holly's number, since she'd known
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    it since junior high. Alexa wasn't entirely sure how Holly Jacobson could bail her out of this mess, but all that mattered now was hearing her old friend's reassuring voice.
    When Holly answered her phone with the adorably out-of-it "Tyler? Where are you calling from?" Alexa burst into fresh tears -- but, through her sobs and the static, managed to convince Holly that it was her, and not Tyler Davis, calling.
    "I'm in really, really big trouble," Alexa hiccuped, relieved to have a sympathetic ear at last. "I broke up with Diego and got mugged and now I'm homeless...."
    "Are you serious?"" Holly gasped. Alexa heard her move the phone away from her mouth.
    "You guys?" Holly said -- Alexa guessed she was addressing Meghan and Jess -- "I'll meet you back at the hostel. Tell Ms. Graham I had to oh, forget it. I'll just deal with her when I get there." There was a pause, and then Alexa distinctly heard Holly say, "No, it's not Tyler." She sounded uncharacteristically brusque, and Alexa couldn't help but grin through her tears. A second later, Holly was back. "Okay, tell me exactly what happened," she said calmly.
    Alexa started to, but the line kept crackling noisily, and Holly had to constantly interrupt her with "Alexa, I can't hear you!"
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    "This is ridiculous," Alexa moaned. Suddenly, she didn't want to be on the phone with Holly. She wanted to be sitting across from her in a café, watching her friend's green-gray eyes widen at Alexa's tales of woe. With a rush of nostalgia, Alexa remembered all the insane fiascos she and Holly had survived together -- in South Beach. Maybe it was because Holly was a childhood friend, but Alexa found her presence unfailingly comforting. Alexa knew that the two of them weren't the best of buddies anymore, but somehow she sensed that having Holly Jacobson with her in Paris would make everything better.
    Besides, she was only a Chunnel ride away.
    "Hoi, just come to Paris," Alexa blurted, gripping the phone. "Please? I'm so alone here." Normally, Alexa never admitted to being helpless, but around Holly, she'd mostly learned to swallow her pride. "You don't need to stay the whole week maybe, like, a day or two?" She wiped her streaming eyes with the heel of her hand, hoping Holly would agree to the last-minute plan.
    "Paris? Now?" Holly cried. "Alexa, are you nuts? I can't! I'm in the middle of my track meet and my coach will kill me if I leave and what if my parents found out and --"
    "All right, all right," Alexa cut off her friend's rambling. She should have