Free One Paris Summer (Blink) by Denise Grover Swank

comes across . . .” He seemed to grope for the right word.
    “Like a witch?” I asked. “She did this on purpose. She hates my guts. Deny it.”
    He sighed and leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of his seat. “Camille is . . . complicated.”
    “She doesn’t want me here, and it’s her mission to make my life miserable until I leave. There’s nothing complicated about that.”
    “Maybe if you understood her better—”
    I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    He was silent for the rest of the short ride, just two more stops. We rose as the doors opened, and he stood behind me. He was tall enough that his mouth reached the top of my ear, and my hair blew gently against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he teased, “Maybe I should hold your hand so you don’t get lost again.”
    Then he grabbed my hand, wrapping his fingers around the side of my palm. I wanted to jerk free, but when I saw the crowd waiting to get on, I clung tight. Protecting my pride wasn’t worth getting lost again.
    He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling. I looked for a sign that he was making fun of me and found none. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he really did want to hold my hand.
    I didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because he quickly exited the train and pulled me with him. His grip tightened as we pushed through the crowd, several people bumping into me in their hurry to board. After we made it through, he led me up a flight of stairs and out onto a busy street, then dropped his hold.
    We walked side by side past a huge garden complete with a massive house. A large round lawn encircled a pointed statue. “Isn’t that it?” I asked.
    “We’re going to the opposite end.” We were silent for several moments as we walked beside the gold and wrought iron fence, then he asked, “Where in the States are you from?”
    I stopped on the sidewalk. “Look, while I appreciate you coming to get me, I don’t trust you.”
    Surprise covered his face. “Why?”
    “You’re her friend. She’ll do anything she can to hurt me. She’s already proven that by stealing my brother’s friend when she knows I like him, and . . . well, leaving me at the subway station.”
    His smile fell. “She tried to take your boyfriend?”
    “He’s not my boyfriend. I only want him to be.” I nearly groaned. Why had I told him that? What if he told Dane? “Look, bottom line, I really want to trust you, but I can’t.” Which broke my heart. What little interaction we’d had only made me want to spend more time with him, making me regret telling him about my interest in Dane even more.
    His face hardened. “You think I would be part of some plan to hurt you?”
    “Weren’t you?”
    Resignation filled his eyes and he continued walking, leaving me on the sidewalk. I hurried to catch up. The garden was huge, so huge it took nearly five minutes before we got to the end of the block. Large rectangular patches of grass filled the space on this end of the lot, and there were several statues spaced every fifty feet or so. Multiple groups of what looked like high schoolers were spread in groups over the lawn, sitting on the bare grass or on towels or standing.
    When we came to the end of the longest block I’d ever walked, Mathieu turned the corner, continuing until we reached an open wrought iron gate. We followed the crowd inside, but he didn’t stop to make sure I was still with him.
    I was beginning to have second thoughts about how I’d treated him. Granted, he was Camille’s friend, but he’d been nothing but nice. Sure, my stepsister might have left me behind on purpose, but he probably hadn’t been in on the plot.
    He walked purposefully toward a group of about a dozen teens, Dane and Eric included. Camille reigned over her group of friends, sitting in the exact middle, and Dane was right beside her. Her dark wavy hair hung loose and she looked absolutely gorgeous.
    I had to