“No way…”
“I told you. You needed to see Paris next.”
She takes a few steps backward, stops when she hits my chest, and without turning around, feels for my hands and wraps them around her waist. She twists her neck so she can see me, and even though we’re nowhere near Emma’s backyard anymore, we pick up right where we left off two minutes ago.
We hop over the short fence that leads to the park. Once we’re out in the open we can see the entire Eiffel Tower, base to top, gleaming in front of us. It’s only nine o’clock and, surprisingly, there aren’t many people back here. Anna and I walk toward the base with our fingers knit together. She keeps looking over at me, smiling and shaking her head.
She suddenly drops my hand. “Race you,” she says, and she takes off. Her speed keeps her well in front of me at first, but she has to keep adjusting her skirt, and that slows her down. I pass her just before we turn the corner that leads under the structure, and that’s where we find everyone. The crowd is thick and the lines are long.
“Come on,” I say as I start walking toward the end of the shortest one, but Anna grabs me by the arm. She tips her head back and looks straight up. Then she looks back at me. “We’re waiting in line?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” She looks up to the top of the tower again, then back at me. “Why?”
I rest my hands on her shoulders and give her a quick kiss. “No cheating.” In the time it’s taken us to have this discussion, at least ten people have stepped into the line. I jump in at the end.
“Why is, you know…that”—she makes this weird gesture with her hand—“cheating?”
“Because it is. It’s like rock climbing. You can’t just magically find yourself on top of a mountain, staring out at an insane view. You’ve got to earn it. Without cheating.” She presses her lips together, like she’s trying not to smile. “Besides, there aren’t a lot of discreet places up there.” She shoots me a confused look and I step closer so I can’t be overheard. “There’s nowhere to arrive without being seen by a bunch of people.”
“Oh.”
“Which, you know, some might find shocking.”
“Yeah, I suppose some might.” She nods and tries to hold a serious expression, but I can see that smile still trying to peek through. “So we’re taking the elevator?” It’s a question, but she says it more like a statement.
“Nope. That’s cheating too.” She starts to say something, but I hold my finger up, and say, “Wait a sec.”
I haven’t exchanged my American dollars for French francs yet, so I’ve been subtly scanning the people in line for the perfect target and I just found him: older guy, jeans and tennis shoes, fanny pack with an American flag pinned to the belt.
When the line snakes around, I hold up three twenty-dollar bills and ask him if he’ll buy us two tickets to the second deck via the stairs in exchange for them. He checks the prices on the board, calculates the profit, and happily takes the money from my hand.
“The stairs?” Anna asks.
I just grin.
“How many stairs?”
“I don’t know. A lot. We can count them if you want to.” She smacks me with the back of her hand. “Trust me, you’ll love this. We can stop and look at the view on the way up.” Fanny-pack Guy hands me our two tickets and we head to the entrance.
As it turns out, there are six hundred and seventy steps, and we don’t even have to count them, because every tenth one is conveniently painted with a number. The higher we go, the more frequently Anna stops, saying she has to catch her breath. But I notice she’s refusing to look around, and whenever I point out the sites, she just nods and keeps climbing. She looks relieved when we finally reach the second platform.
Down on the ground, it was already much colder here in Paris than it was in Evanston, but up on the tower, it feels like the middle of winter. Anna’s trying to play it off like she isn’t cold, but I can see her shivering as we stand here, leaning against the railing, staring out over the city. I suddenly remember that I brought my sweater, so I take it out of my backpack and hand it to her. She pulls it over her head. It hangs almost to the edge of her skirt and the sleeves go past her fingers and she looks completely adorable.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn around to find a woman grinning wide and holding a camera out in my direction. She says something in a language that’s not English or French as she gestures between herself and the man standing to her right. I take the camera from her and hand it to Anna.
“You’re the photographer,” I say, and Anna looks grateful as she brings the camera to her face. She snaps a few pictures and hands it back to them.
“I hope one of those pictures turns out,” Anna says when they’re out of earshot. “They probably won’t have another night on the Eiffel Tower again.” I’m about to tell her that they’re probably checking the pictures right now when I remember that cameras don’t work that way yet. Then I realize that Anna’s staring out at the view and not talking. I wish I’d thought to go to her house and get her camera for her.
“Stay here,” I say, and without giving her any time to reply, I double back toward the elevator bank, past the people in line, and into the crowded gift shop. Right behind the counter, I find what I’m looking for. I convince the cashier to accept an American twenty in exchange for a ten-franc item, and less than ten minutes later I’m heading back to Anna with a plastic bag swinging by my side.
But when I return to the spot where I left her, she’s gone. I walk all the way around the deck, but she’s nowhere to be found. I head back toward the center of the platform and see her there, pacing back and forth in front of the elevators.
“Hey.” I come up behind her and grab her by the waist. She jumps. “You okay?”
She flips around, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “You left me on the Eiffel Tower?”
“Just for a minute,” I say, and her eyes grow wide. I’m clearly not supposed to find this amusing, but I can’t help it. She’s just standing there, looking small and pissed off and adorable in my sweater.
“You’re laughing at me?” Her eyes grow even wider and I think she’s going to start yelling at me or something, but instead she steps forward and takes my face in her hands. “What if something happened to you? What if you got knocked back?” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what date it is,” she practically whispers.
I’m still finding this amusing, even though I’m clearly not supposed to. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” I kiss her and I’m relieved when she lets me. “I’m not going to get knocked back. And besides, you know I never take you out of your time. Never. You’re always a really awkward phone call and an outrageously expensive plane ride away from your parents, but that’s it. Okay?”
She presses her lips together and nods.
“I just wanted to get you this.” I hand her the plastic gift-shop bag, and she peeks inside. Her whole expression relaxes as the grin spreads across her face.
“You bought a disposable camera?”
I shrug. “You looked a little sad about taking that couple’s picture.” I guide her over to the railing. “Smile,” I say, holding the camera out in front of us. I press the button and the shutter snaps, but when I press it again, nothing happens. I’m turning it around in my hands, looking at it from all angles and trying to figure out what to do next, when Anna takes it from me, chuckling as she runs her thumb along a little wheel that must advance the film. She holds her arm out and presses the button.