Wish Upon a Star

PROLOGUE:

I guess I'm not sure how I should tell this story. My story. My story of growing up and of turning the corner between childhood and adulthood. It happened a long time ago, but even now, when I think about it, my heart stands still. A bit of nostalgia takes me back to that sweet night in Paris, where I lost my virginity but kept something even more precious – the ability to wish on a star and believe it will come true.

******

CHAPTER ONE: PLANNING THE TRIP

I have to start before that night. I have to start somewhere in my senior year of high school. For everyone who's ever been a senior, you probably recall the feeling. It's intoxicating. You're the big fish in the small pond, you have everything to live for and nothing to lose, and the biggest stress on your mind is passing finals. But there was more. Not only had I come down with a bad case of senioritis, I was also sick in love.

I was in love with my best friend. It sounds romantic, doesn't it? I had fantasy after fantasy of the two of us going out on Friday night and somehow ending the night in each other's arms. I must have worked out a hundred ways that one of us could make 'the move' and change our relationship forever. Reality, of course, was much different. The reality was that even though we were each other's 'on-call' Friday and Saturday night dates, the most romantic they ever got was heading to the mostly-vacant local pool hall and laughing at each other over a pair of pool cues, playing one 50-cent game after another until curfews sent us home, each evening ending as platonically as the one before.

Dale wasn't a stunning boy toy, nor was I some gorgeous piece of fluff. We were high school students, not models. He was tall, lanky, and more prone to skate hockey than hitting the gym. His light brown hair was cropped short, and his skin was pasty-white under his torn, baggy jeans. I wasn't much better. My long, dark blonde hair was perpetually stuck in a ponytail, and I wore baggy clothes that hid... well, nothing, really. I was skinny and didn't have much of a figure – I was always just Sarah, Plain and Tall. We didn't hang out with the same groups, although we wound up in a lot of the same honors classes together. I'm not even sure now how we met and became friends, but that's irrelevant now, I suppose. What matters is that by our senior year, we were each other's best friend. I talked him into learning tae kwon do with me; he was teaching me how to drive a stick-shift. He helped me with my calculus homework; I would write his essays for English. Hardly a day went by that we didn't talk. My friends were perpetually commenting on how much like a couple we seemed, but I managed to hide my infatuation even from them. They hardly would have respected my secret, let alone understood why I was keeping it a secret in the first place.

About December or so, Everyone – with a capital E, as in "Everyone is doing it" – was talking about senior trips. Some of our friends didn't have the money for trips or were heading someplace blasé like Mexico or a ski resort, but since Dale and I both had jobs and were pretty cheap when it came to 'essentials' like CDs or the latest fashions, we each had a few thousand dollars stashed away that we were truly ready to drop on something big. He proposed Europe. His dad had to take a business trip to Denmark right after graduation, and Dale asked about dozen people to come with him, evenly split between girls and guys. The plan was simple. We would fly into London, tour Europe on our own for a while, check in with his dad, and then lounge around unsupervised for another week or so before coming home.

Of course, I was all for the idea. Like I was going to miss a chance to spend two weeks with Dale! So I put the idea to my father, since my mother would follow his lead if I could get his OK. He hemmed and hawed and called Dale's parents several times before finally assenting, provided there would be other girls along to protect me. At the time, I wasn't sure what they would have protected me from, but that was my father's sole condition. I agreed readily.

I never have told my father that all the other girls backed out when the time came to book the trip, but they did. In retrospect, I don't think any of the adults knew I was the only girl along, but when the tickets were bought, the head count was four guys – Jared, Bryan, Brad, and Dale – and me. We were to leave the Monday after graduation and spend two weeks in Europe, seeing all the sights we could handle and backpacking it from one city to the next. It was the perfect trip. We had money, freedom, innocence, and... at least in my case... love.

*****

CHAPTER TWO: ARRIVING IN LONDON

Dale picked me up bright and early that fateful Monday. I tossed my backpack into the back of his truck and hopped in, bleary-eyed but OH-so-excited. By the time we got to the airport, which was nearly deserted at that time of morning, the gas station coffee had kicked in, and we were both jumpy. We parked his truck in the airport parking lot and scooted inside, where the rest of the guys were waiting at the airport gate for us. We watched and waited impatiently, the guys mostly talking while I stared out the window. Eventually the plane was ready to board.

I remember that Dale walked up next to me as the first- and business-class passengers were called, and I could smell his musky cologne (I had bought it for his birthday that March) hovering around him. I half-closed my eyes to gather the scent, which is part of my life forever.

"You ready?" he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

I looked up at him and smiled.

"I'll never be more ready than I am right now," was my ambivalent answer. "I guess this is it, huh?"

"Yup," he said, smiling back. "I guess it is."

We paused for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts.

"HEY!" Brad's voice cut through my mental fog. I had been dreaming yet again that Dale would give me a hint of something more than friendship. "We're boarding. Y'all comin' or not?"

I never cared for Brad. I never cared for Bryan, either. Jared wasn't bad in his own way, but... oh, I'll get to all that in its own time.

"Yeah, we're comin'," Dale shot back for both of us. We caught up with the other three as they joined the line heading into the walkway.

Takeoff was uneventful, and soon enough, the flight attendants began their slow trek down the aisles, handing out drinks and snacks. Our tickets had given us specific seats on the plane, but since the plane was nearly empty, the guys swapped so they could talk. This meant I had the window, and once the guys got together, I had no one to talk to. I was too excited to really notice, and the flight was a short one – only an hour before we hit JFK for our connection to London.

We made it through the New York airport with minimal problems. We only got lost once before Bryan snagged an attractive female employee to point us in the right direction. Soon enough, we were in the air again. This time, because of the vast number of business passengers traveling coach, the guys didn't get to sit where they wanted. I wound up sitting next to Bryan.

*****

Bryan was an asshole. A womanizing, patronizing, dehumanizing asshole. I never really knew why Dale hung out with him, but who was I to judge his friends? Being stuck next to him for a seven-hour flight over the Atlantic was not what I had in mind. It wasn't what he had in mind, either, and he ignored me completely. When the flight attendant reached us with our lunches, he started chatting her up. Unfortunately, she was one of those perky young flight attendants that give the job its reputation, so she giggled delightedly at this attention from a handsome – yes, Bryan was handsome if you didn't know he was an asshole – young man. I tried not to listen, but snippets of conversation still slipped through. She had to move on, but once she had made her rounds, she came back to inquire if he needed anything and stayed for another five minutes while Bryan flirted obscenely and eyeballed her ample tits. I guess she was flattered, because she brought him a Crown and Coke. I'm not sure why. Apparently she just decided it was irrelevant that he was only 18 and had no intentions of paying for such a drink.

He downed the Coke in about two seconds, and she kept them coming for three or four more rounds before she thought better about giving him any more. He got mad at that, called her a bitch, and then – joy of all joys – turned his attention to me.

"How come women can be such bitches?" he snarled drunkenly. "How come they always just tease? I bet you're like that, aren't you? Do you give it up?"

I tried to ignore him, but he wasn't having it.

"Come on, baby," he crooned, apparently realizing he might have come off a bit rough. "You wanna piece of this, doncha?"

"Bryan...," I began, not sure how to continue, "you're drunk."

"Naaaaaaahhhh," he drawled, "the only problem I got right now is this."

He motioned with his right hand to his pants, which were bulging.

I rolled my eyes.

"Well, take it elsewhere," I said, trying to return to the book I had brought along. "I'm not interested in your problems."

Bryan tried to tug the book out of my hands.

"Come on, baby," he repeated, leaning over, pressing himself against me and talking louder. "You know you want it."

"Bryan! Piss off!" I hissed. "I am NOT interested in you!"

Bryan started to snarl again.

"Bitch," he hiccupped, shoving off of me. "Lesbian, probably. I bet you've never been laid in your life."

"Oh, go to hell, Bryan," I said, standing up and shoving past him to get to the restroom.

Once I wedged myself into the miniscule bathroom, I stood there for a minute, trying to compose myself and wondering what Bryan would do once I sat back down. As I realized what I might have gotten myself into, I had to fight tears. I was a long way from home with four men, and I couldn't truly count on any of them to care for me. It took about ten minutes before I was able to think straight, but once I did, I determined that I could handle being on my own if that's what it came to. With newfound confidence, I returned to my seat to discover that Bryan had passed out.

*****

Bryan returned to consciousness as we began our descent into London. He had a hangover, and at least it kept him quiet, although I could see him eyeing me. We disembarked, gathered our luggage, and wormed our way through customs before stepping into the steamy London night. There were people everywhere, and we had a hard time getting a cab that was willing to fit in five young folks with baggage, but we soon found ourselves posted in front of our first hotel.

We trooped into the lobby and checked in. We booked a small suite for ourselves instead of two separate rooms, since it wound up being slightly cheaper per person. Once we checked in, the problems began. Surprisingly, sleeping arrangements were not the issue. The suite featured a pull-out chair, a pull-out couch, and a queen-size bed. The problem was the room keys – who got one, and who didn't. Since Dale was the 'trip leader,' so to speak, he got one. But when it came time to hand out the second one, things got ugly fast.

"I call it!" Brad announced in the elevator, holding his hand out to Dale.

"Call what?" Dale asked.

"The key... duh," Brad replied.

I caught Dale's eye and gave him a pleading look. Brad caught it, too.

"No way," he said. "You can't giveherthe key."

"Why not?" Dale wanted to know. "She's the only girl."

"So? She chose to come with us, and we'll all be doing the same stuff anyway."

"Yeah," Bryan chimed in, "you'll do what we say, woncha, sweetie?"

I could feel my insides crawling as Bryan wrapped an arm around me. The rest of the group looked elsewhere. I tried to catch Dale's eye, but he didn't want to meet my gaze, either. The elevator shuddered to a halt on our floor before anyone spoke. It was Jared that gave a solution. He was the peacemaker in the group, but he was still a guy.

"Look... why don't we get up to the room and draw straws for the key?"

"Good idea," Dale said, looking relieved, as we walked down the brightly lit hallway.

We found the suite and walked in. The place was nice – I've since discovered most suites are – and Bryan instantly found a stash of coffee straws. He cut one short with a pocketknife, gathered them in his hand, and turned to me.

"You first, honey," he mocked me.

Silently, I drew. Long. No key for me. I walked over to my pull-out chair and began making it up as a bed while the other guys drew. Brad drew the key, much to his satisfaction, and Dale surrendered it without a fight. We were all exhausted from jet lag, and Bryan still had a hangover, so we all crashed before much more was said. As I stared out the window into the London night, I could see a few bright stars shining their way through the glow of the city. I shut my eyes and wished on the first one I saw. It was a habit I had kept since I was a little girl, and this time, I wished Dale would protect me during this trip. It was a big order.

*****

CHAPTER THREE: LONDON

The next morning dawned London-esque. You know, very stereotypical gray and just barely warm enough to wear short sleeves. I was up first, so I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door for a quick shower. Before I was done, I could hear the guys moving around. Bryan was the first to knock – well, bang – on the door.

"You 'bout done in there?"

"Hold your horses. I just gotta get dressed," I retorted.

"Why don't you come dress out here where we can watch?"

"Bryan, cool it," Dale's voice cut through the steam in the bathroom. "If you're gonna be like this the whole damn trip, you can go home."

Dale didn't know it, but that one sentence assured me that he was on my side at least a little bit. I felt much more confident.

"Hey, she's not your girlfriend. Why can't I have a look?"

"Get over it," Jared said, throwing a pillow at Bryan as I opened the door. "She's not your girlfriend, either."

Bryan trudged into the bathroom while I walked over to the dresser and put on some light make-up. Even though Dale had seen me at my worst, that was no reason for him to think I was letting myself go. I glanced at him through the mirror as he lay on the bed, watching British television in his boxers. He rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the last bits of sleep. I'd never seen him first thing in the morning, and it was pleasant. I smiled as Jared pulled out our vague itinerary.

"Do we cross the Channel today or tomorrow?" he asked Dale.

Dale sat up.

"Tomorrow, I think," he said. "We have one full day here before we head to Paris. You know my dad's meeting us there instead of us going up to Denmark."

"We're not going to Copenhagen?" Brad asked. "I can live with that, but can we still make it up to Amsterdam?"

"Let's not and say we did," I quipped. "I just want to see London, Paris, and Rome."

"And Marseille," Dale added.

"And Marseille," I agreed. Dale spoke fluent French, thanks to his extra work in that particular class, so we had agreed to spend most of our time in that country. "And didn't we say we'd swing by Florence?"

"Something like that," Dale said. "Depends on the train passes, I guess."

"Gee," Brad's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I guess the rest of us don't have a say, huh?"

"We could take a vote," said the ever-tactful Jared. His version of diplomacy was rapidly starting to annoy.

"That works for me," said Dale, looking at me. I shrugged.

Bryan walked out of the bathroom.

"Bryan, wanna go to Amsterdam or not?" Brad cornered him instantly.

"Hell, yeah!" was the immediate response.

"Jared?" Brad asked next.

"Don't care," Jared shrugged as he walked into the bathroom. "Whatever you guys decide is fine with me."

"We know what your opinion is," Brad said to me before addressing Dale. "I guess it's your vote that decides."

Dale hesitated, pretending to be busy reading the TV listings next to the bed. I waited nervously.

"I guess it doesn't really matter," he finally stated, "as long as we're in Paris when my dad arrives."

Brad was jubilant.

"Amsterdam, here we come!" he trumpeted.

Dale looked over at me to gauge my reaction. I tried my best not to look disappointed, but I guess I must have failed. Dale looked away.

"I'm going down to get bus and tube schedules," he said, pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. "I call next shower."

As he disappeared out the door, Bryan and Brad grinned at each other. They were silent for a few moments before starting in again.

"Guess he's pissed that we outvoted his girlfriend," Brad stated snidely.

"Her?" Bryan glanced over at me. "Yeah, right. He'd never date her in a million years."

I pretended to be busy, but I could still hear their conversation. Their words cut me to the bone. I didn't know if what Bryan was saying was his opinion or a reflection of Dale's own comments, but tears still sprang to my eyes. I grabbed my purse and bit my lip.

"I'll be back in a bit," I said. "Just gonna walk around the neighborhood."

"Whatever," Brad shot after me. "Take your time."

"I'm not even sure why he let her come in the first place," Bryan growled as the door closed behind me. "It'll be hard to pick up chicks, and she's gonna wanna...."

I hurried down the hall to the elevator and punched the 'down' button with more vigor than it really deserved. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again, but I'll have been damned if I was going to let Brad and Bryan see me cry. Seconds later, the elevator arrived, and I moved back to let any occupants out as the first tear slid down my cheek.

Dale was inside. He stepped out and looked at me.

"What's wrong, Sarah?" he asked, reaching for me. "Is it Amsterdam? I'll go back and tell them we won't go. I didn't realize it was that important to you."

I shrugged him off and dashed into the elevator before the door closed. Dale held the door open, though, staring at me with a worried look.

"It's not that. Don't worry about me," I said, struggling not to choke on the words. "I'm just... homesick."

Dale let go, and the door slid shut. As the elevator began to move, I leaned back and silently cried my way down to the lobby. Wandering around the neighborhood did help, because I had to concentrate on staying on the left side of the sidewalk. From our hotel, you could see a tube station; cars, cabs and buses trundled past while I walked. When I returned, all of the guys had showered and were ready to go. I grabbed some traveler's checks to cash at the front desk, and we started out.

*****

Our first day in Europe went relatively smoothly, since we mostly wanted to see the same sights – Buckingham Palace, Whitechapel (we walked a bit of the Jack the Ripper route), Tower of London, Big Ben.

By the end of the day, we were exhausted. At 8:30 p.m., we were all collapsed at a table in a fish & chip shop near Big Ben, laughing hysterically. For some reason, it was extraordinarily humorous that there actually WERE fish & chip shops in London. It was just too much of a stereotype, I suppose, and combined with the remnants of jet lag, everything was funny.

After a bit, the last of our energy began to wane and we sat around quietly, staring out the window. The London Eye was within our view, and we watched the last of the evening's capsules circle slowly up and down, tracing bright arcs in the night sky.

"I'd like to go on that," I commented softly, secretly hoping that Dale would respond.

"Mmm," he answered as he munched on his last piece of fish. He gazed at the Eye, and then at me for a minute, but said nothing more.

"I would, too, but not with you guys," Bryan commented, ogling yet another girl. "She'd be nice, though."