Page 48 of Finding London

I point my index finger toward her. “There are noblah, blah, blahsallowed in giving advice, but I think you’re right.” I pause and nod my head for effect. “I’m getting my man back!” I yell, lifting my spoon in the air in triumph. “London Wright does not back down from a challenge.”

“Exactly! And we know London Wright’s serious when she starts speaking in third person!” Paige cheers along beside me. “But before you go and hijack that seven forty-seven of hotness, can we please finish watching season five ofDownton Abbey? We’re so behind. I need to know what Edith is going to do with the baby, and then we need to move on to the final season. Paige McAllister has needs, too, and they’re all going to come from that magic box right there.” She points dramatically to my flat screen TV hanging on the wall at the foot of my bed. “And since my needs are more accessible than yours at the moment, I think I win.”

“That’s fine,” I sigh. “You know these things take planning anyway. It hasn’t even been a week yet. I’m going to give the boy at least a week to come to his senses, a chance to come back begging. But, if he doesn’t, then game on.”

“That’s my girl!” she says with enthusiasm as she grabs the remote. “Now, which episode were we on?” she asks herself as she scrolls through the menu.

My tummy is about to explode from ice cream overload, so I set the pint down on my bedside table. Besides, I no longer want to become obese and die. Instead, I want Loïc back, and I’m going to fight to get him. He might not know what he wants, but I do.

An extremely happy and lively version of my sister fills up my laptop screen as she adamantly tells me of her latest adventure. I haven’t physically spoken to Georgia in a month. All our communication has been over social media or text, so it is so great to see her and hear her voice.

It could be the color settings of my computer screen, but she looks so tan. I’ve never seen her with truly bronzed skin.

Georgia and I are opposites in almost every way. Where my skin darkens after just a few minutes in the sun, hers is pale, burning more than it tans. She has long blonde hair, opposite to my brown. She even has these brilliant blue eyes, which are in complete contrast to my brown ones. She looks nothing like me or my parents. Apparently, my dad’s mother was pale-skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes. Georgia has always stood out at family events, oftentimes being the only blonde in the room. When she was little, she was like this little cherub with rosy cheeks and blonde ringlets. She always seems to be the center of attention—not because she is necessarily more beautiful than anyone else, but because she’s different. She stands out wherever she goes with her angel-like appearance and exuberant personality.

I suppose we are similar in that way. We’re both comfortable with being the center of attention. However, Georgia is more adventurous than I am. I love to experience new places in comfort. Paris? I loved our trip there, but while Mom and I were shopping and dining at the best restaurants in the city, Georgia was touring Les Catacombes—also known as the Empire of Death. Apparently, it is an underground tomb, complete with musty dark tunnels and neatly stacked bones, like skulls and such from dead humans.

No, thank you.

Georgia is talking a mile a minute as she fills me in on the last two months of her European adventures. Something she said catches me off guard.

“Wait, slow down. Did you just say you’re in Brazil?”

“Yeah, I told you at the beginning that I’m in Manaus.” She appears a little irritated.

“I didn’t know what that meant. I figured it was a city somewhere in Europe.”

She sighs. “No, it’s in Brazil where Fabio’s parents live.” She looks so serious.

I can’t hold in my laughter. “Fabio? You’re seriously flying across the world with a guy named Fabio?”

“Jeez, London. Have you been listening to me at all?”

“I’m sorry. I tried, but you’re talking so fast, and I’ve been kind of mesmerized by your tan. What’s up with that?”

Georgia’s face lights up. “I know! It’s amazing, right? It’s a spray tan, but it looks totally real, doesn’t it?”

I nod my head. “Yeah, it does. It’s so strange, seeing you with color. It’s like I can’t focus on anything else.” I laugh.

She chuckles, flinging a lock of her long hair behind her shoulder. “Okay, because you were admiring my radiating skin, I’ll give you a pass.”

We both laugh, and though she’s many miles away, she feels so close. In this moment, I realize how much I’ve missed not seeing her this summer. Our summers are usually spent traveling around with our mother. But Georgia wanted to gallivant around the globe with her friends, and I wanted to stay here to hang with Paige, ogle over Loïc, and apparently get a job. I’m still working on that last part—and by working, I mean, thinking about working on it. What can I say? This whole Loïc drama has been taking up a lot of my brainpower.

When our laughter settles, Georgia continues, “I’m going to go over the details again, but listen up this time.”

I nod in agreement.

“So, I met Fabio in Spain when I was visiting Lolita.”

We stayed in Spain one summer when we were younger, and my dad had business there. Lolita was the girl who lived across the street from our rental house. The three of us were inseparable and have remained in contact since then.

“Fabio was visiting his cousin, who is Lolita’s next-door neighbor’s boyfriend’s friend from college.”

“What?” I stare at the screen, confused.

Georgia waves her hand. “It doesn’t matter. You know, everybody knows everybody over there. Lolita’s neighbor had a party, and I met Fabio there.”

“But doesn’t his name weird you out?” I pull a face. “Wasn’t Fabio the muscled guy on all of Mom’s romance novels when we were little?”

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