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Everything in Paris is so old and charming. I can picture what it was like to live here centuries ago. Anyway, guess who was in the courtyard? I would never have had the guts to talk to them on my own, but Tommy plunked himself down in the bench right beside them and began asking them all these questions. There were two of them: Vladimir and Mick.

He has blond hair and ridiculous cheekbones. Maybe a Beneton ad? He and Mick were smoking clove cigarettes and laughing, and they told us about living in Moscow. Or something like that. Apparently Ruskies have a totally different alphabet. Who knew? An hour or so later, Becca and Harold joined us and the Russians said goodnight, but the way Vlad held my gaze longer than necessary made me decide that he would be an attainable fling for me to focus on.

To pre-celebrate. At seven. But whatever. I have a date! Kind of. Joanna just turned off the lights. A demain! The Afternoon of Saturday, July 14th My boobs hurt. I am lying on my back, attempting to write in the air, because I cannot lie on my stomach. Why, you might ask?

First off, Happy Bastille Day. But back to why my boobs are killing me. Since we had a free day in honor of the holiday today, Becca and I decided we were going to hit the quasi-beach to get some sun. Pierre and Mike were taking the boys and some of the more athletic girls to play soccer.

We hiked down to the beach. We claimed our spot. We spread out our towels. I pulled off my shorts and t-shirt and then looked over at Becca. Oh, yeah, there she was, lying on her back, topless, for the world to see. She gave me a devilish smile. Ninety percent of the women out there were topless. The tourists were topless. We must! Come on, Linds. I want to take risks and push myself out of my comfort zone. And how much would this annoy my mom? Now or never.

I lay on my stomach, and then unclasped the back and slipped that sucker off. And then slowly turned around, my heart pounding. Then I squirted some suntan lotion in my palms, and did my best to smear it on my upper regions. Becca started screaming and clapping, and there we were. It felt kind of cool. So I tanned. And closed my eyes. And pretended the Seine was the ocean.

Perhaps over the Bahamas? Not that I can see the Bahamas. Looking out the window is like staring into a pool of black ink. Becca is sitting next to me in the middle seat, paging through a Seventeen. About fifteen others from our teen tour are on this flight. Joanna, the second tour guide, is sitting next to him. She has outrageously long fingernails painted bright pink. Becca and I have already outlined our rules. We are very good about making rules.

In third grade we had club rules, in the fifth we had Barbie rules, and in the sixth we introduced boy rules. No hurt feelings allowed.

We never liked the same guy again. She fed me banana sorbet after I got my wisdom teeth pulled. T-shirt sitting four rows back, near the bathrooms. Remember me? What can he expect? He looks too much like my almost-a-sister best friend for me to think of him any other way. And her lips are pencil-thin and his are full. Why would Tommy use lip liner? I have green eyes and light brown hair—stick-straight brown hair.

Boring, boring, boring. Maybe I should get highlights to liven up my look? Or not. Becca tried highlights last year, and they were tough to keep up. She also tried lowlights and pink-lights and cropping it and extensions. Becca likes to try a lot of things. I, on the other hand, have never tried anything different or exciting.

Until now. I returned my focus to Becca. Or Australians? Who gets them? And Australian guys are super sexy. Becca is poking my side now. She wants to play the travel Battleship she brought. Gotta run. Wednesday, July 11 a. France Time! I do take exception to the choice to view spoiler RapeLay Download Game GameFabrique RapeLay is a very adult kind of game that has very heavy sexual themes so this is a game that is not for everyone.

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