The Adventures of Mademoiselle Mac 2-Book Bundle by Christopher Ward Page A

length of the keyboard in a mad flourish, shooting me a goofy grin. My shoulders started to shake, and I could feel the laughter escaping from my nose in little puffs. If only the congregation could appreciate this part of the service!
    Rudee was in his element and started playing backwards, facing me with his hands behind his back. I started to lose control when he held one long, high, piercing note using his nose, and I knew I would have to escape. I crawled down the balcony and barely managed to get behind the passage door before exploding with laughter just as the music stopped. They must have heard me, I thought, and there was no way I was going back in for Rudee’s next big number.
    I quickly grabbed a crusty piece of bread (saving it from “death by beets”) and some juice and decided to enjoy the day. Here I was in the most beautiful city in the world, so people said, and I felt like I hadn’t stopped to look at it or really appreciate it. I knew that Sashay and Rudee were right. There was nothing I could do to change the fate of Paris. I might as well enjoy it before I had to go back to California, and I was going to have to account for my time to my parents. I still had some time to kill before meeting up with the tour at Notre Dame, the architectural wonder du jour . I was happily anticipating seeing the legendary cathedral, and I’d be glad if no one had tried removing or destroying part of it. I wandered over to the Parc Monceau, just around the corner from the Russian church, and entered through magnificent golden gates. It was filled with strollers, joggers, kids on blades and scooters, lovers kissing on benches under chestnut trees, and old folks sitting as still as the statues watching over the passing parade.
    A light rain began to fall, so I opened my trusty duck’s head umbrella, scaring a pigeon on the path beside me into a major flap. This amused me so much that I began opening my umbrella at every pigeon in sight, until I tired of the joke, well after the pigeons had, I’m sure. Gusts of wind lifted me slightly off the ground. For some reason, I remembered standing with Penelope at the bus stop one day when it started to rain. I guess she hadn’t rinsed her hair too well, because bubbles started foaming on the top of her head until she looked as if she would float away. I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t tell her what was so funny, and she just kept giving me that snotty look of hers until the bubbles began to fly all around her head and she finally figured out what was happening. Was I actually missing hanging out with Penelope?
    I wandered without thinking about where I was going and found myself in a street market packed with people and food. A vendor’s voice called out, “ Ohhh-ranges ... trois pour deux !”
    A little furball on a leash was sniffing for tidbits, which were plentiful under the stalls. Furball’s owner teetered on high heels in full makeup and shades, long ruby nails picking over cherry tomatoes and radishes, baguette waving from a leopard print shoulder bag.
    Trays of shrimp and crabs and clams looked like they had just washed up in front of the fish shop, while a giant swordfish presided over all, jagged jaw propped open. I moved on through a sea of faces and colours and smells — coffee, fresh bread, cheese, spices.
    My rambling took me past the Place de la Concorde and the Roue de Paris Ferris wheel, which didn’t seem so scary by day, into the beautiful Tuileries Gardens. The light rain continued on and off as I passed the old wooden carrousel and kids bouncing gleefully on the trampolines. A week ago, I would have been first in line for a good bounce, but today my heart wasn’t in it. I wondered if I was, in some strange way, not a kid any more. I hadn’t swallowed one raindrop today. I’d been admiring the reflections of the old buildings and shimmering trees in the puddles but hadn’t even been