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I climbed the steps of the double-decker bus as it lurched forward and I quickly threw myself into a seat with my sister, so we didn't fall back down the steps we had just rushed up. We made some joke and saw that my mother, and two grandmas had sat farther up. So when the bus stopped again, we raced to the seats.
"Do you speak English?" I heard someone asked behind me, and I turned around to see a boy, staring at me. I nodded.
His face cracked into a huge grin, and almost shouted, "Good afternoon!" I smiled and returned politely, "Good afternoon."
I turned back in my seat and he called after me, in his rich accent, "What's your name?"
I turned around and my sister whispered, "Don't tell him!" But going against a 12 year old's advice, I told him. "Taylor." I said. But he couldn't hear me, and about half the bus repeated it for him.
"OHHHH Taylor!" He exclaimed and laughed. I laughed slightly and saw that my grandmothers were laughing too.
"And what's the younger sister's name?" He boomed. My sister grimaced and didn't respond.
As we drove around, we heard them saying that "English girls were just so beautiful!"
"Where are you from?" He asked, with at least 3/4 of the bus listening. I didn't turn around, but my mom did.
"England?" He asked, and my mom shook her head. "America?" He inquired and my mom nodded. I turned around and he yelled, "OH!" grinning and giving two thumbs up. I laughed and couldn't seem to stop.
Then him and his, whom I assumed to be, his friends started saying how "good looking American girls were." I laughed harder.
"This day sure has been interesting." I giggled and my sister smiled.
The bus stopped and the driver alerted us that this was the last stop, and we all piled off. "Bye." I called.
After we got off, he joyfully told me goodbye and blew me kisses. I laughed and waved. "GOODBYE!" He called, arousing many laughs.
"BYE!" I replied, and he called, "I love you!" and I just grinned and said, "Thanks."
We walked and we were almost two streets away and he was jumping up and down, waving.
We all laughed, and I realized I never got his name.
"We'll name him John-Paul." My mom cackled.
"John-Paul it is." I laughed, soaking in the rambunctious boy's outward attitude.
He made my stories of Paris a lot more interesting than I'm sure my friends' were.
"Do you speak English?" I heard someone asked behind me, and I turned around to see a boy, staring at me. I nodded.
His face cracked into a huge grin, and almost shouted, "Good afternoon!" I smiled and returned politely, "Good afternoon."
I turned back in my seat and he called after me, in his rich accent, "What's your name?"
I turned around and my sister whispered, "Don't tell him!" But going against a 12 year old's advice, I told him. "Taylor." I said. But he couldn't hear me, and about half the bus repeated it for him.
"OHHHH Taylor!" He exclaimed and laughed. I laughed slightly and saw that my grandmothers were laughing too.
"And what's the younger sister's name?" He boomed. My sister grimaced and didn't respond.
As we drove around, we heard them saying that "English girls were just so beautiful!"
"Where are you from?" He asked, with at least 3/4 of the bus listening. I didn't turn around, but my mom did.
"England?" He asked, and my mom shook her head. "America?" He inquired and my mom nodded. I turned around and he yelled, "OH!" grinning and giving two thumbs up. I laughed and couldn't seem to stop.
Then him and his, whom I assumed to be, his friends started saying how "good looking American girls were." I laughed harder.
"This day sure has been interesting." I giggled and my sister smiled.
The bus stopped and the driver alerted us that this was the last stop, and we all piled off. "Bye." I called.
After we got off, he joyfully told me goodbye and blew me kisses. I laughed and waved. "GOODBYE!" He called, arousing many laughs.
"BYE!" I replied, and he called, "I love you!" and I just grinned and said, "Thanks."
We walked and we were almost two streets away and he was jumping up and down, waving.
We all laughed, and I realized I never got his name.
"We'll name him John-Paul." My mom cackled.
"John-Paul it is." I laughed, soaking in the rambunctious boy's outward attitude.
He made my stories of Paris a lot more interesting than I'm sure my friends' were.
