The Art of Being Emily - Katie MacAlister Page 0,201

yanked out of its socket.

This time the arm came off all together.

The boat guy had the most amazed look on his face as he stood there in the middle of the canal treading water, holding Jack’s arm in his hand. The people on the boat (which had stopped), went silent for a moment, then Screaming Woman shrieked, and fainted dead away.

“Oh, thank you so very much,” I said kinda snappily, which I admit wasn’t nice of me because Boat Guy was trying to help me, but honestly, he pulled Jack’s arm off! How was I going to explain that? I snatched the arm back and stuck my key into Jack’s back, praying I had enough time to get back to the boat and get his bottle in him before the computer chip registered that he had cried too long without attention. Boat guy kind of make a gulping sound, then started saying things that I just knew weren’t at all nice. By that time the captain was standing at the back next to Devon.

“I got him!” I yelled to Devon, and held Jack up so he could see him. He gave me a thumbs up, then went around to the side to where they had lowered a rope ladder thingie over the side so we could climb back in. Both Boat Guy (who was still swearing) and I passed Bald Guy, which would be really funny except it was nice and all of Bald Guy to jump into the water just because he thought my baby was drowning. So I thanked him through my chattering teeth as I swam by him. He didn’t say much, just kind of glared at me. I don’t suppose I blame him, but sheesh! I was being polite!

The rest of the boat ride kind of sucked after that. I was too cold to even think of kissing Devon and having a romantic boat trip, so after I went into the bathroom and put on a pair of jeans and a sweater that belonged to one of the crew, Devon took the opportunity the captain offered us of getting off the boat early.

“You’d think I was cursed or something,” I told Devon as we got out of a taxi in front of his hotel. “Who else do you know who goes to Paris for two weeks to learn French and ends up with a fake baby, getting locked in the Notre Dame, causing a bunch of people to get hurt while rollerblading, and having to jump into a canal to rescue a doll?”

“That’s what I like about you,” Devon said as we walked to the elevator. He was carrying a plastic bag that had my wet clothes in them. I was still in the Boat Guy’s extra clothes (I had seen Devon slipping the guy some euros, so I guess they were mine now, although the jeans were grotty and too big, and the sweater had weird armpit stains on it), and I had Jack’s extra arm stuffed into my purse, which thankfully no gamins had gotten to while I was in the canal.

‘Course, thinking about it, I don’t think there were any gamins on the boat. I mean, they wouldn’t want to shell over a ton of money to pick pockets, would they?

Devon just looked at me. We got into the elevator with a couple of Fancy Old People—you know, the kind where the guy has a full suit and tie, and not a lot of hair that’s cut really short, and the lady who has that big poofy hair that looks like it’s been teased and sprayed to death, and what my Mom calls “discreet” makeup, which we both means “really needs to take a peek at Vogue or Cosmo to get a clue”—anyway, there was this old couple who wrinkled up their noses at me.

“It’s my clothes, they stink. I had to dive into the canal to save Jack.” I held up Jack’s arm and waved it at them. The woman’s eyes opened up really wide. “He’s fake, just in case you’re thinking he’s real. But that’s why I smell, although it’s not really me that smells, it’s my clothes. I’m not like a clochard or anything. I take a shower every morning.”

“Emily,” Devon said, his lips doing a funny twitch thing.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think they understand you.”

I looked at the couple. They avoided meeting my eyes. “Oh. Sorry. Never mindez-moi.”

It hit me then as we were zooming up to the twelth floor (the