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    What Happens Abroad
    What Happens Abroad
    What Happens Abroad
    Ebook111 pages1 hour

    What Happens Abroad

    By Jen McConnel

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    About this ebook

    Four countries.
    Three girls.
    Three loves.
    One adventure abroad they'll never forget.

    After a summer of fun, Camie, Joelle, and Sarah are ready to reunite in Italy for one last adventure, but heartbreak waits in the shadows of the cobblestone streets. Can Florence cast its spell and turn lost love into a final fling?

    Catch up with the girls in this final installment of the New Adult series about love, escape, and true friendship.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBloomsbury Publishing
    Release dateJun 16, 2015
    ISBN9781619637900
    What Happens Abroad
    Author

    Jen McConnel

    Jen McConnel first began writing poetry as a child. Since then, her words have appeared in a variety of magazines and journals, including Sagewoman, PanGaia, and The Storyteller (where she won the people's choice 3rd place award for her poem, “Luna”). She is also a former reviewer for Voices of Youth Advocates (VOYA), and a proud member of SCBWI, NCWN, and SCWW. A Michigander by birth, she now lives and writes in the beautiful state of North Carolina. When she isn't crafting worlds of fiction, she teaches writing composition at a community college. Once upon a time, she was a middle school teacher, a librarian, and a bookseller, but those are stories for another time. Follow Jen on Twitter @Jen_McConnel, and visit www.jenmcconnel.com to learn more.

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      Book preview

      What Happens Abroad - Jen McConnel

      Joelle

      Chapter One

      I gaped at the yellow stucco buildings and romantic tiled roofs. Florence was like stepping back in time; if Paris had felt like the nineteenth century, Florence was more like the Middle Ages. My eyes couldn’t drink it all in fast enough.

      Come on, Camie, keep up! Sarah was already half a block ahead of me. I shifted my heavy backpack and hurried to catch up.

      Isn’t it gorgeous? I gushed when I pulled up alongside her.

      She nodded, her eyes glistening. It feels like heaven. With a self-conscious laugh, she added, or at least summer.

      She was right; it was hot. The cobblestone streets sent the heat back up at us as we walked, and the morning sunlight was already brutal. I could feel sweat pooling under my backpack, and I suddenly wanted to take a cold shower. Where’s the real estate office again?

      Sarah pointed up the street. Wait here; I’ll see if Joelle’s beat us.

      She ducked through a narrow doorway, leaving me on the street. I took a deep breath. Florence smelled like geraniums and sunshine—nothing like Paris’s damp, springtime smell even in the middle of summer. Maybe this will be the place I’ll finally be able to forget everything that happened in Paris. The beach hadn’t done it; I hadn’t told Sarah, but I’d woken up in tears most nights. It felt pathetic to cry over a city, but I knew that it was more than Paris I’d been missing.

      It was Hunter.

      Before I could wallow too much, Sarah popped back into view, followed by a beaming Joelle.

      Ta-da! she laughed. I found more than our key!

      Joelle gave me a quick hug. God, it’s good to see you guys. I can’t wait to tell you all about Germany!

      I grinned, pushing thoughts of Hunter to one side. You look like you had fun! I gestured to her short hair. Super cute!

      She smiled. Thanks, did it myself. Yes, I was sober, she added before I could open my mouth.

      Sarah giggled. Unlike in Amsterdam.

      Joelle touched her nose piercing. I still like it, at least.

      Sarah smiled and linked her arm through Joelle’s. Good. I like mine, too.

      Before I could ask what Sarah had had pierced, Joelle tugged her arm. Come on, ladies, let’s go home!

      My heart beat with giddy excitement as we followed Joelle down a narrow side street. She stopped in front of a huge wooden door. Ready?

      Sarah and I nodded, and Joelle pushed the door open. We paused in the dark hallway. It was cold, almost as if we’d stepped into a basement, and the chilly gloom was a big contrast to the oven outside.

      Joelle disappeared around a dark corner, and Sarah followed her. Looking around the dim hallway, I trailed after them, but I stopped short.

      What is that thing? Joelle and Sarah were standing in what looked like a tiny gold cage. There was just enough space for me to squeeze in, if I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

      Joelle laughed. It’s an old service elevator. No more braving the stairs with our bags.

      That was a tantalizing thought. Still, I hung back. Are you sure it works?

      The landlady said so.

      I eyed the cage. Will it hold all of our weight?

      God, Camie, Joelle rolled her eyes, just take the stairs if you want. We’re on the third floor.

      I paused, but before I had a chance to decide, Joelle slid the grate closed and pressed a button. There was a groaning, creaking, whirring noise, and slowly, the gold cage began to ascend. Annoyed, I looked around and found a set of stairs.

      Three flights shouldn’t be too bad, right?

      I started trudging up, trying to ignore the sticky weight of my bag against my back, but it was difficult. I was almost dead by the time I made it to the third floor, but there was no sign of Sarah and Joelle. What if the elevator had crashed?

      Guys? I called uncertainly, standing at the top of the landing.

      Up here! Joelle’s voice came from above, and I craned my neck, trying to see.

      Where?

      One more flight of stairs!

      I wanted to argue with her, to point out that I was already on the third floor, but I just sighed and climbed another flight. I leaned on the wall at the top of the stairs, panting, and Joelle grinned.

      Take the elevator next time, okay?

      I thought you said we were on the third floor.

      We are. Italians don’t count the ground floor as the first floor.

      I groaned. You could have told me that sooner.

      She shrugged. But you’re here now. Her eyes sparkled as she inserted the old black key into an ancient-looking keyhole. Home sweet home!

      She had to lean on the key to get it to turn, but when the door finally swung open, Sarah and I gasped. Directly facing the door was an open window, and through the frame, we could see the top of the Duomo.

      Joelle grinned. Welcome to our new home, ladies! She stepped into the room and swept her arm in a grand gesture, and Sarah dropped her bag immediately and started exploring. I paused over the threshold.

      Isn’t this expensive? I asked Joelle, dropping my voice in embarrassment.

      She shook her head. It’s actually cheaper than a hotel. There’s a hostel in this building, too, and they own all the apartments.

      Before I could answer, Sarah called out from the other end of the hall. You guys, come see!

      I set my heavy bag down and headed toward her voice. Sarah had parked herself in front of a small washing machine and she was staring at it in awe.

      Clean clothes! she breathed, like a prayer, and Joelle and I glanced at each other before we started giggling uncontrollably. In a moment, we joined Sarah, laughing in a pile on the floor.

      ~

      The apartment had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, the little laundry closet, and a combination sitting and dining room. After some discussion, we agreed to rotate sleeping arrangements, since each bedroom had two beds; one of us would sleep alone each night, but to be fair, we’d all swap beds every night so everyone got the privacy and everyone had to share.

      And, Joelle added mischievously, we can always change the rotation if anyone brings home a date!

      Sarah and I glanced at each other, and we both shook our heads. Not likely, I answered for us both.

      Joelle winked. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet somebody!

      For the first night, I ended up with the room to myself, and I dragged my bag into the corner. I realized that I could actually unpack; since we’d be staying in Florence for a while, I didn’t have to keep living out of my luggage. That was a tantalizing thought. Looking around the room, I crossed to the windows. They were tall and covered with wooden shutters, and I unlatched them and folded them back only to find another set of shutters. These opened out, over the street, and I leaned out the window, pressing the shutters back against the cream stucco wall, and stared out at Florence in amazement.

      Red-and-brown-tiled roofs lined all the buildings I could see, but our apartment was taller than many of the buildings surrounding us. The Duomo was visible from this window, too, and I stared at it eagerly. The building itself was supposed to be a masterwork of art, and I couldn’t wait to see it.

      Leaning out the window, I tipped forward and looked at the slate-gray street below. An aqua scooter whizzed by, shattering the stillness of

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