Chapter 5

The next day, I wake up on my own with no alarm or anything. At first, I forget where I am, and then I see the unusual surroundings and remember. I am in Beverly Hills, California. I look over. Adrienne is still asleep. I tiptoe into the bathroom, and take a shower.

I brush my teeth, and French braid my hair. I go out into the bedroom, looping an elastic around the end of the braid. My hair is actually down to my elbows, but when it is in a French braid, it seems a couple inches shorter. My hair has always been the best thing about me. It is golden blond, with lighter streaks of blond in it, that people would think were fake highlights, but are really just naturally bleached by the sun, and do not fade during the winter. My skin is naturally somewhat dark, so that my summer tan does not fade away during the winter like most people's does. I have a pretty good build, even though I am skinny. My eyes are a really bright blue, and seem to change depending on what I wear. It's really cool.

I look at the clock. It is six thirty. I have been up for at least an hour. I must not be used to the time difference yet. It is going to take a while. I open the curtains, letting in the California sun. I see that Beverly Hills is really beautiful. The Pacific Ocean is crystal clear and glistening in the sun, the roads are lined with Palm trees, there is a delicate breeze flowing through the air, bringing in the smell of fresh air and the ocean.

I turn when I hear Adrienne moving in the bed.

"Morning sleepyhead," I say, going over, and shaking her.

"Sophie?" She looks at the clock. "Are you crazy? It's still the crack of dawn!" She notices my wet and French braided hair, "How long have you been up?"

"Not too long, I just took a shower, and did my hair. But come on, I think everyone else is already up too."

"Ugh. It's just because we're unused to the time change."

"I know, but come on, we have a long day ahead of us."

I go into the closet, and pull out a pair of white chino pants, a black tank top, and black flip flops, and get dressed. I put on my dangling earrings, the ones that are small silver stars. I put on my tear drop necklace and bracelet, and slip on my ring. I know, lots of silver and jewelry, but that's the way I dress.

I do my makeup, slather on lip gloss, and head out into the suite.

I find Mom already up, looking good as usual in a tan skirt and a pale yellow shirt. She can wear the pale colors, because she is naturally very dark. She is making breakfast.

"Morning mom," I say, sitting up at the bar that is connected to the kitchen.

"Morning darling. Making pancakes, want some?"

"Sure. Thanks."

I look around. The blinds are still closed. I go over, and pull open the draperies. Outside is a balcony with an amazing view. We can see down to the pool below, and all around Beverly Hills. The room is now filled with sunlight.

"Good old California sun," I mutter.

"It's not quite as good as the French sunshine, but it will have to do."

I turn around, Mom is looking at me. "I agree, but I think that I could get used to it."

"Agreed."

Soon the whole family and Brian is in the dining room, and we are eating Mom's pancakes.

"Darling, I didn't know that you liked to make pancakes," Dad says.

"Well, I have several hidden talents, and cooking is one. I just enjoy having a cook better when I am working and busy."

"Speaking of which, we are going to have to start figuring out what we are going to do about interviewing a new maid and cook."

"That would be wise. But I will miss Pearl and Veronica." Pearl and Veronica were our maid and cook back in France. They have been with my parents for years, long before even Peter was born. They have helped raise me. It was hard to leave them behind.

"I have an idea. Why not bring Pearl and Veronica here to America?" I suggest on a whim.

Everyone looks at me with a weird look. "What? Why not? I mean, they have a lot of family members here in America and we all know how sad both them and us were sad when we moved. Why not ask them to come back? Mom, Dad, they have been with you guys forever, through most of your marriage! They helped to raise me, Peter, and Adrienne. You should ask them to come back!"

"Actually, you know that may not be a bad idea," Peter says thoughtfully, taking a gulp of orange juice.

"But that would be ridiculous to ask them to pick up and move here!"

"It's not more ridiculous than making us pick up and move here, right in the years when it is hardest to say goodbye!"

The events of the days before we left flashed through my head. Saying goodbye to my best friend Amanda, and my boyfriend Ben, saying goodbye to everyone. Lots of tears, using up boxes of tissues, the going away party, even though I was not going away permanently, just for a while. I hoped.

I was brought to the present when Dad let out an outburst.

"It was not ridiculous to bring you kids out here, you have loved it!"

"How do you know? You have no idea how things have been going for me or for any of us!"

Mom breaks in, "Now, now, you kids had more than enough warning about this! You were able to get away pretty easily, and there has not been a single complaint so far!"

Then Peter, "That is because there has been no time to complain! I don't want to learn English, or speak it, or be here in America."