War Stories by Gordon Korman

Author:Gordon Korman [Korman, Gordon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2020-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

Most of the pictures were familiar to the blond girl—Omaha Beach, the historical sites around Normandy, the hedgerows, Saint-Lô. There was one image she couldn’t place. It seemed to be an old stone cistern at the side of a road somewhere. Who knew what attracted the attention of these Americans?

Anyway, there was no mistaking the photograph at the top of the Instagram page. Trevor Firestone—who proudly identified himself as the great-grandson of Jacob Firestone, the “hero” of Sainte-Régine. The foolish boy believed that to be related to such a man was something to boast about. For this, Trevor was probably not to be blamed. For sure, his much-adored “G.G.” never told him the truth.

Juliette Lafleur scrolled down to the bottom of the Instagram page. It was a picture of the front of the Hôtel Pivoines in Paris. And she knew exactly where it was because she was standing directly across the cobblestoned street from it. Juliette looked up from her phone screen and there it was.

“Here it is,” said her tall cousin in French from the seat of his motorcycle.

Philippe was seventeen, four years older than Juliette. This whole thing had been Juliette’s idea, but she could not possibly have pulled it off without her cousin. A thirteen-year-old girl never could have traveled all around France on her own. But Philippe had a motorcycle.

“Let’s get it done, then,” she told him.

Philippe reached into the cargo net under the seat, pulled out a plastic bag, and handed it to Juliette. From it, she removed an exquisitely gift-wrapped box.

“I don’t know why we had to make it so pretty,” Philippe grumbled, “considering who it’s going to.”

“It has to look like a present,” she explained patiently. “Otherwise, we’ll never get it past the front desk.”

Juliette tucked the parcel under her arm and headed into the hotel through the automatic doors. Wearing her most innocent expression, she approached the desk and announced in English, “Monsieur Firestone left a key for me.”

Juliette knew that none of the three Firestones had done any such thing—not the great-grandfather, the father, nor Trevor. But she kept a sharp eye on the desk clerk as he scanned the wall of pigeonholes behind him. The man reached into the slot for room 407 and came up empty.

“I am sorry, mademoiselle, there is no key for you.”

She did her best to look disappointed. “My grand-uncle is no longer a young man. He forgets things. Merci.” She started for the door. But as soon as the clerk turned his back, she dashed onto the elevator and pressed 4.

On the fourth floor, she marched straight past room 407 to the housekeeping cart, which was parked outside the slightly open door of 419. Inside, she could hear the vacuum cleaner running, which meant she probably had at least a minute or two. She snatched the passkey from the corner of the cart, raced back to 407, let herself into the room, and left the gift package on the carpet just inside the door.

She exited the room to find the maid standing by her cart, gazing around in confusion.

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