'Ooohhh ...' I breathe out slowly, totally forgetting not to look impressed. 'Not too shabby, huh?' JJ grins back at me, still holding the bathroom door open. She'd brought me in here specifically to see the view. Yes. The view. From the bathroom. And, believe me, it's nothing like the view from the bathroom I'd shared with JJ in Sydney over our recent break (which was of Nan and Pop's red brick garage, two wheelie bins and often a present that Stinky Jack had left behind). I cough, remembering myself. It's just a view. It's not all that great. (Well, only about ninety-eight per cent. I mean, where's the sauna and masseuse?) 'I guess it'll do. At least there aren't any rats,' I try, but I'm sure I'm completely transparent. I can't take my eyes off it. It. The Eiffel Tower. Wow. I can't believe my bathroom (okay, okay, the Rich Girls' bathroom) has a view of the Eiffel Tower. Do people really live like this? Huh. I guess so. Pity they don't appreciate it. Romy and Anouschka probably think it's a decorative French cell phone tower they're looking at every time they glance out the window.
