Anna and the French Kiss
Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss #1)(28)
Author: Stephanie Perkins
She shakes with fury. “Go to hell.”
“Take my life. You can have it. Just watch out for the part where my BEST FRIEND SCREWS ME OVER!” I knock over a cymbal stand, and the brass hits the stage with an earsplitting crash that reverberates through the bowling alley. Matt calls my name. Has he been calling it this entire time? He grabs my arm and leads me around the electrical cords and plugs and onto the floor and away, away, away.
Everyone in the bowling alley is staring at me.
I duck my head so my hair covers my face. I’m crying. This would have never happened if I hadn’t given Toph her number. All of those late-night practices and . . . he said they’ve had sex! What if they’ve had it at my house? Does he come over when she’s watching Seany? Do they go in my bedroom?
I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be—
“You’re not going to be sick,” Matt says, and I didn’t know I was talking out loud, but I don’t care because my best friend is dating Toph. She’s dating Toph. She’s dating Toph. She’s dating—Toph.
Toph’s here.
Right in front of me, in the parking lot. His slender body is relaxed, and he leans his blue plaid h*ps against his car. “What’s up, Annabel Lee?”
He was never interested in me. She said that.
Toph opens his arms for a hug, but I’m already bolting for Matt’s car. I hear his peeved, “What’s with her?” and Matt replying something in disgust, but I don’t know what, and I’m running and running and running, and I want to be as far away from them, as far away from this night, as possible. I wish I were in bed. I wish I were home.
I wish I were in Paris.
Chapter twenty-seven
Anna. Anna, slow down. Bridgette’s dating Toph?” St. Clair asks over the phone.
“Since Thanksgiving. She’s been ly-lying to me this whole time!”
The Atlanta skyline is a blur outside the car window.The towers are illuminated in blue and white lights. They’re more disjointed than the buildings in Paris; they have no relationship. They’re just stupid rectangles designed to be taller, better than the others.
“I need you to take a deep breath,” he says. “All right? Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”
Matt and Cherrie watch me in the rearview mirror as I relate the story again. The line grows quiet. “Are you there?” I ask. I’m startled when a pink tissue appears in my face. It’s attached to Cherrie’s hand. She looks guilty.
I accept the tissue.
“I’m here.” St. Clair is angry. “I’m just sorry I’m not there. With you. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Wanna come beat her up for me?”
“I’m packing my throwing stars right now.”
I sniffle and wipe my nose. “I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I thought he liked me. That’s the worst part, knowing he was never even interested.”
“Bollocks. He was interested.”
“No, he wasn’t,” I say. “Bridge said so.”
“Because she’s jealous! Anna, I was there that first night he called you. I’ve seen how he looked at you in pictures.” I protest, but he interrupts. “Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you.”
There’s a shocked pause, on both ends of the line.
“Because, of course, of how intelligent you are. And funny. Not that you aren’t attractive. Because you are. Attractive. Oh, bugger …”
I wait.
“Are you still there, or did you hang up because I’m such a bleeding idiot?”
“I’m here.”
“God, you made me work for that.”
St. Clair said I’m attractive. That’s the second time.
“You’re so easy to talk to,” he continues, “that sometimes I forget you’re not one of the guys.”
Scratch that. He thinks I’m Josh. “Just drop it. I can’t take being compared to a guy right now—”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“How’s your mom? I’m sorry, I’ve hogged our entire conversation, and this was supposed to be about her, and I didn’t even ask—”
“You did ask. It was the first thing you said when you answered. And technically I called you. And I was calling to see how the show went, which is what we’ve been talking about.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the stuffed panda on Matt’s floorboard. It’s carrying a satin heart that reads I Wuv u. A gift from Cherrie, no doubt. “But how is she?Your mom?”
“Mum’s . . . all right.” His voice is suddenly tired. “I don’t know if she’s better or worse than I expected. In some ways, she’s both. I pictured the worst—bruised and skeletal—and I’m relieved it’s not the case, but seeing her in person . . . she’s still lost loads of weight. And she’s exhausted, and she’s in this lead-lined hospital room. With all of these plastic tubes.”
“Are you allowed to stay with her? Are you there now?”
“No, I’m at her flat. I’m only allowed a short visit because of the radiation exposure.”
“Is your dad there?”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I’m afraid I’ve crossed a line. But finally he speaks. “He’s here. And I’m dealing with him. For Mum’s sake.”
“St. Clair?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet as Matt’s car pulls into my neighborhood.
I sigh. “I need to go. We’re almost home. Matt and Cherrie are giving me a ride.”
“Matt? Your ex-boyfriend, Matt?”
“Sofia’s in the shop.”
A pause. “Mmph.”
We hang up as Matt parks in my driveway. Cherrie turns around and stares. “That was interesting. Who was that?”
Matt looks unhappy. “What?” I ask him.
“You’ll talk to that guy, but you won’t talk to us anymore?”
“Sorry,” I mumble, and climb out of his car. “He’s just a friend. Thanks for the ride.”
Matt gets out, too. Cherrie starts to follow, but he throws her a sharp look. “So what does that mean?” he calls out. “We aren’t friends anymore?You’re bailing on us?”
I trudge toward the house. “I’m tired, Matt. I’m going to bed.”
He follows anyway. I dig out my house key, but he grabs my wrist to stop me from opening the door. “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I just have this one thing to say before you go in there and cry yourself to sleep—”
“Matt, please—”
“Toph isn’t a nice guy. He’s never been a nice guy. I don’t know what you ever saw in him. He talks back to everyone, he’s completely unreliable, he wears those stupid fake clothes—”
“Why are you telling me this?” I’m crying again. I pull my wrist from his grasp.
“I know you didn’t like me as much as I liked you. I know you would have rather been with him, and I dealt with that a long time ago. I’m over it.”
The shame is overwhelming. Even though I knew Matt was aware that I liked Toph, it’s awful to hear him say it aloud.
“But I’m still your friend.” He’s exasperated. “And I’m sick of seeing you waste your energy on that jerk. You’ve spent all this time afraid to talk about what was going on between you two, but if you’d ever bothered to just ask him, you would have discovered that he wasn’t worth it. But you didn’t. You never asked him, did you?”
The weight of hurt is unbearable. “Please leave,” I whisper. “Please just leave.”
“Anna.” His voice levels, and he waits for me to look at him. “It was still wrong of him and Bridge not to tell you. Okay? You deserve better than that. And I sincerely hope whomever you were just talking to”—Matt gestures toward the phone in my purse—“is better than that.”
Chapter twenty-eight
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: HAPPY CHRISTMAS
Have you gotten used to the time difference? Bloody hell, I can’t sleep. I’d call, but I don’t know if you’re awake or doing the family thing or what. The bay fog is so thick that I can’t see out my window. But if I could, I am quite certain I’d discover that I’m the only person alive in San Francisco.
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: I forgot to tell you.
Yesterday I saw a guy wearing an Atlanta Film Festival shirt at the hospital. I asked if he knew you, but he didn’t. I also met an enormous, hairy man in a cheeky Mrs. Claus getup. He was handing out gifts to the cancer patients. Mum took the attached picture. Do I always look so startled?
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: Are you awake yet?
Wake up. Wake up wake up wake up.
To: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
From: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Are you awake yet?
I’m awake! Seany started jumping on my bed, like, three hours ago. We’ve been opening presents and eating sugar cookies for breakfast. Dad gave me a gold ring shaped like a heart. “For Daddy’s sweetheart,” he said. As if I’m the type of girl who’d wear a heart-shaped ring.
FROM HER FATHER. He gave Seany tons of Star Wars stuff and a rock polishing kit, and I’d much rather have those. I can’t believe Mom invited him here for Christmas. She says it’s because their divorce is amicable (um, no) and Seany and I need a father figure in our lives, but all they ever do is fight. This morning it was about my hair. Dad wants me to dye it back, because he thinks I look like a “common prostitute,” and Mom wants to re-bleach it. Like either of them has a say. Oops, gotta run. My grandparents just arrived, and Granddad is bellowing for his bonnie lass. That would be me.
P.S. Love the picture. Mrs. Claus is totally checking out your butt. And it’s Merry Christmas, weirdo.
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Étienne St. Clair <[email protected]>
Subject: HAHAHA!
Was it a PROMISE RING? Did your father give you a PROMISE RING?