Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss #1)(32)
Author: Stephanie Perkins

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT.

I switch the conversation to his mother. She’s finished treatments, but we won’t know if the disease is gone until March. The doctors have to wait until the radiation leaves her system before they can test her. Étienne is always trapped between worry and hope, so I steer him toward hope whenever possible.

She’s feeling well today, so he is, too. He tells me something about her medication, but my attention wavers as I study his profile. I’m jolted back to Thanksgiving. Those same eyelashes, that same nose, silhouetted against the darkness in my bedroom.

God, he’s beautiful.

We walk to our favorite cinema, the one we’ve dubbed the “Mom and Pop Basset Hound Theater.” It’s only a few blocks away, and it’s a comfortable one-screener run by the gentleman who walks Pouce, the dog from the pâtisserie. I don’t actually think there’s a “Mom” around—Pouce’s owner is more likely a “Pop and Pop” kind of guy—but it’s still a fitting nickname. We walk in and the friendly, dignified man behind the counter calls out, “Jo-ja! Atlanna, Jo-ja!”

I smile back. I’ve been practicing my French with him, and he’s been practicing his English. He remembers I’m from Atlanta, Georgia (Jo-ja!), and we have another brief chat about the weather. Then I ask him if Pouce is a happy dog and if he, the gentleman, likes to eat good food. At least I’m trying.

The movie this afternoon is Roman Holiday, and the rest of the theater is empty. Étienne stretches his legs and relaxes back into his seat. “All right, I have one. Being bad has . . .”

“Never looked so good.”

“Yes!” His eyes sparkle. This is one of our favorite games, where one of us creates the beginning of a clichéd tagline and the other finishes it.

“With friends like these …”

He matches my darkened voice, “Who needs enemies?”

As my laughter bounces off the curtained walls, Étienne struggles to keep his expression straight. He fails and grins wider because of it. The sight makes my heart skip a beat, but I must make an odd face, because he covers his mouth. “Stop staring.”

“What?”

“My teeth.You’re staring at my bottom teeth.”

I laugh again. “Like I have the right to make fun of anyone’s teeth. I can shoot water incredible distances through this gap, you know. Bridge used to tease me all the ti—” I cut myself off, feeling ill. I still haven’t talked to Bridgette.

Étienne lowers his hand from his mouth. His expression is serious, maybe even defensive. “I like your smile.”

I like yours, too.

But I don’t have the courage to say it aloud.

Chapter thirty-three

The front-desk girl smiles when she sees me. “I ’ave package for you!”

Résidence Lambert’s door opens again, and my friends troop in behind me.The girl hands over a large brown box, and I happily sign for it. “From your mom?” Mer asks. Her cheeks are pink from the cold.

“Yes!” Today is my birthday. And I know exactly what’s inside. I carry the box eagerly to the lobby sofas and dig for something to open it with. Josh pulls out his room key and slices through the tape.

“AHH!” he screams.

Rashmi, Mer, and Étienne peek inside, and I gloat triumphantly.

“No!” Mer says.

“Yes,” I say.

Étienne picks up a slender green box. “Cookies?”

Josh snatches it from him. “Not just any cookies, my fine English fellow. Thin Mints.” He turns to me. “Can I open this?”

“Of course!” Every year, my family celebrates my birthday with a feast of Girl Scout cookies instead of cake. The timing is always perfect.

Rashmi pulls out a box of Lemon Chalet Cremes. “Your mom is the best.”

“What’s so special about . . . Tagalongs?” Étienne says, inspecting another box.

“TAGALONGS?” Mer rips them from his hands.

“They’re only the tastiest morsels on the entire planet,” I explain to Étienne. “They only sell them this time of year. Haven’t you ever had a Girl Scout cookie?”

“Did someone say Girl Scout cookies?”

I’m surprised to find Amanda Spitterton-Watts peering over my shoulder. Her eyes bulge when she sees my stash.

“Girl Scout cookies?” Another face appears behind us, wearing a familiar expression of confusion. It’s Cheeseburger. Amanda curls her lip in disgust and turns back to me.

“You have to give me a Thin Mint,” she says.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I say. Josh makes a face, but I hand one over anyway. Amanda sinks her teeth into the chocolate wafer and grips Étienne’s arm. She groans with pleasure. He tries to pull away, but her grasp is tight. She licks her lips. I’m amazed she doesn’t have crumbs on her mouth. How does she do that?

“Have you ever tasted one of these?” she asks him.

“Yes,” he lies.

Rashmi snorts.

There’s a cough behind me, and I find Cheeseburger staring anxiously at my box. I glare at Amanda, the Arm-Toucher, and pull out an entire sleeve of Thin Mints. “Here you go, Cheeseburger.”

He looks at me in surprise, but then again, that’s how he always looks. “Wow. Thanks, Anna.” Cheeseburger takes the cookies and lumbers toward the stairwell.

Josh is horrified. “Whyareyougivingawaythecookies?”

“Seriously.” Mer gives Amanda an irritated glance. “Let’s go someplace private.” She grabs my package and carries it upstairs. Always prepared, she has fresh milk in her mini-fridge. They wish me happy birthday, and we clink glasses. And then we stuff ourselves until bursting.

“Mmm.” Étienne moans from the floor. “Tagalongs.”

“Told you,” Mer says, licking chocolaty peanut butter from her rings.

“Sorry we didn’t get you anything.” Rashmi collapses. “But thanks for sharing.”

I smile. “I’m happy to.”

“Actually”—Étienne sits up—“I was planning to give this to you at dinner, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He reaches into his backpack.

“But you hate birthdays!” I say.

“Don’t thank me yet. And I don’t hate them, I just don’t celebrate my own. Sorry it’s not wrapped.” He hands me a spiral notebook.

I’m confused. “Um . . . thanks.”

“It’s left-handed. See?” He flips it the other way. “Your old one is almost filled with notes and film reviews, so I thought you’d need a new one soon.”

No one ever remembers I’m left-handed. A lump rises in my throat. “It’s perfect.”

“I know it’s not much—”

“No. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He bites his pinkie nail, and we smile at each other.

“Aw, St. Clair. That’s sweet,” Josh says.

Étienne chucks one of Mer’s pillows at his head.

“So you’ve never explained it to me,” Rashmi says. “What’s the deal with that? The reviews?”

“Oh.” I tear my gaze from Étienne. “It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do. I like talking about movies. And it’s hard to get into the business—it’s kind of like a lifetime position—so I need all the practice I can get.”

“Why don’t you want to be a director? Or a screenwriter or an actress or something?” she asks. “No one wants to be a critic, it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Étienne says. “I think it’s cool.”

I shrug. “I just like … expressing my opinion.That possibility of turning someone on to something really great. And, I dunno, I used to talk with this big critic in Atlanta—he lived in my theater’s neighborhood, so he used to go there for screenings— and he once bragged about how there hadn’t been a respectable female film critic since Pauline Kael, because women are too soft. That we’ll give any dumb movie four stars. I want to prove that’s not true.”

Mer grins. “Of course it’s not true.”

Étienne props himself up. “I don’t think anyone who knows you would say it’s easy to earn your good review.”

I look at him, puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“Yawn,” Josh says, not actually yawning. “So what’s the plan?”

I wait for Étienne to reply, but he doesn’t. I turn to Josh, distracted. “Huh?”

“Let’s not sit here all evening. Let’s go out.”

He doesn’t mean to the movies. I shift uncomfortably. “I like staying in.”

Josh’s eyes shine. “Anna. Haven’t you ever drunk before?”

“Of course,” I lie. But a blush destroys my cover. They all scream.

“How can you have gone half a school year without drinking?” Rashmi asks.

I squirm. “I just . . . don’t. It still feels illegal.”

“You’re in France,” Josh says. “You should at least try it.”

And now they’re all jumping up and down.You’d think they’d just turned of age. “YES! Let’s get Anna drunk!” they say.

“I don’t know—”

“Not drunk.” Étienne smiles. He’s the only one still sitting. “Just . . . happy.”

“Happy birthday drunk,” Josh says.

“Happy,” Étienne repeats. “Come on, Anna. I know the perfect place to celebrate.”

And because it’s him, my mouth answers before my brain does. “Okay,” I say.

We agree to meet later tonight. What was I thinking? I’d much rather stay in and hold a Michel Gondry marathon. I’m ooky with nerves, and it takes ages to find something to wear. My wardrobe isn’t exactly stocked with clothes for barhopping. When I finally come down to the lobby, everyone’s already there, even Étienne. I’m surprised he’s on time for once. His back is to me.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s get this party started.”

At the sound of my voice, he turns around. And his head nearly snaps off.

I’m in a short skirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn one here, but my birthday feels like the appropriate occasion. “Woo, Anna!” Rashmi fake-adjusts her glasses. “Why do you hide those things?”

Étienne is staring at my legs. I tuck my coat around myself self-consciously, and he startles and bumps into Rashmi.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should wear skirts more often.

Chapter thirty-four

The band in the club is rocking so hard, screaming guitars and furious drumming and shouting lyrics, I can hardly hear myself think. All I know is that I feel good. Really good. Why have I never drunk before? I was such an idiot—it’s not a big deal. I totally understand why people drink now. I’m not sure what I’ve been drinking, but I do know it was something fruity. It started out disgusting, but the more I drank, the better it got. Or the less I noticed it. Something like that. Man, I feel weird. Powerful.