Isla and the Happily Ever After(14)
Author: Stephanie Perkins

“It’s kind of French, you know? Not the hurting-people’s-feelings thing. Only smiling when it’s sincere. Americans will smile at anyone, for any reason.”

“You don’t.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Josh is taken aback. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, I’ve been told that I have a hard time…concealing my displeasure.”

“I know.” I hesitate. “I like that about you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You do?”

I stare at the bench’s wooden slats. Somehow, the two feet between our bodies has halved into one. “It means that when you do smile? I know it’s not false. You’re not just smiling to make me” – I shake my head, and my hair bounces – “whomever, feel better. If they’re saying stupid things. And can’t seem to stop talking.”

His mouth spreads into a slow smile.

“Yeah.” I laugh. “Like that.”

“What else?”

I tilt my head. “What else what?”

“What else do I need to know about Kurt?”

His phrasing implies that we’ll be spending more time together. The happy tightness returns to my chest. “Not much else to know. It’s not like he’s a card-counting savant or a mathematical genius or anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant. But those stereotypes are the worst. Though he does love routine.”

Josh smiles again. “Let me guess. Sushi?”

“Same day, same time, same restaurant.” Kurt and I meet after his weekly therapy session, but Josh doesn’t need to know that.

“Same entrée?”

“Shrimp nigiri and miso soup. But I get the special, whatever it is. I ask the server to surprise me.”

The bells of Notre-Dame peal out from the towers. We startle, covering our ears and laughing. The bells are loud – a cacophony of chimes crashing over one another. From this close, it’s hard to even make out a pattern. They ring and ring and ring, and we’re helpless, completely bowled over with laughter, until they cease their clattering.

The distance between us has disappeared.

His jeans rub softly against my bare legs. I’m too aware of my movements, too aware of my nerves, too aware of everything. All five senses are overloading. I jerk my head towards the cathedral. “That was my cue.”

“Mind if I walk with you?” Josh’s question sounds anxious, like he’s trying to catch his breath. “I need to pick up a brush. At Graphigro.” It’s an art supply store a few blocks away from the restaurant. I don’t know whether he really does need a new brush or whether this is an excuse to spend a few more minutes with me. But I’ll take it either way.

This entire evening has been surreal. We cross another bridge, the Pont d’Arcole, onto the Right Bank. The scent of metal and urine wafts up from the Seine, but even this barely registers. We’re in a two-person bubble. The noises that I should be hearing – cars speeding, pedestrians rushing, construction clattering – are muffled. Instead, I hear my heart thumping against my ribcage. Josh’s steady footsteps against the pavement. The occasional swish of his pant legs catching against each other.

Ask me out. I chant it like a mantra. Ask me out, ask me out, ask me out.

“What are you doing this weekend?” It ruptures from my mouth, far less casual than I’d hoped. “I mean, you don’t have detention, do you?”

Aaaaaand way to make it worse.

But Josh glances at me with a smile. “The head called me into her office, because she wanted to make sure that we ‘get off to the right start’ this year. But she didn’t give me detention. Not yet.”

I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond.

“Actually,” he says, “I’m going to Munich.”

I freeze, mid-step. It’s against school rules to leave the city without permission, never mind the entire country. Someone bumps into me from behind. I stumble forward, and Josh reaches out to grab me, but I’ve already steadied myself. His hand hesitates in the space between us. And then it returns to his pocket.

I kind of wish that I’d fallen.

“So, um. Munich. This weekend?”

Josh is studying me, making sure that I’m really okay. “Yeah. Oktoberfest.”

I frown. “Even though it’s still September?”

“Ah, but most of the festival happens this month. Misleading, I know.” He grins, and there’s an enticing flash of dimples. My insides go wobbly. “But I want to visit as many countries as possible before graduation. And I’ve never been to Germany.”

“And you’re travelling alone?” I’m impressed. Maybe even awed.

“Yep. My train leaves in the morning.”

Kurt appears on the opposite side of the street. He’s checking his phone, no doubt preparing to text because I’m a full minute late. I shout his name. He pulls down his hoodie and brushes the hair from his eyes, thrown to discover me with Josh.

I shuffle my feet against the kerb. “Well. This is my stop.”

Josh kicks the kerb once, too. “Maybe sometime I can join you guys for dinner?”

Ohmygod. “I am such an assweed.”

He bursts into laughter.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry! Would you like to have dinner with us?”

He’s still laughing. “I was only teasing.”

“Please.” I clasp a hand around my compass. “Eat with us.”

“It’s okay. I really do need to pick up a brush before tomorrow. Besides” – he glances at Kurt – “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing.”

But Josh is already walking backwards down the side street. He’s still facing me. “See you in a few days,” he shouts. “Enjoy your raw fish.”

“Enjoy your schnitzel!”

I laugh at the unexpected perverseness of our final exchange as Kurt pops up over my shoulder. His brow wrinkles. “Why was he here? How did that happen?”

Josh turns around. I admire the back side of his physique as the street lamps illuminate him, one after another. His figure grows smaller. He reaches a curve in the road and looks over his shoulder. One hand raises in a wave. I mirror the gesture, and he vanishes.

“I don’t know.” I’m mystified. “I was alone in my room. And then he was there.”

It’s Sunday – just before midnight – and I’m curled in bed with Joann Sfar, when there are two knocks against my door. The sound is so soft that I’m not sure I actually heard it. My mind races to Josh, but I push it away as improbable. Kurt? No, he’d text. Maybe it was next door. Or maybe it was a practical joke; it wouldn’t be the first.