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 stil feels il egal.”
“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 stil 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 final y 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.
“Al 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. Real y good. Why have I never drunk before? I was such an idiot—it’s not a big deal. I total y 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.
Where is Étienne?
I scan the dark room, through the thrashing bodies of disil usioned Parisian youth, getting their anger out with a healthy dose of French punk rock. I
final y find him leaning against a wal talking to Mer. Why is he talking to her? She laughs and tosses her curly hair. And then she touches his arm.
Meredith has turned into an Arm-Toucher. I don’t believe it.
Before I know it, my feet are propel ing the rest of my body toward them. The music thrums through my veins. I stumble over some guy’s feet. He curses
at me in French, and I mumble an apology as I lurch away. What’s his problem?
Étienne. I need to talk to Étienne.
“Hey.” I shout in his face, and he flinches.