“The whole school waited on the bus for two hours, because she forgot what time we were supposed to meet back,” he says.
“It was NOT two hours—”
Meredith continues. “Professeur Hansen final y tracked her down behind some shrubbery in the formal gardens, and she had teeth marks all over her neck.”
“Teeth marks!” St. Clair snorts.
Rashmi fumes. “Shut up, English Tongue.”
“Huh?”
“English Tongue,” she says. “That’s what we all cal ed you after your and El ie’s breathtaking display at the street fair last spring.” St. Clair tries to protest, but he’s laughing too hard. Meredith and Rashmi continue jabbing back and forth, but . . . I’m lost again. I wonder if Matt is a better kisser now that he has someone more experienced to practice on. He was probably a bad kisser because of me.
Oh, no.
I’m a bad kisser. I am, I must be.
Someday I’l be awarded a statue shaped like a pair of lips, and it’l be engraved with the words WORLD’S WORST KISSER. And Matt will give a speech about how he only dated me because he was desperate, but I didn’t put out, so I was a waste of time because Cherrie Mil iken liked him all along and she total y puts out. Everyone knows it.
Oh God. Does Toph think I’m a bad kisser?
It only happened once. My last night at the movie theater was also the last night before I left for France. It was slow, and we’d been alone in the lobby for most of the evening. Maybe because it was my final shift, maybe because we wouldn’t see each other again for four months, maybe because it felt like a last chance—whatever the reason, we were reckless. We were brave. The flirting escalated all night long, and by the time we were told to go home, we couldn’t walk away. We just kept . . . drawing out the conversation.
And then, final y, he said he would miss me.
And then, final y, he kissed me under the buzzing marquee.
And then I left.
“Anna? Are you all right?” someone asks.
The whole table is staring at me.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Um.Where’s the bathroom?” The bathroom is my favorite excuse for any situation. No one ever inquires further once you mention it.
“The toilets are down the hal .” St. Clair looks concerned but doesn’t dare ask. He’s probably afraid I’l talk about tampon absorbency or mention the dreaded P-word.
I spend the rest of lunch in a stal . I miss home so much that it physical y hurts. My head throbs, my stomach is nauseous, and it’s all so unfair. I never asked to be sent here. I had my own friends and my own inside jokes and my own stolen kisses. I wish my parents had offered me the choice: “Would you like to spend your senior year in Atlanta or Paris?”
Who knows? Maybe I would have picked Paris.
What my parents never considered is that I just wanted a choice.
Chapter five
To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>
From: Bridgette Saunderwick <[email protected]>
Subject: Don’t look now but . . .
... the bottom right corner of your bed is untucked. HA! Made you look. Now stop smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Seriously. How’s Le Academe
du Fraunch? Any hotties I should know about? Speaking of, guess who’s in my calc class?? Drew! He dyed his hair black and got a lip ring. And
he’s total y cal ipygian (look it up, lazy ass). I sat with the usual at lunch, but it wasn’t the same without you. Not to mention freaking Cherrie
showed up. She kept flipping her hair around, and I swear I heard you humming that TRESemmé commercial. I’l gouge out my eyes with Sean’s