He turns to me and opens his brown eyes wide in exasperation. I suck in my breath. Even when he’s annoyed, he’s beautiful. Comparing him to Toph
isn’t even possible. St. Clair is a different kind of attractive, a different species altogether.
“Change of subject.” He points a finger at me. “I thought southern bel es were supposed to have southern accents.”
I shake my head. “Only when I talk to my mom.Then it slips out because she has one. Most people in Atlanta don’t have an accent. It’s pretty urban. A lot of people speak gangsta, though,” I add jokingly.
“Fo’ shiz,” he replies in his polite English accent.
I spurt orangey-red soup across the table. St. Clair gives a surprised ha-HA kind of laugh, and I’m laughing, too, the painful kind like abdominal
crunches. He hands me a napkin to wipe my chin. “Fo’. Shiz.” He repeats it solemnly.
Cough cough. “Please don’t ever stop saying that. It’s too—” I gasp. “Much.”
“You oughtn’t to have said that. Now I shal have to save it for special occasions.”
“My birthday is in February.” Cough choke wheeze. “Please don’t forget.”
“And mine was yesterday,” he says.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes. It was.” He mops the remainder of my spewed lunch from the tabletop. I try to take the napkins to clean it myself, but he waves my hand away.
“It’s the truth,” Josh says. “I forgot, man. Happy belated birthday.”
“It wasn’t real y your birthday, was it? You would’ve said something.”
“I’m serious. Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday.” He shrugs and tosses the napkins onto his empty tray. “My family isn’t one for cakes and party
hats.”
“But you have to have cake on your birthday,” I say. “It’s the rules. It’s the best part.” I remember the StarWars cake Mom and Bridge and I made for Seany last summer. It was lime green and shaped likeYoda’s head. Bridge even bought cotton candy for his ear hair.
“This is exactly why I never bring it up, you know.”
“But you did something special last night, right? I mean, El ie took you out?”
He picks up his coffee, and then sets it back down again without drinking. “My birthday is just another day. And I’m fine with that. I don’t need the cake, I promise.”
“Okay, okay. Fine.” I raise my hands in surrender. “I won’t wish you happy birthday. Or even a belated happy Friday.”
“Oh, you can wish me happy Friday.” He smiles again. “I have no objection to Fridays.”
“Speaking of,” Rashmi says to me. “Why didn’t you go out with us last night?”
“I had plans. With my friend. Bridgette.”
Al three of them stare, waiting for further explanation.
“Phone plans.”
“But you’ve been out this week?” St. Clair asks. “You’ve actual y left campus?”
“Sure.” Because I have. To get to other parts of campus.
St. Clair raises his eyebrows. “You are such a liar.”