“I didn’t say?” He straightens up. “Oh.Wel . I knew if someone didn’t come and physical y drag you outside, you’d never leave. So we’re going out.”
A strange mix of butterflies and churning erupts in my stomach. “Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“Right.” I pause. “And El ie?”
He fal s back, and now he’s lying down on my bed. “Our plans fel through.” He says this with a vague wave of his hand, in a way that keeps me from
inquiring further.
I gesture at my pajama bottoms. “I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“Come on, Anna. Do we honestly have to go through this again?”
I give him a doubtful look, and the unicorn pil ow flies at my head. I slam it back, and he grins, slides off the bed, and smacks me ful force. I grab for it but miss, and he hits me again twice before letting me catch it. St. Clair doubles over in laughter, and I whack him on the back. He tries to reclaim it, but I hold on and we wrestle back and forth until he lets go. The force throws me onto the bed, dizzy and sweaty.
St. Clair flops down beside me, breathing heavily. He’s lying so close that his hair tickles the side of my face. Our arms are almost touching. Almost. I try to exhale, but I no longer know how to breathe. And then I remember I’m not wearing a bra.
And now I’m paranoid.
“Okay.” He’s panting. “Here’s the”— pant pant—“plan.”
I don’t want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen. I force myself up. My hair has gone all crazy and staticky from the pil ow fight, so I grab an elastic band off my dresser to pul it back.
“Put on some proper trousers,” he says. “And I’l show you Paris.”
“That’s it? That’s the plan?”
“The whole shebang.”
“Wow. ‘Shebang.’ Fancy.”
St. Clair grunts and chucks the pil ow at me. My phone rings. It’s probably my mom; she’s cal ed every night this week. I swipe my cel off my desk, and
I’m about to silence the ringer when the name flashes up. My heart stops.
Toph.
Chapter eight
I hope you’re wearing a beret.” This is how Toph greets me.
I’m already laughing. He cal ed! Toph cal ed!
“Not yet.” I pace the short length of my room. “But I could pick one up for you, if you’d like. Get your name stitched onto it.You could wear it instead of your name tag.”
“I could rock a beret.” There’s a grin in his voice.
“No one can rock a beret. Not even you.”
St. Clair is stil lying on my bed. He props up his head to watch me. I smile and point to the picture on my laptop. Toph, I mouth.
St. Clair shakes his head.
Sideburns.
Ah, he mouths back.