He nudges me with his shoulder, and I crack a smile. “Relax,” he says. “You’re with me. I’m practical y French.”
“You’re English.”
He grins. “I’m American.”
“An American with a English accent. Isn’t that, like, twice as much for the French to hate?”
St. Clair rol s his eyes. “You ought to stop listening to stereotypes and start forming your own opinions.”
“I’m not stereotyping.”
“Real y? Please, then, enlighten me.” He points to the feet of a girl walking ahead of us. She’s yakking in French on a cel phone. “What exactly are those?”
“Sneakers,” I mumble.
“Interesting. And the gentlemen over there, on the other side of the pavement. Would you care to explain what the one on the left is wearing? Those
peculiar contraptions strapped to his feet?”
They’re sneakers, of course. “But hey. See that guy over there?” I nod toward a man in jean shorts and a Budweiser T-shirt. “Am I that obvious?”
St. Clair squints at him. “Obviously what? Balding? Overweight? Tasteless?”
“American.”
He sighs melodramatical y. “Honestly, Anna. You must get over this.”
“I just don’t want to offend anyone. I hear they offend easily.”
“You’re not offending anyone except me right now.”
“What about her?” I point to a middle-aged woman in khaki shorts and a knit top with stars and stripes on it. She has a camera strapped to her belt and
is arguing with a man in a bucket hat. Her husband, I suppose.
“Completely offensive.”
“I mean, am I as obvious as her?”
“Considering she’s wearing the American flag, I’d venture a no on that one.” He bites his thumbnail. “Listen. I think I have a solution to your problem, but you’l have to wait for it. Just promise you’l stop asking me to compare you to fifty-year-old women, and I’l take care of everything.”
“How? With what? A French passport?”
He snorts. “I didn’t say I’d make you French.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “Deal?”
“Deal,” I say uncomfortably. I don’t care for surprises. “But it better be good.”
“Oh, it’s good.” And St. Clair looks so smug that I’m about to cal him on it, when I realize I can’t see our school anymore.
I don’t believe it. He’s completely distracted me.
It takes a moment for me to recognize the symptoms, but my heels are bouncing and my stomach is fluttering. I’m final y excited to be out! “So where
are we going?” I can’t keep the eagerness from my voice. “The Seine? I know it’s up here somewhere. Are we going to sit on the riverbank?”
“Not tell ing. Keep walking.”
I let this pass.What’s wrong with me? That’s the second time in one minute I’ve let him keep me in suspense. “Oh! You have to see this first.” He grabs