Chapter thirty-one
Istudy him. He bites his left pinkie nail, so his book must be good. Pinkie means excited or happy, thumb means thinking or worried. I’m surprised I know the meaning of these gestures. How closely have I been paying attention to him?
Two elderly women in fur coats and matching hats shuffle past. One of them pauses and turns back around. She asks me a question in French. I can’t
make the direct translation, but I know she’s concerned if I’m okay. I nod and tell her thank you. She flashes me another look of unease but moves on.
I can’t walk. What am I supposed to say? Fourteen consecutive days of telephone conversations and now that he’s here in person, I doubt I can
stammer a hel o. One of the diners at the café stands up to help me. I let go of the round table and stumble across the street. I’m weak in the knees. The closer I get, the more overwhelming it gets. The Panthéon is huge. The steps seem so far away.
He looks up.
Our eyes lock, and he breaks into a slow smile. My heart beats faster and faster. Almost there. He sets down his book and stands. And then this—the
moment he cal s my name—is the real moment everything changes.
He is no longer St. Clair, everyone’s pal, everyone’s friend.
He is Étienne. Étienne, like the night we met. He is Étienne; he is my friend.
He is so much more.
Étienne. My feet trip in three syl ables. É-ti-enne, É-ti-enne, É-ti-enne. His name coats my tongue like melting chocolate. He is so beautiful, so perfect.
My throat catches as he opens his arms and wraps me in a hug. My heart pounds furiously, and I’m embarrassed, because I know he feels it. We break
apart, and I stagger backward. He catches me before I fal down the stairs.
“Whoa,” he says. But I don’t think he means me fal ing.
I blush and blame it on clumsiness. “Yeesh, that could’ve been bad.”
Phew. A steady voice.
He looks dazed. “Are you all right?”
I realize his hands are stil on my shoulders, and my entire body stiffens underneath his touch. “Yeah. Great. Super!”
“Hey, Anna. How was your break?”
Josh. I forgot he was here. Étienne lets go of me careful y as I acknowledge Josh, but the whole time we’re chatting, I wish he’d return to drawing and
leave us alone. After a minute, he glances behind me—to where Étienne is standing—and gets a funny expression on his face. His speech trails off, and
he buries his nose in his sketchbook. I look back, but Étienne’s own face has been wiped blank.
We sit on the steps together. I haven’t been this nervous around him since the first week of school. My mind is tangled, my tongue tied, my stomach in
knots. “Wel ,” he says, after an excruciating minute. “Did we use up all of our conversation over the holiday?”
The pressure inside me eases enough to speak. “Guess I’l go back to the dorm.” I pretend to stand, and he laughs.
“I have something for you.” He pul s me back down by my sleeve. “A late Christmas present.”
“For me? But I didn’t get you anything!”
He reaches into a coat pocket and brings out his hand in a fist, closed around something very smal . “It’s not much, so don’t get excited.”