Anna and the French Kiss

Phew! Someone else can talk to the locals.

“The winning team will be determined by the total number of items found, but I’ll need to find photos on everyone’s phone or camera, if you expect to earn credit.”

NOOOOOOOOOOO.

“There’s a prize.” Nate smiles again, now that he finally has everyone’s attention. “The team that finds the most items by the end of Thursday’s class . . . gets to skip class on Friday.”

Now that might be worth it. The classroom erupts in whistles and clapping. Nate picks captains based on who begs for it the loudest. Steve Carver—the guy with the faux-surfer hair—and Amanda’s best friend, Nicole, are chosen. Rashmi and I groan in a rare moment of camaraderie. Steve pumps a fist in the air. What a meathead.

The selecting begins, and Amanda is chosen first. Of course. And then Steve’s best friend. Of course. Rashmi elbows me. “Bet you five euros I’m picked last.”

“I’ll take that bet. Because it’s totally me.”

Amanda turns in her seat toward me and lowers her voice. “That’s a safe bet, Skunk Girl. Who’d want you on their team?”

My jaw unhinges stupidly.

“St. Clair!” Steve’s voice startles me. It figures that St. Clair would be picked early. Everyone looks at him, but he’s staring down Amanda. “Me,” he says, in answer to her question. “I want Anna on my team, and you’d be lucky to have her.”

She flushes and quickly turns back around, but not before shooting me another dagger. What have I ever done to her?

More names are called. More names that are NOT mine. St. Clair tries to get my attention, but I pretend I don’t notice. I can’t bear to look at him. I’m too humiliated. Soon the selection is down to me, Rashmi, and a skinny dude who, for whatever reason, is called Cheeseburger. Cheeseburger is always wearing this expression of surprise, like someone’s just called his name, and he can’t figure out where the voice is coming from.

“Rashmi,” Nicole says without hesitation.

My heart sinks. Now it’s between me and someone named Cheeseburger. I focus my attention down on my desk, at the picture of me that Josh drew earlier today in history. I’m dressed like a medieval peasant (we’re studying the Black Plague), and I have a fierce scowl and a dead rat dangling from one hand.

Amanda whispers into Steve’s ear. I feel her smirking at me, and my face burns.

Steve clears his throat. “Cheeseburger.”

chapter eleven

“You owe me five bucks,” I say.

Rashmi smiles. “I’ll buy your movie ticket.”

At least we’re on the same team. Nicole divided up Nate’s list, so Rashmi and I went out on our own. The week shouldn’t be too bad. Because of Rashmi, I’ll actually earn class credit. She let me take some of the pictures—a statue of some guy named Budé and a group of kids playing football in the street—even though she was the one who found both items.

“I miss football.” Meredith pouts as we tell her our story. Even her springy curls look limp and sad tonight.

A breeze whips down the broad avenue, and we hold our jackets tight and shiver. A dusting of brown leaves crunches underneath our feet as Paris hovers on the edge of autumn. “Isn’t there some league you can join or something?” Josh asks, putting his arm around Rashmi. She burrows into him. “I see people playing around here all the time.”

“Boo!” A familiar disheveled head pops between Mer and me, and we jump like startled cats.

“Jeez,” Mer says. “Give me a heart attack.What are you doing here?”

“It Happened One Night,” St. Clair says. “Le Champo, right?”

“Don’t you have plans with Ellie?” Rashmi asks.

“Am I not invited?” He wedges his way between Meredith and me.

“Of course you’re invited,” Mer says. “We just assumed you’d be busy.”

“You’re always busy,” Rashmi says.

“I’m not always busy.”

“You are,” she says. “And you know what’s weird? Mer’s the only one who’s even seen Ellen this year. Is she too good for us now?”

“Aw, get off it. Not this again.”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

St. Clair shakes his head, but it doesn’t escape our notice that he doesn’t deny it. Ellie may be friendly enough in person, but it’s clear she no longer needs her SOAP friends. Even I can see that.

“What do you guys even do every night?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

“It,” Rashmi says. “They do it. He’s ditching us to screw.”

St. Clair blushes. “You know, Rash, you’re as crude as those stupid juniors on my floor. Dave what’s-his- name and Mike Reynard. God, they’re arses.”

Mike Reynard is Dave-from-French-and-history’s best friend. I didn’t know they lived next to him.

“Watch it, St. Clair,” Josh says.There’s an edge in his normally relaxed demeanor.

Rashmi whips into St. Clair’s face. “Are you calling me an ass?”

“No, but if you don’t back off, I bloody might.”

Their bodies are tense, like they’re about to bash antlers in a nature documentary. Josh tries to pull Rashmi back, but she shakes him away. “God, St. Clair, you can’t be all chummy during the day and blow us off every night!You can’t come back whenever you feel like it and pretend like everything’s fine.”

Mer tries to cut them off. “Hey, hey, hey—”

“Everything is fine! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“HEY!” Mer uses her considerable height and strength to force her way between them.To my surprise, she begins pleading with Rashmi. “I know you miss Ellie. I know she was your best friend, and it stinks that she’s moved on, but you still have us. And St. Clair . . . she’s right. It hurts not to see you anymore. I mean, away from school.” She sounds like she’s about to cry. “We used to be so close.”

Josh puts his arm around her, and she hugs him tightly. He glares at St. Clair through her curls. This is your fault. Fix it.

St. Clair deflates. “Yeah. Okay.You’re right.”

It’s not quite an apology, but Rashmi nods. Mer exhales in relief. Josh delicately pries her off and moves beside his girlfriend again. We tread in awkward silence. So Rashmi and Ellie used to be best friends. It’s hard enough being temporarily separated from Bridge, but I can’t imagine how awful it would be if she ditched me completely. I feel guilty. No wonder Rashmi’s bitter.

“Sorry, Anna,” St. Clair says after another muted block. “I know you were excited about the film.”

“It’s okay. It’s not my business. My friends fight, too. I mean . . . my friends back home. Not that you guys aren’t my friends. I’m just saying . . . all friends fight.”

Argh. How distressing.

Gloom cloaks us like a thick fog. We resume silence, and my thoughts circle around. I wish Bridge were here. I wish St. Clair wasn’t with Ellie, and Ellie hadn’t hurt Rashmi, and Rashmi were more like Bridge. I wish Bridge were here.

“Hey,” Josh says. “You. Check it out.”

And then the darkness gives way to white neon. An Art Deco font, burning into the night, announces our arrival at the CINEMA LE CHAMPO. The letters dwarf me. Cinema. Has there ever been a more beautiful word? My heart soars as we pass the colorful film posters and walk through the gleaming glass doors. The lobby is smaller than what I’m used to, and though it’s missing the tang of artificially buttered popcorn,