“Giveaway T-shirts stretched over monstrous beer bellies. Puffy NFL jackets and porky jowls. Granted, I'm in a bowling alley,but the differences between Americans and Parisians are shocking.I'm ashamed to see my country the way the French must see us. Couldn't these people have at least brushed their hair before leaving their houses?"I need a licorice rope," Cherrie announces. She marches toward the snack stand,and all I can think is these people are your future.The thought makes me a little happier.When she comes back,I inform her that just one bite of her Red Dye #40-infused snack could kill my brother. "God, morbid," she says. Which makes me think of St. Clair again.Because when I told him the same thing three months ago,instead of accusing me of morbidity,he asked with genuine curiosity, "Why?"Which is the polite thing to do when someone offers you such an interesting piece of conversation.”

“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 melodramtically. "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'll have to wait for it. Just promise you'll stop asking me to compare you to fifty-year-old women,and I'll 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 call him on it, when I realize I can't see our school anymore.I don't believe it.He's completely distracted me.”

“Anna prods St. Clair's shoulder. "Come on. Weren't you gonna show me that thing?" "What thing?" She stares at him. He stares back. She cocks her head toward Cricket and me. "Ah, yes." St. Clair stands. "That thing." They rush out. The door shuts, and St. Clair shouts, "Lola, Cricket wants to show you his thing, too-oo!”

“Well,Anna.It's Matt or the minivan. I'm not making the choice for you."I choose my ex.We used to be good friends,so I'm sort of looking forward to seeing him again. And maybe Cherrie isn't as bad as I remember.Except she is. She totally is. After only five minutes in her company,I cannot fathom how Bridge stands sitting with her at lunch every day.She turns to look at me in the backseat,and her hair swishes in a vitamin-enriched, shampoo-commercial curtain. "So.How are the guys in Paris?"I shrug. "Parisian.""Ha ha.You're funny."Her lifeless laugh is one of her lesser attributes.What does Matt see in her?"No one special?" Matt smiles and glances at me through the rearview mirror. I'm not sure why,but I forgot that he has brown eyes.Why do they make some people look amazing and others completely average? It's the same with brown hair. Statistically speaking, St. Clair and Matt are quite similar. Eyes: Brown. Hair: Brown. Race: Caucasian. There's a significant difference in height,but still. It's like comparing a gourmet truffle to a Mr. Goodbar.I think about the gourmet truffle. And his girlfriend. "Not exactly.”

“Pardon me, but I wonder if you wouldn't mind switching seats. You see, that's my girlfriend there, and she's pregnant. And since she gets a bit ill on airplanes, I thought she might need someone to hold her hair when... well..."St. Clair holds up the courtesy barf bag and shakes it around. The paper crinkles dramatically. The man sprints off the seat as my face flames. His pregnant girlfriend?”

“I chuck my bag into his lap,perhaps a little too hard.St. Clair oofs and jerks forward."Watch it." Josh bites into a pink apple and talks through a full moouth. "He has parts down there you don't have.""Ooo,parts," I say. "Intriguing. Tell me more."Josh smiles sadly. "Sorry. Privelged information.Only people with parts can know about said parts."St. Clair shakes the rest of the leaves from his hair and puts on The Hat. Rashmi makes a face at him. "Really? Today? In public?" she asks."Every day," he says. "As long as you're with me.”

“Everyone's here except for St. Clair." Meredith cranes her neck around the cafeteria. "He's usually running late.""Always," Josh corrects. "Always running late."I clear my throat. "I think I met him last night. In the hallway.""Good hair and an English accent?" Meredith asks."Um.Yeah.I guess." I try to keep my voice casual.Josh smirks. "Everyone's in luuurve with St. Clair.""Oh,shut up," Meredith says."I'm not." Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.He lets go of her hand and gives an exaggerated sigh. "Well,I am. I'm asking him to prom. This is our year, I just know it.""This school has a prom?" I ask."God no," Rashmi says. "Yeah,Josh. You and St. Clair would look really cute in matching tuxes.""Tails." The English accent makes Meredith and me jump in our seats. Hallway boy. Beautiful boy. His hair is damp from the rain. "I insist the tuxes have tails, or I'm giving your corsage to Steve Carver instead.""St. Clair!" Josh springs from his seat, and they give each other the classic two-thumps-on-the-back guy hug."No kiss? I'm crushed,mate.""Thought it might miff the ol' ball and chain. She doesn't know about us yet.""Whatever," Rashi says,but she's smiling now. It's a good look for her. She should utilize the corners of her mouth more often.Beautiful Hallway Boy (Am I supposed to call him Etienne or St. Clair?) drops his bag and slides into the remaining seat between Rashmi and me. "Anna." He's surprised to see me,and I'm startled,too. He remembers me."Nice umbrella.Could've used that this morning." He shakes a hand through his hair, and a drop lands on my bare arm. Words fail me. Unfortunately, my stomach speaks for itself. His eyes pop at the rumble,and I'm alarmed by how big and brown they are. As if he needed any further weapons against the female race.Josh must be right. Every girl in school must be in love with him."Sounds terrible.You ought to feed that thing. Unless..." He pretends to examine me, then comes in close with a whisper. "Unless you're one of those girls who never eats. Can't tolerate that, I'm afraid. Have to give you a lifetime table ban."I'm determined to speak rationally in his presence. "I'm not sure how to order.""Easy," Josh says. "Stand in line. Tell them what you want.Accept delicious goodies. And then give them your meal card and two pints of blood.""I heard they raised it to three pints this year," Rashmi says."Bone marrow," Beautiful Hallway Boy says. "Or your left earlobe.""I meant the menu,thank you very much." I gesture to the chalkboard above one of the chefs. An exquisite cursive hand has written out the morning's menu in pink and yellow and white.In French. "Not exactly my first language.""You don't speak French?" Meredith asks."I've taken Spanish for three years. It's not like I ever thought I'd be moving to Paris.""It's okay," Meredith says quickly. "A lot of people here don't speak French.""But most of them do," Josh adds."But most of them not very well." Rashmi looks pointedly at him."You'll learn the lanaguage of food first. The language of love." Josh rubs his belly like a shiny Buddha. "Oeuf. Egg. Pomme. Apple. Lapin. Rabbit.""Not funny." Rashmi punches him in the arm. "No wonder Isis bites you. Jerk."I glance at the chalkboard again. It's still in French. "And, um, until then?""Right." Beautiful Hallway Boy pushes back his chair. "Come along, then. I haven't eaten either." I can't help but notice several girls gaping at him as we wind our way through the crowd.”