“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.”

“Watch it." Josh bites into a pink apple and talks through a full mouth. "He has parts down there you don't have.""Ooo, parts," I say. "Intriguing. Tell me more."Josh smiles sadly. "Sorry. Privileged information. Only people with parts can know about said parts.”

“His wang is rubbed shiny," Josh elaborates. "For luck.""Why are we talking about parts again?" Mer asks. "Can't we ever talk about anything else?""Really?" I ask. "Shiny wang?""Very," St. Clair says."Now that's something I've gotta see.”

“Victor Noir. He was a journalist shot by Pierre Bonaparte," St. Clair says, as if that explains anything. He pulls The Hat up off his eyes. "The statue on his grave is supposed to help...fertility.""His wang us rubbed shiny," Josh elaborates. "For luck.""Why are we talking about parts again?" Mer asks. "Can't we ever talk about anything else?""Really?" I ask. "Shiny wang?""Very," St. Clair says. "Now that's something I've gotta see." I gulp my coffee dregs, wipe the bread crumbs from my mouth, and hop up. "Where's Victor?""Allow me." St. Clair springs up to his feet and takes off. I chase after him. He cuts through a stand of bare trees, and I crash through the twigs behind him. We're both laughing when we hit the pathway and run smack into a guard. He frowns at us from underneath his military-style cap. St. Clair gives an angelic smile and a small shrug. The guard shakes his head but allows us to pass.St. Clair gets away with everything.We stroll with exaggerated calm, and he points out an area occupied with people snapping pictures.We hang back and wait our turn. A scrawny black cat darts out from behind an altar strewn with roses and wine bottles,and rushes into the bushes."Well.That was sufficiently creepy. Happy Halloween.""Did you know this place is home to three thousand cats?" St. Clair asks."Sure.It's filed away in my brain under 'Felines,Paris.”

“Let's go over the facts one more time," Josh says. "This is your first weekend away from home?""Yes.""Your first weekend without parental supervision?""Yes.""Your first weekend without parental supervision in Paris? And you want to spend it in your bedroom? Alone?" He and Rashmi exchange pitying glances. I look at St. Clair for help, but find him staring at me with his head tilted to the side."What?" I ask,irritated. "Soup on my chin? Green bean between my teeth?"St. Clair smiles to himself. "I like your stripe," he finally says. He reaches out and touches it lightly. "You have perfect hair.”

“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.”

“Is that...the Looney Tunes theme?"Mer and St. Clair cock their ears."Why,yes.I believe it is," St. Clair says."I heard 'Love Shack' a few minutes ago," Mer says."It's official," I say. "America has finally ruined France.""So can we go now?" St. Clair holds up a small bag. "I'm done.""Ooo,what'd you get?" Mer asks. She takes his bag and pulls out a delicate, shimmery scarf. "Is it for Ellie?""Shite."Mer pauses. "You didn't get anything for Ellie?""No,it's for Mum.Arrrgh." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Would you mind if we pop over to Sennelier before we go home?" Sennelier is a gorgeous little art supply sore,the kind that makes me wish I had an excuse to buy oil paints and pastels. Mer and I went with Rashmi last weekend. She bought Josh a new sketchbook for Hanukkah."Wow.Congratulations,St. Clair," I say. "Winner of today's Sucky Boyfriend award.And I thought Steve was bad-did you see what happened in calc?""You mean when Amanda caught him dirty-texting Nicole?" Mer asks. "I thought she was gonna stab him in the neck with her pencil.""I've been busy," St. Clair says.I glance at him. "I was just teasing.""Well,you don't have to be such a bloody git about it.""I wasn't being a git. I wasnt even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms-""Piss off." He snatches his bag back from Mer and scowls at me."HEY!" Mer says. "It's Christmas. Ho-ho-ho. Deck the halls. Stop fighting.""We weren't fighting," he and I say together.She shakes her head. "Come on,St. Clair's right. Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.""I think it's pretty," I say. "Besides, I'd rather look at ribbons than dead rabbits.""Not the hares again," St. Clair says. "You're as bad as Rashmi."We wrestle through the Christmas crowds. "I can see why she was upset! The way they're hung up,like they'd died of nosebleeds. It's horrible. Poor Isis." All of the shops in Paris have outdone themselves with elaborate window displays,and the butcher is no exception. I pass the dead bunnies every time I go to the movies."In case you hadn't noticed," he says. "Isis is perfectly alive and well on the sixth floor.”