“Maybe I’m not a brave American, but I think I can be a brave Canadian.”

“There.You're officially Canadian. Try not to abuse your new power.""Whatever.I'm totally going out tonight.""Good." He slows down. "You should."We're both standing still. He's so close to me.His gaze is locked on mine, and my heart pounds painfully in my chest. I step back and look away. Toph. I like Toph,not St. Clair. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this? St. Clair is taken."Did you paint these?" I'm desperate to change the mood. "These above your bed?" I glance back,and he's still staring at me.He bites his thumbnail before replying. His voice is odd. "No.My mum did.""Really? Wow,they're good. Really, really...good.""Anna...""Is this here in Paris?""No,it's the street I grew up on. In London.""Oh.""Anna...""Hmm?" I stand with my back to him, trying to examine the paintings. They really are great. I just can't seem to focus. Of course it's not Paris. I should've known-"That guy.Sideburns.You like him?"My back squirms. "You've asked me that before.""What I meant was," he says, flustered. "Your feelings haven't changed? Since you've been here?"It takes a moment to consider the question. "It's not a matter of how I feel," I say at last. "I'm interested,but...I don't know if he's still interested in me."St. Clair edges closer. "Does he still call?""Yeah.I mean,not often. But yes.""Right.Right,well," he says, blinking. "There's your answer."I look away. "I should go.I'm sure you have plans with Ellie.""Yes.I mean,no. I mean, I don't know. If you aren't doing any-"I open his door. "So I'll see you later. Thank you for the Canadian citizenship." I tap the patch on my bag.St. Clair looks strangely hurt. "No problem. Happy to be of service."I take the stairs two at a time to my floor. What just happened? One minute we were fine,and the next it was like I couldn't leave fast enough. I need to get out of here.I need to leave the dorm. Maybe I'm not a brave American,but I think I can be a brave Canadian.I grab the Pariscope from inside my room and jog downstairs.I'm going to see Paris.Alone.”

“Seriously, I don't know any American girl who can resist an English accent.”

“Pinkie means excited or happy, thumb means thinking or worried. I’m surprised I knowthe meaning of these gestures. How closely have I been paying attention to him?”

“Oh my. He's English."Er. Does Mer live here?"Seriously, I dont know any American girl who can resist an English accent.”

“I'm not British.I'm American."I smile. "Sure you are.""I am.You have to be an American to attend SOAP,remember?""Soap?""School of America in Paris," he explains. "SOAP."Nice.My father sent me here to be cleansed.”

“What's that?""My friend St. Clair bought it for me. So I wouldn't feel out of place."She raises her eyebrows as she pulls back onto the road. "Are there a lot of Canadians in Paris?"My face warms. "I just felt,you know, stupid for a while. Like one of those lame American tourists with the white sneakers and the cameras around their necks? So he bought it for me, so I wouldn't feel....embarrassed. American.""Being American is nothing to be ashamed of," she snaps."God,Mom,I know.I just meant-forget it.""Is this the English boy with the French father?""What does that have anything to do with it?" I'm angry. I don't like what she's implying. "Besides,he's American. He was born here? His mom lives in San Francisco. We sat next to each other on the plane."We stop at a red light.Mom stares at me. "You like him.""OH GOD,MOM.""You do.You like this boy.""He's just a friend.He has a girlfriend.""Anna has a boooy-friend," Seany chants."I do not!""ANNA HAS A BOOOY-FRIEND!"I take a sip of coffee and choke. It's disgusting. It's sludge. No, it's worse than sludge-at least sludge is organic. Seany is still taunting me. Mom reaches around and grabs his legs,which are kicking her seat again.She sees me making a face at my drink."My,my. Once semester in France, and suddenly we're Miss Sophisticated. Your father will be thrilled."Like it was my choice! Like I asked to go to Paris! And how dare she mention Dad."ANNNN-A HAS A BOOOY-FRIEND!"We merge back onto the interstate. It's rush hour,and the Atlanta traffic has stopped moving. The car behind ours shakes us with its thumping bass. The car in front sprays a cloud of exhaust straight into our vents.Two weeks.Only two more weeks.s”