“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.”

“Your grandparents are English?""Grandfather is,but Grandmere is French. And my other grandparents are American,of course.""Wow.You really are a mutt."St. Clair smiles. "I'm told I take after my English grandfather the most, but it's only because of the accent.""I don't know.I think of you as more English than anything else.And you don't just sound like it,you look like it,too.""I do?" He surprised.I smile. "Yeah,it's that...pasty complexion. I mean it in the best possible way," I add,at his alarmed expression. "Honestly.""Huh." St. Clair looks at me sideways. "Anyway.Last summer I couldn't bear to face my father, so it was the first time I spent the whole holiday with me mum.""And how was it? I bet the girls don't tease you about your accent anymore."He laughs. "No,they don't.But I can't help my height.I'll always be short.""And I'll always be a freak,just like my dad. Everyone tells me I take after him.He's sort of...neat,like me."He seems genuinely surprised. "What's wrong with being neat? I wish I were more organized.And,Anna,I've never met your father,but I guarantee you that you're nothing like him.""How would you know?""Well,for one thing,he looks like a Ken doll.And you're beautiful."I trip and fall down on the sidewalk."Are you all right?" His eyes fill with worry.I look away as he takes my hand and helps me up. "I'm fine.Fine!" I say, brushing the grit from my palms. Oh my God, I AM a freak."You've seen the way men look at you,right?" he continues."If they're looking, it's because I keep making a fool of myself." I hold up my scraped hands."That guy over there is checking you out right now.""Wha-?" I turn to find a young man with long dark hair staring. "Why is he looking at me?""I expect he likes what he sees."I flush,and he keeps talking. "In Paris, it's common to acknowledge someone attractive.The French don't avert their gaze like other cultures do. Haven't you noticed?"St. Clair thinks I'm attractive. He called me beautiful."Um,no," I say. "I hadn't noticed.""Well.Open your eyes."But I stare at the bare tree branches, at the children with balloons, at the Japanese tour group. Anywhere but at him. We've stopped in front of Notre-Dame again.I point at the familiar star and clear my throat. "Wanna make another wish?""You go first." He's watching me, puzzled, like he's trying to figure something out. He bites his thumbnail.This time I can't help it.All day long, I've thought about it.Him.Our secret.I wish St. Clair would spend the night again.”

“I'm here." St. Clair is angry. "I'm just sorry I'm not there. With you. I wish there was something I could do.""Wanna come beat her up for me?""I'm packing my throwing stars right now."I sniffle and wipe my nose. "I'm such an idiot. I can't believe I thought he liked me.That's the worst part, knowing he was never even interested.""Bollocks.He was interested.""No,he wasn't," I say. "Bridge said so.""Because she's jealous! Anna, I was there that first night he called you. I've seen how he looked at you in pictures." I protest,but he interrupts. "Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you."There's a shocked pause,on both ends of the line."Because,of course,of how intelligent you are. And funny.Not that you aren't attractive.Because you are. Attractive. Oh,bugger..."I wait."Are you still there,or did you hang up because I'm such a bleeding idiot?""I'm here.""God,you made me work for that."St. Clair said I'm attractive.That's the second time."You're so easy to talk to," he continues, "that sometimes I forget you're not one of the guys."Scratch that. He thinks I'm Josh. "Just drop it. I can't take being compared to a guy right now-""That's not what I meant-""How's your mom? I'm sorry, I've hogged ur entire conversation,and this was supposed to be about her,and I didn't even ask-""You did ask. It was the first thing you said when you answered. And technically I called you. And I was calling to see how the show went, which is what we've been talking about.”

“We're in her bedroom,and she's helping me write an essay about my guniea pig for French class. She's wearing soccer shorts with a cashmere sweater, and even though it's silly-looking, it's endearingly Meredith-appropriate. She's also doing crunches. For fun."Good,but that's present tense," she says. "You aren't feeding Captain Jack carrot sticks right now.""Oh. Right." I jot something down, but I'm not thinking about verbs. I'm trying to figure out how to casually bring up Etienne."Read it to me again. Ooo,and do your funny voice! That faux-French one your ordered cafe creme in the other day, at that new place with St. Clair."My bad French accent wasn't on purpose, but I jump on the opening. "You know, there's something,um,I've been wondering." I'm conscious of the illuminated sign above my head, flashing the obvious-I! LOVE! ETIENNE!-but push ahead anyway. "Why are he and Ellie still together? I mean they hardly see each other anymore. Right?"Mer pauses, mid-crunch,and...I'm caught. She knows I'm in love with him, too.But then I see her struggling to reply, and I realize she's as trapped in the drama as I am. She didn't even notice my odd tone of voice. "Yeah." She lowers herself slwoly back to the floor. "But it's not that simple. They've been together forever. They're practically an old married couple. And besides,they're both really...cautious.""Cautious?""Yeah.You know.St. Clair doesn't rock the boat. And Ellie's the same way. It took her ages to choose a university, and then she still picked one that's only a few neighborhoods away. I mean, Parsons is a prestigious school and everything,but she chose it because it was familiar.And now with St. Clair's mom,I think he's afraid to lose anyone else.Meanwhile,she's not gonna break up with him,not while his mom has cancer. Even if it isn't a healthy relationship anymore."I click the clicky-button on top of my pen. Clickclickclickclick. "So you think they're unhappy?"She sighs. "Not unhappy,but...not happy either. Happy enough,I guess. Does that make sense?"And it does.Which I hate. Clickclickclickclick.It means I can't say anything to him, because I'd be risking our friendship. I have to keep acting like nothing has changed,that I don't feel anything ore for him than I feel for Josh.”

“Anna?""Yeah?"He pauses. "Never mind.""What?""Nothing."But his tone is definitely not nothing. I turn to him, and his eyes are closed. His skin is pale and tired. "What?" I ask again,sitting up. St. Clair opens his eyes, noticing I've moved. He struggles,trying to sit up, too, and I help him. When I pull away, he clutches my hand to stop me."I like you," he says.My body is rigid."And I don't mean as a friend."It feels like I'm swallowing my tongue. "Uh. Um. What about-?" I pull my hand away from his. The weight of her name hangs heavy and unspoken."It's not right.It hasn't been right, not since I met you." His eyes close again,and his body sways.He's drunk. He's just drunk.Calm down,Anna. He's drunk, and he's going through a crisis. There is NO WAY he knows what he's talking about right now. So what do I do? Oh my God, what am I supposed to do?"Do you like me?" St. Clair asks. And he looks at me with those big brown eyes-which,okay,are a bit red from the drinking and maybe from some crying-and my heart breaks.Yes,St. Clair.I like you.But I can't say it out loud, because he's my friend. And friends don't let other friends make drunken declarations and expect them to act upon them the next day.Then again...it's St. Clair. Beautiful, perfect,wonderful-And great.That's just great.He threw up on me.”

“They walked back to the chopping block, Claire carrying the crab in her hands. Helen paused. "You know, I'd like to ask you something a friend asked me once, if you don't think it's too personal.""What is it?""What do you do that makes you happy? Just you?"Claire looked at Helen for a moment and thought, the crab resting on the block beneath her hands. "I was just wondering," Helen continued. "No one ever asked me when I was your age, and I think it's a good thing to think about."Claire nodded. Then she took the cleaver and cut the crab into ten pieces.”