“We are still holding hands.Okay,we should let go.This is the point where it would be normal to let go.Why aren't we letting go?I force my gaze to the Grand Bassin. He does the same.We're not watching the boats. His hand is burning,but he doesn't let go.And then-he scoots closer. Just barely.I glance down and see the back of his shirt has crawled up,exposing a slice of his back.His skin is smooth and pale.It's the sexiest thing I have ever seen.He shifts again,and my body answers with the same.We're arm against arm, leg against leg.His hand crushes mine, willing me to look at hime.I do.Etienne's dark eyes search mine. "What are we doing?" His voice is strained.He's so beautiful,so perfect. I'm dizzy. My heart pounds,my pulse races. I tilt my face toward his,and he answers with an identical slow tilt toward mine.He closes his eyes.Our lips brush lightly."If you ask me to kiss you,I will," he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists,and I burst into flames. "Kiss me," I say.He does.”

“He closes his eyes.Our lips brush lightly."If you ask me to kiss you , I will," he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames."Kiss me," I say.He does.”

“If you ask me to kiss you, I will,” he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames.“Kiss me,” I say.He does.”

“I trail my fingers across his cheek. He stays perfectly still for me. “Please stop apologizing, Étienne.”“Say my name again,” he whispers.I close my eyes and lean forward. “Étienne.”He takes my hands into his.Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so. “Anna?”Our foreheads touch. “Yes?”“Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.”And then we’re laughing. And then I’m in his arms, and we’re kissing, at first quickly—to make up for lost time—and then slowly, because we have allthe time in the world. And his lips are soft and honey sweet, and the careful, passionate way he moves them against my own says that he savors the way Itaste, too.And in between kisses, I tell him I love him.Again and again and again.”

“His eyes lock on mine."Anna,I promise that I will never leave you."My heart pounds in response.And Étienne knows it,because he takes my hand and holds it against his chest,to show me how hard his heart is pounding,too.”

“I smile at my friends, but Mer and Rashmi and Josh are distracted, arguing about something that happened over dinner. St. Clair sees me and smiles back. "Good?"I nod.He looks pleased and ducks into the row after me. I always sit four rows up from the center, and we have perfectseats tonight.The chairs are classic red. The movie begins,and the title screen flashes up. "Ugh,we have to sit through the credits?" Rashmi asks. They roll first,like in all old films.I read them happily. I love credits. I love everything about movies.The theater is dark except for the flicker of blacks and whites and grays on-screen. Clark Gable pretends to sleep and places his hand in the center of an empty bus seat. After a moment of irritation,Claudette Colbert gingerly plucks it aside and sits down. Gable smiles to himself,and St. Clair laughs.It's odd,but I keep finding myself distracted. By the white of his teeth through the darkness.By a wavy bit of his hair that sticks straight out to the side. By the soft aroma of his laundry detergent. He nudges me to silently offer the armrest,but I decline and he takes it.His arm is close to mine,slightly elevated. I glance at his hands.Mine are tiny compared to his large,knuckly boy hands.And,suddenly,I want to touch him.Not a push,or a shove,or even a friendly hug. I want to feel the creases in his skin,connect his freckles with invisible lines,brush my fingers across the inside of his wrist. He shifts. I have the strangest feeling that he's as aware of me as I am of him. I can't concentrate. The characters on the screen are squabbling, but for the life of me, I don't know what about. How long have I not been paying attention?St. Clair coughs and shifts again. His leg brushes against mine.It stays there. I'm paralyzed. I should move it; it feels too unnatural.How can he not notice his leg is touching my leg? From the corner of my eye,I see the profile of his chin and nose,and-oh,dear God-the curve of his lips.There.He glanced at me. I know he did.I bore my eyes into the screen, trying my best to prove that I am Really Interested in this movie.St. Clair stiffens but doesn't move his leg.Is he holding his breath? I think he is.I'm holding mine. I exhale and cringe-it's so loud and unnatural.Again.Another glance. This time I turn, automatically,just as he's turning away. It's a dance,and now there's a feeling in the air like one of us should say something.Focus,Anna. Focus. "Do you like it?" I whisper.He pauses. "The film?"I'm thankful the shadows hide my blush."I like it very much," he says.I risk a glance,and St. Clair stares back. Deeply.He has not looked at me like this before.I turn away first, then feel him turn a few beats later.I know he is smiling,and my heart races.”

“He looks up.Our eyes lock,and he breaks into a slow smile. My heart beats faster and faster. Almost there.He sets down his book and stands.And then this-the moment he calls my name-is the real moment everything changes.He is no longer St. Clair, everyone's pal, everyone's friend.He is Etienne. Etienne,like the night we met. He is Etienne,he is my friend.He is so much more.Etienne.My feet trip in three syllables. E-ti-enne. E-ti-enne, E-ti-enne. His name coats my tongue like melting chocolate. He is so beautiful, so perfect.My throat catches as he opens his arms and wraps me in a hug.My heart pounds furiously,and I'm embarrassed,because I know he feels it. We break apart, and I stagger backward. He catches me before I fall down the stairs."Whoa," he says. But I don't think he means me falling.I blush and blame it on clumsiness. "Yeesh,that could've been bad."Phew.A steady voice.He looks dazed. "Are you all right?"I realize his hands are still on my shoulders,and my entire body stiffens underneath his touch. "Yeah.Great. Super!""Hey,Anna. How was your break?"John.I forget he was here.Etienne lets go of me carefully as I acknowledge Josh,but the whole time we're chatting, I wish he'd return to drawing and leave us alone. After a minute, he glances behind me-to where Etienne is standing-and gets a funny expression on hs face. His speech trails off,and he buries his nose in his sketchbook. I look back, but Etienne's own face has been wiped blank.We sit on the steps together. I haven't been this nervous around him since the first week of school. My mind is tangled, my tongue tied,my stomach in knots. "Well," he says, after an excruciating minute. "Did we use up all our conversation over the holiday?"The pressure inside me eases enough to speak. "Guess I'll go back to the dorm." I pretend to stand, and he laughs."I have something for you." He pulls me back down by my sleeve. "A late Christmas present.""For me? But I didn't get you anything!"He reaches into a coat pocket and brings out his hand in a fist, closed around something very small. "It's not much,so don't get excited.""Ooo,what is it?""I saw it when I was out with Mum, and it made me think of you-""Etienne! Come on!"He blinks at hearing his first name. My face turns red, and I'm filled with the overwhelming sensation that he knows exactly what I'm thinking. His expression turns to amazement as he says, "Close your eyes and hold out your hand."Still blushing,I hold one out. His fingers brush against my palm, and my hand jerks back as if he were electrified. Something goes flying and lands with a faith dink behind us. I open my eyes. He's staring at me, equally stunned."Whoops," I say.He tilts his head at me."I think...I think it landed back here." I scramble to my feet, but I don't even know what I'm looking for. I never felt what he placed in my hands. I only felt him. "I don't see anything! Just pebbles and pigeon droppings," I add,trying to act normal.Where is it? What is it?"Here." He plucks something tiny and yellow from the steps above him. I fumble back and hold out my hand again, bracing myself for the contact. Etienne pauses and then drops it from a few inches above my hand.As if he's avoiding me,too.It's a glass bead.A banana.He clears his throat. "I know you said Bridgette was the only one who could call you "Banana," but Mum was feeling better last weekend,so I took her to her favorite bead shop. I saw that and thought of you.I hope you don't mind someone else adding to your collection. Especially since you and Bridgette...you know..."I close my hand around the bead. "Thank you.""Mum wondered why I wanted it.""What did you tell her?""That it was for you,of course." He says this like, duh.I beam.The bead is so lightweight I hardly feel it, except for the teeny cold patch it leaves in my palm.”