“What my parents never considered is that I just wanted a choice.”

“Did I ever tell you I went to school in America?""What? No.""It's true,for a year. Eighth grade. It was terrible.""Eighth grade is terrible for everyone," I say."Well,it was worse for me. My parents had just seperated,and my mum moved back to California.I hadn't been since I was an infant,but I went with her,and I was put in this horrid public school-""Oh,no. Public school."He nudges me with his shoulder. "The other kids were ruthless. They made fun of everything about me-my height,my accent, the way I dressed.I vowed I'd never go back.""But American girls love English accents." I blurt this without thinking, and then pray he doesn't notice my blush.St. Clair picks up a pebble and tosses it into the river. "Not in middle school, they don't.Especially when it's attached to a bloke who comes up to their kneecaps."I laugh."So when the year was over,my parents found a new school for me. I wanted to go back to London,where my mates were, but my father insisted on Paris so he could keep an eye on me. And that's how I would up at the School of America.”

“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.”

“I slide my hand between our mouths, just in time. His lipsare soft against my palm. I slowly, slowly remove it. “No, Idon’t love Max anymore. But I don’t want to give you thisbroken, empty me. I want you to have me when I’m full,when I can give something back to you. I don’t have much togive right now.”Cricket’s limbs are still, but his chest is pounding hardagainst my own. “But you’ll want me someday? That feelingyou once had for me … that hasn’t left either?”Our hearts beat the same wild rhythm. They’re playing thesame song.“It never left,” I say.”

“They left me. My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE!”

“I just want you to know that we didn't do anything but talk and sleep - sleep sleep," he quickly adds. "Like with eyes closed and hands to oneself and dreaming. Innocent dreams. I would never do anything behind your back. I mean, never anything dishonorable. I mean-”

“And I realize ... it’s okay. It’s okay if St. Clair and I never become more than friends. His friendship alone has strengthened me in a way that no oneelse’s ever has. He swept me from my room and showed me independence. In other words, he was exactly what I needed. I won’t forget it. And I certainlydon’t want to lose it.”