“Who’s Henri?” I trip over the pronunciation. En-ree.

“This tour guide on a field trip to Versail es sophomore year,” St. Clair says. “Skinny little bugger, but Rashmi ditched us in the Hal of Mirrors and threw herself at him—”

“I did not!”

Meredith shakes her head. “They groped, like, all afternoon. Ful public display.”

“The whole school waited on the bus for two hours, because she forgot what time we were supposed to meet back,” he says.

“It was NOT two hours—”

Meredith continues. “Professeur Hansen final y tracked her down behind some shrubbery in the formal gardens, and she had teeth marks all over her neck.”

“Teeth marks!” St. Clair snorts.

Rashmi fumes. “Shut up, English Tongue.”

“Huh?”

“English Tongue,” she says. “That’s what we all cal ed you after your and El ie’s breathtaking display at the street fair last spring.” St. Clair tries to protest, but he’s laughing too hard. Meredith and Rashmi continue jabbing back and forth, but . . . I’m lost again. I wonder if Matt is a better kisser now that he has someone more experienced to practice on. He was probably a bad kisser because of me.

Oh, no.

I’m a bad kisser. I am, I must be.

Someday I’l be awarded a statue shaped like a pair of lips, and it’l be engraved with the words WORLD’S WORST KISSER. And Matt will give a speech about how he only dated me because he was desperate, but I didn’t put out, so I was a waste of time because Cherrie Mil iken liked him all along and she total y puts out. Everyone knows it.

Oh God. Does Toph think I’m a bad kisser?

It only happened once. My last night at the movie theater was also the last night before I left for France. It was slow, and we’d been alone in the lobby for most of the evening. Maybe because it was my final shift, maybe because we wouldn’t see each other again for four months, maybe because it felt like a last chance—whatever the reason, we were reckless. We were brave. The flirting escalated all night long, and by the time we were told to go home, we couldn’t walk away. We just kept . . . drawing out the conversation.

And then, final y, he said he would miss me.

And then, final y, he kissed me under the buzzing marquee.

And then I left.

“Anna? Are you all right?” someone asks.

The whole table is staring at me.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Um.Where’s the bathroom?” The bathroom is my favorite excuse for any situation. No one ever inquires further once you mention it.

“The toilets are down the hal .” St. Clair looks concerned but doesn’t dare ask. He’s probably afraid I’l talk about tampon absorbency or mention the dreaded P-word.

I spend the rest of lunch in a stal . I miss home so much that it physical y hurts. My head throbs, my stomach is nauseous, and it’s all so unfair. I never asked to be sent here. I had my own friends and my own inside jokes and my own stolen kisses. I wish my parents had offered me the choice: “Would you like to spend your senior year in Atlanta or Paris?”

Who knows? Maybe I would have picked Paris.

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

Chapter five

To: Anna Oliphant <[email protected]>

From: Bridgette Saunderwick <[email protected]>

Subject: Don’t look now but . . .

... the bottom right corner of your bed is untucked. HA! Made you look. Now stop smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Seriously. How’s Le Academe

du Fraunch? Any hotties I should know about? Speaking of, guess who’s in my calc class?? Drew! He dyed his hair black and got a lip ring. And

he’s total y cal ipygian (look it up, lazy ass). I sat with the usual at lunch, but it wasn’t the same without you. Not to mention freaking Cherrie

showed up. She kept flipping her hair around, and I swear I heard you humming that TRESemmé commercial. I’l gouge out my eyes with Sean’s

Darth Maul action figure if she sits with us every day. By the way, your mom hired me to babysit him after school, so I’d better go. Don’t want him

to die on my watch.

You suck. Come home.

Bridge

P.S. Tomorrow they’re announcing section leaders in band. Wish me luck. If they give my spot to Kevin Quiggley, I’l gouge out HIS eyes with

Darth Maul.

Callipygian. Having shapely bu**ocks. Nice one, Bridge.

My best friend is a word fiend. One of her most prized possessions is her OED, which she bought for practical y nothing at a yard sale two years ago.

The Oxford English Dictionary is a twenty-volume set that not only provides definitions of words but their histories as well . Bridge is always throwing big words into conversations, because she loves to watch people squirm and bluff their way around them. I learned a long time ago not to pretend to know

what she was talking about. She’d cal me on it every time.

So Bridgette col ects words and, apparently, my life.

I can’t believe Mom hired her to watch Sean. I know she’s the best choice, since we were always watching him together, but stil . It’s weird she’s there

without me. And it’s weird that she’s talking to my mom while I’m stuck here on the other side of the world. Next she’l tell me she got a second job at the movie theater.

Speaking of, Toph hasn’t emailed me in two days. It’s not like I expected him to write every day‚ or even every week, but . . . there was an undeniable

something between us. I mean, we kissed. will this thing—whatever it is—end now that I’m here?

His real name is Christopher, but he hates being cal ed Chris, so he goes by Toph instead. He has shocking green eyes and wicked sideburns.We’re

both left-handed, we both love the fake nacho cheese at the concession stand, and we both hate Cuba Gooding Jr. I’ve crushed on Toph since my first

day on the job, when he stuck his head under the ICEE machine and guzzled it straight from the tap to make me laugh. He had Blue Raspberry Mouth for

the rest of his shift.

Not many people can pul off blue teeth. But believe me, Toph can.

I refresh my inbox—just in case—but nothing new appears. I’ve been planted in front of my computer for several hours, waiting for Bridge to get out of