Anna and the French Kiss Read Free

Then there’s the soccer thing, but she’s not a tomboy either.
    She breaks into a wide smile, and her nose ring winks. “Yeah. Ellie took that at La Défense. That’s Josh and St. Clair and me and Rashmi. You’ll meet them tomorrow at breakfast. Well, everyone but Ellie. She graduated last year.”
    The pit of my stomach begins to unclench. Was that an invitation to sit with her?
    “But I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough, because she’s dating St. Clair. She’s at Parsons Paris now for photography.”
    I’ve never heard of it, but I nod as if I’ve considered going there myself someday.
    “She’s really talented.” The edge in her voice suggests otherwise, but I don’t push it. “Josh and Rashmi are dating, too,” she adds.
    Ah. Meredith must be single.
    Unfortunately, I can relate. Back home I’d dated my friend Matt for five months. He was tall-ish and funny-ish and had decent-ish hair. It was one of those “since no one better is around, do you wanna make out?” situations. All we’d ever done was kiss, and it wasn’t even that great.Too much spit. I always had to wipe off my chin.
    We broke up when I learned about France, but it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t cry or send him weepy emails or key his mom’s station wagon. Now he’s going out with Cherrie Milliken, who is in chorus and has shiny shampoo-commercial hair. It doesn’t even bother me.
    Not really.
    Besides, the breakup freed me to lust after Toph, multiplex coworker babe extraordinaire. Not that I didn’t lust after him when I was with Matt, but still. It did make me feel guilty. And things were starting to happen with Toph—they really were—when summer ended. But Matt’s the only guy I’ve ever gone out with, and he barely counts. I once told him I’d dated this guy named Stuart Thistleback at summer camp. Stuart Thistleback had auburn hair and played the stand-up bass, and we were totally in love, but he lived in Chattanooga and we didn’t have our driver’s licenses yet.
    Matt knew I made it up, but he was too nice to say so.
    I’m about to ask Meredith what classes she’s taking, when her phone chirps the first few bars of “Strawberry Fields Forever.” She rolls her eyes and answers. “Mom, it’s midnight here. Six-hour time difference, remember?”
    I glance at her alarm clock, shaped like a yellow submarine, and I’m surprised to find she’s right. I set my long-empty mug of chocolat chaud on her dresser. “I should get going,” I whisper. “Sorry I stayed so long.”
    “Hold on a sec.” Meredith covers the mouthpiece. “It was nice meeting you. See you at breakfast?”
    “Yeah. See ya.” I try to say this casually, but I’m so thrilled that I skip from her room and promptly slam into a wall.
    Whoops. Not a wall. A boy.
    “Oof.” He staggers backward.
    “Sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”
    He shakes his head, a little dazed.The first thing I notice is his hair—it’s the first thing I notice about everyone. It’s dark brown and messy and somehow both long and short at the same time. I think of the Beatles, since I’ve just seen them in Meredith’s room. It’s artist hair. Musician hair. I-pretend-I-don’t-care-but-I-really-do hair.
    Beautiful hair.
    “It’s okay, I didn’t see you either. Are you all right, then?”
    Oh my. He’s English.
    “Er. Does Mer live here?”
    Seriously, I don’t know any American girl who can resist an English accent.
    The boy clears his throat. “Meredith Chevalier? Tall girl? Big, curly hair?” Then he looks at me like I’m crazy or half deaf, like my Nanna Oliphant. Nanna just smiles and shakes her head whenever I ask, “What kind of salad dressing would you like?” or “Where did you put Granddad’s false teeth?”
    “I’m sorry.” He takes the smallest step away from me. “You were going to bed.”
    “Yes! Meredith lives there. I’ve just spent two hours with her.” I announce this proudly like my brother, Seany,