Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins Page B

latest English assignment, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress . I turn back to my father’s email.
    Gentle reminder ... your life sucks.
    Memories from earlier this week—sitting next to St. Clair in the dark theater, his leg against mine, the look that passed between us—flood back in and fill me with shame. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m convinced nothing happened.
    Because nothing DID happen.
    When we left the movie, Rashmi announced, “The ending was too abrupt. We didn’t get to see any of the good stuff.” And by the time I’d finished defending it, we were already back inside the dorm. I wanted to talk to St. Clair, get a sign that something between us had changed, but Mer broke in and hugged him good night. And since I couldn’t hug him without exposing my thudding heart, I lingered behind.
    And then we had this lame wave goodbye.
    And then I went to bed, confused as ever.
    What happened? As thrilling as it was, I must have exaggerated it in my mind, because he didn’t act any differently at breakfast the next day.We had a friendly conversation, as always. Besides, he has Ellie. He doesn’t need me. All I can guess is that I must have projected my own frustrated feelings about Toph onto St. Clair.
    Josh is examining me carefully. I decide to ask him a question before he can ask me one. “How’s your assignment going?” My team in La Vie actually won (no thanks to me), so Rashmi and I didn’t have to go on Friday. Josh ditched his last class to spend the hour with us. It earned him detention and several pages of additional homework.
    “Eh.” He flops down in the chair beside me and picks up his sketchbook. “I have better things to do.”
    “But . . . won’t you get in more trouble if you don’t do it?” I’ve never ditched. I don’t understand how he can just shrug everything off.
    “Probably.” Josh flexes his hand and winces.
    I frown. “What’s the matter?”
    “It’s cramped,” he says. “From drawing. It’s okay, it’s always like this.”
    Strange. I’d never considered art injuries before. “You’re really talented. Is that what you want to do? For a living, I mean?”
    “I’m working on a graphic novel.”
    “Really? That’s cool.” I push my laptop away. “What’s it about?”
    The corner of his mouth rises in a sly smile. “A guy forced to attend a snobby boarding school, because his parents don’t want him around anymore.”
    I snort. “I’ve heard that one before. What do your parents do?”
    “My dad’s a politician. They’re working on his reelection campaign. I haven’t talked to ‘Senator Wasserstein’ since school started.”
    “Senator? As in a senator senator?”
    “Senator as in senator senator. Unfortunately.”
    Again. What was my dad thinking? Sending me to school with the children of U.S. SENATORS? “Does everyone have a terrible father?” I ask. “Is it a requirement for attendance?”
    He nods toward Rashmi and Mer. “They don’t. But St. Clair’s dad is a piece of work.”
    “So I hear.” Curiosity gets the best of me, and I lower my voice. “What’s his deal?”
    Josh shrugs. “He’s just a jerk. He keeps a tight leash on St. Clair and his mom, but he’s really friendly to everyone else. Somehow that makes it worse.”
    I’m suddenly distracted by an odd purple-and-red knitted stocking cap walking into the lobby. Josh turns to see what I’m staring at. Meredith and Rashmi notice his movement, and they look up from their books.
    “Oh God,” Rashmi says. “He’s wearing The Hat.”
    “I like The Hat,” Mer says.
    “You would,” Josh says.
    Meredith gives him a dirty look. I turn to get a better look at The Hat, and I’m startled to realize it’s right behind me. And it’s sitting atop St. Clair’s head.
    “So The Hat is back,” Rashmi says.
    “Yup,” he says. “I know you missed it.”
    “Is there a story behind The Hat?” I ask.
    “Only that his mother made it for him last winter,