Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins Page A

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.”

chapter seven
    The party people have left the dorm. I munch on vending machine snacks and update my website. So far I’ve tried: a Bounty bar, which turned out to be the same thing as a Mounds, and a package of madeleines, shell-shaped cakes that were stale and made me thirsty. Together they’ve raised my blood sugar to a sufficient working level.
    Since I have no new movies to review for Femme Film Freak (as I’m severed from everything good and pure and wonderful about America—the cinema), I fiddle with the layout. Create a new banner. Edit an old review. In the evening, Bridge emails me:
Went with Matt and Cherrie M (for meretricious) to the movies last night. And guess what? Toph asked about you!! I told him you’re great BUT you’re REALLY looking forward to your December visit. I think he got the hint. We talked about his band for a minute (still no shows, of course) but Matt was making faces the whole time, so we had to go. You know how he feels about Toph. OH! And Cherrie tried to talk us into seeing your dad’s latest tearjerker. I KNOW.

You suck. Come home.
Bridge
    Meretricious . Showily attractive but cheap or insincere. Yes! That is so Cherrie. I just hope Bridge didn’t make me sound too desperate, despite my longing for Toph to email me. And I can’t believe Matt is still weird around him, even though we’re not dating anymore. Everyone likes Toph. Well, sometimes he annoys the managers, but that’s because he tends to forget his work schedule. And call in sick.
    I read her email again, hoping for the words Toph says he’s madly in love with you, and he’ll wait for all eternity to appear. No such luck. So I browse my favorite message board to see what they’re saying about Dad’s new film. The reviews for The Decision aren’t great, despite what it’s raking in at the box office. One regular, clockworkorange88, said this: It sucked balls. Dirty balls. Like I-ran-a-mile-in-July-while-wearing-leather-pants balls.
    Sounds about right.
    After a while I get bored and do a search for Like Water for Chocolate . I want to make sure I haven’t missed any themes before writing my essay. It’s not due for two weeks, but I have a lot of time on my hands right now. Like, all night.
    Blah blah blah. Nothing interesting. And I’m just about to recheck my email when this passage leaps from the screen: Throughout the novel, heat is a symbol for sexual desire . Tita can control the heat inside her kitchen, but the fire inside of her own body is a force of both strength and destruction.
    “Anna?” Someone knocks on my door, and it startles me out of my seat.
    No. Not s omeone . St. Clair.
    I’m wearing an old Mayfield Dairy T-shirt, complete with yellow-and-brown cow logo, and hot pink flannel pajama bottoms covered in giant strawberries. I am not even wearing a bra.
    “Anna, I know you’re in there. I can see your light.”
    “Hold on a sec!” I blurt. “I’ll be right there.” I grab my black hoodie and zip it up over the cow’s face before wrenching open the door. “Hisorryaboutthat. Come in.”
    I open the door wide but he stands there for a moment, just staring at me. I can’t read the expression on his face. Then he breaks into a mischievous smile and brushes past me.
    “Nice strawberries.”
    “Shut up.”
    “No, I mean it. Cute.”
    And even though he doesn’t mean it like I-want-to-leave-my-girlfriend-and-start-dating-you cute, something flickers inside of me. The “force of strength and destruction” Tita de la Garza knew so well. St. Clair stands in the center of my room. He scratches his head, and his T-shirt lifts up on one side, exposing a slice of bare stomach.
    Foomp! My inner