Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins Page B

fire ignites.
    “It’s really . . . er . . . clean,” he says.
    Fizz . Flames extinguished.
    “Is it?” I know my room is tidy, but I haven’t even bought a proper window cleaner yet. Whoever cleaned my windows last had no idea how to use a bottle of Windex. The key is to only spray a little at a time. Most people spray too much and then it gets in the corners, which are hard to dry without leaving streaks or lint behind—
    “Yes. Alarmingly so.”
    St. Clair wanders around, picking up things and examining them like I did in Meredith’s room. He inspects the collection of banana and elephant figurines lined up on my dresser. He holds up a glass elephant and raises his dark eyebrows in question.
    “It’s my nickname.”
    “Elephant?” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t see it.”
    “Anna Oliphant. ‘Banana Elephant . ’ My friend collects those for me, and I collect toy bridges and sandwiches for her. Her name is Bridgette Saunderwick,” I add.
    St. Clair sets down the glass elephant and wanders to my desk. “So can anyone call you Elephant?”
    “Banana Elephant. And no. Definitely not.”
    “I’m sorry,” he says. “But not for that.”
    “What? Why?”
    “You’re fixing everything I set down.” He nods at my hands, which are readjusting the elephant. “It wasn’t polite of me to come in and start touching your things.”
    “Oh, it’s okay,” I say quickly, letting go of the figurine. “You can touch anything of mine you want.”
    He freezes. A funny look runs across his face before I realize what I’ve said. I didn’t mean it like that .
    Not that that would be so bad.
    But I like Toph, and St. Clair has a girlfriend. And even if the situation were different, Mer still has dibs. I’d never do that to her after how nice she was my first day. And my second. And every other day this week.
    Besides, he’s just an attractive boy. Nothing to get worked up over. I mean, the streets of Europe are filled with beautiful guys, right? Guys with grooming regimens and proper haircuts and stylish coats. Not that I’ve seen anyone even remotely as good-looking as Monsieur Étienne St. Clair. But still.
    He turns his face away from mine. Is it my imagination, or does he look embarrassed? But why would he be embarrassed? I’m the one with the idiotic mouth.
    “Is that your boyfriend?” He points to my laptop’s wallpaper, a photo of my coworkers and me goofing around. It was taken before the midnight release of the latest fantasy-novel-to-film adaptation. Most of us were dressed like elves or wizards. “The one with his eyes closed?”
    “WHAT?” He thinks I’d date a guy like Hercules ? Hercules is an assistant manager. He’s ten years older than me and, yes, that’s his real name. And even though he’s sweet and knows more about Japanese horror films than anyone, he also has a ponytail.
    A ponytail .
    “Anna, I’m kidding. This one. Sideburns.” He points to Toph, the reason I love the picture so much. Our heads are turned into each other, and we’re wearing secret smiles, as if sharing a private joke.
    “Oh. Uh . . . no. Not really. I mean, Toph was my almost-boyfriend. I moved away before ...” I trail off, uncomfortable. “Before much could happen.”
    St. Clair doesn’t respond. After an awkward silence, he puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Provide for all.”
    “What?” I’m startled.
    “Tout pourvoir . ” He nods at a pillow on my bed.The words are embroidered above a picture of a unicorn. It was a gift from my grandparents, and the motto and crest are for the Oliphant clan. A long time ago, my grandfather moved to America to marry my grandmother, but he’s still devoted to all things Scottish. He’s always buying Seany and me things decorated with the clan tartan (blue-and-green-checkered, with black and white lines). For instance, my bedspread.
    “Yeah, I know that’s what it means. But how did you know?”
    “ Tout pourvoir . It’s