Anna and the French Kiss

chapter thirty-four

The band in the club is rocking so hard, screaming guitars and furious drumming and shouting lyrics, I can hardly hear myself think. All I know is that I feel good. Really good. Why have I never drunk before? I was such an idiot—it’s not a big deal. I totally understand why people drink now. I’m not sure what I’ve been drinking, but I do know it was something fruity. It started out disgusting, but the more I drank, the better it got. Or the less I noticed it. Something like that. Man, I feel weird. Powerful.

Where is Étienne?

I scan the dark room, through the thrashing bodies of disillusioned Parisian youth, getting their anger out with a healthy dose of French punk rock. I finally find him leaning against a wall talking to Mer. Why is he talking to her? She laughs and tosses her curly hair. And then she touches his arm.

Meredith has turned into an Arm-Toucher. I don’t believe it.

Before I know it, my feet are propelling the rest of my body toward them. The music thrums through my veins. I stumble over some guy’s feet. He curses at me in French, and I mumble an apology as I lurch away. What’s his problem?

Étienne. I need to talk to Étienne.

“Hey.” I shout in his face, and he flinches.

“Jeez, Anna. Are you okay? How much have you had to drink?” Mer asks.

I wave my hand.Three fingers. Four fingers. Five. Something like that.

“Dance with me,” I say to Étienne. He’s surprised, but he hands Mer his beer. She fires me a dirty look but I don’t care. He’s more my friend than hers. I grab his hand and pull him onto the floor. The song changes to something even rowdier, and I let it take me over. Étienne follows my body with his eyes. He finds the rhythm, and we move together.

The room spins around us. His hair is sweaty. My hair is sweaty. I grab him closer, and he doesn’t protest. I writhe down his body to the beat. When I come up, his eyes are closed, his mouth slightly parted.

We match each other thrust to thrust. The band launches into a new song. Louder and louder. The crowd is in a frenzy. Étienne screams the chorus with the rest of them. I don’t know the words—even if I spoke French, I doubt I could make out the lyrics over the roar—all I know is this band is SO MUCH BETTER than the Penny Dreadfuls. HA!

We dance until we can’t dance any longer. Until we’re gasping for breath and our clothes are soaked and we can hardly stand up. He leads me to the bar, and I grip onto it with everything left in me. He falls next to me. We’re laughing. I’m crying, I’m laughing so hard.

A strange girl shouts at us in French.

“Pardon?” Étienne turns around, and his eyes widen in shock when he sees her. The girl has sleek hair and a hard face. She keeps yelling, and I pick out a few choice swearwords. He replies in French, and I can tell by his stance and tone of voice that he’s defending himself. The girl shouts again, gives him a final sneer, then spins away and pushes her way back through the pulsing mass.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“Shite. Shite.”

“Who was that? What happened?” I lift my hair to get some air on my neck. I’m hot. It’s so hot in here.

Étienne pats his pockets, panicked. “Fuck. Where’s my phone?”

I fumble in my purse and pull out my cell. “USE MINE!” I shout over the music.

He shakes his head. “I can’t use yours. She’ll know. She’ll fucking know.” He pulls at his hair, and before I know it, he’s making his way for the door. I’m on his heels. We burst through the club into the cold night.

Snowflakes are falling. I don’t believe it. It never snows in Paris! And it’s snowing on my birthday! I stick out my tongue, but I don’t feel them hit. I stick it out farther. He’s still searching frantically for his phone. Finally, he finds it in a coat pocket. He calls someone, but they must not pick up, because he screams.

I jump backward. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. That girl in there, the one who wanted to kill me? That’s Ellie’s roommate. And she saw us dancing, and she’s called her, and she’s told her all about it.”

“So what? We were just dancing. Who cares?”

“Who cares? Ellie’s freaked out about you as it is! She hates it when we’re together, and now she’ll think something’s going on—”

“She hates me?” I’m confused.What did I do to her? I haven’t even seen her in months.

He screams again and kicks the wall, then howls in pain. “FUCK!”

“Calm down! God, Étienne, what’s with you?”

He shakes his head, and his expression goes blank. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” He runs a hand through his damp hair.

What was supposed to end? Her or me?

“It’s been falling apart for so long—”

Oh my God. Are they breaking up?

“But I’m just not ready for it,” he finishes.

My heart hardens to ice. Screw him. Seriously. SCREW. HIM.“Why not, St. Clair? Why aren’t you ready for it?”

He looks up at me when I say his name. St. Clair, not Étienne. He’s hurt, but I don’t care. He’s St. Clair again. Flirty, friends-with-everyone St. Clair. I HATE him. Before he can answer, I’m stumbling down the sidewalk. I can’t look at him anymore. I’ve been so stupid. I’m such an idiot.

It’s Toph, all over again.

He calls after me, but I keep moving forward. One foot in front of the other. I’m focusing so hard on my steps that I bump into a streetlamp. I curse and kick it. Again and again and again and suddenly St. Clair is pulling me back, pulling me away from it, and I’m kicking and screaming and I’m so tired and I just want to go HOME.

“Anna. Anna!”

“What’s happening?” someone asks. Meredith and Rashmi and Josh surround us. When did they get here? How long have they been watching us?

“It’s all right,” St. Clair says. “She’s just a little drunk—”

“I am NOT DRUNK.”

“Anna, you’re drunk, and I’m drunk, and this is ridiculous. Let’s just go home.”

“I don’t want to go home with you!”

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me? You’ve got a lot of nerve asking that.” I stagger toward Rashmi. She steadies me while giving Josh an appalled look. “Just tell me one thing, St. Clair. I just want to know one thing.”

He stares at me. Furious. Confused.

I pause to steady my voice. “Why are you still with her?”

Silence.

“Fine. Don’t answer me. And you know what? Don’t call me either. We’re done. Bonne nuit.”

I’m already stomping away when he replies.

“Because I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice echoes through the night.

I turn around to face him one last time. “You weren’t alone, asshole.”