Anna and the French Kiss: Etienne's POV

7

Anna's laughing.

"Not yet." She paces the short length of her room. "But I could pick one up for you, if you'd like. Get your name stitched onto it. You could wear it instead of your name tag."

She seems to be listening closely to whoever is talking to her on the other end of the phone.

"No one can rock a beret." She says. "Not even you."

I'm still lying on her bed. I prop my head up to watch her. She smiles and points to the picture on her laptop. Toph, she mouths. 

I shake my head, confused.

Sideburns.

Ah, I mouth back.

Suddenly, I feel kind of annoyed. I'm happy that he called her because she seems really excited. I like seeing Anna in this type of mood, her cheeks a bit red from blushing. Her face is lit up like she was just kissed. I guess she really likes him.

Which is another reason why I'm not suppose to like her. On Monday, in science I purposefully leaned over the table to ask Anna for a pencil so that the teacher would assign us lab partners. She thought it was an accident, but I was glad that I got to be her partner. I feel like things with Ellie and I haven't been the same since I've met Anna. 

"The best." Anna replies to Sideburns. 

I glance at the clock.

"She's the best," Anna repeats.

I wonder what Ellie's doing. She's probably out clubbing with her friends. Getting drunk, her cheeks becoming flushed like they usually do when she gets pissed. Pissed, as in drunk. It's another Briticism. 

"Actually," Anna says, "I think she would. Her jerkwad percussion instructor just passed her up as section leader, and she has some rage to funnel." She gives him the person's number that she's talking about. It must be her friend Bridgette. She's looking at me, and I tap my imaginary wrist watch. I clear my throat. 

She gives me a dirty look. "Hey, I'm sorry. I need to go," she says. 

Thank god.

"Uh, yeah. My friend. He's taking me out tonight."

I wonder if Toph will get jealous I'm taking Anna out.

"He's just a friend." She turns her back to me. "He has a girlfriend." Oh, bugger. He's jealous. 

"Of course not. I'll be back at Christmas." Anna says. "Actually it's au revoir." 

She hangs up. 

I get up from the bed. "Jealous boyfriend?"

"I told you. He's not my boyfriend."

"But you like him."

She blushes. "Well. . .yeah."

A knot forms in my stomach. Another reason why Anna is off limits. She has a guy back home that she likes, and he obviously likes her.

I change the subject. "You still want to go out?"

"What?" She's confused. "Yeah, of course. Lemme change first."

She lets me out, and five minutes later, we're headed north. She's thrown on a shirt that is fitted, jeans with black canvas sneakers. Her stripe is tucked behind her ear.

It's a beautiful night. The lights of Paris are yellow and green and orange. The warm air swirls with the chatter of people in the streets and the clink of wineglasses in the restaurants. My mood has brightened back up and I'm detailing the more gruesome aspects of the Rasputin biography I finished this afternoon.