Anna and the French Kiss: Etienne's POV

28

It's a physical sickness. Anna. How much I love her. 

I love Anna.

I love it when she does that gap-toothed smile whenever I make some cheesy joke. I love when she talks about movies and the little sparkle that ends up in the corner of her brown eye as she does. I love that her southern accent peeks through her speech at times and that she gets embarrassed, her cheeks turning a soft pink.

I love that. 

I love sitting beside her in physics. Brushing against her during labs. Her curly handwriting on our worksheets. I love when she hands me my backpack when class is over, because as I grab for it my fingers lightly touch hers. And when Josh makes a joke at lunch, Anna and I look at each other as we laugh. And it's every time. I love her soothing voice and the way her jeans fit her legs and her bleach-blonde stripe. I love her gorgeous, thick eyelashes and the way she has to keep everything neat. I love her smile so much I could just die. 

I could just run up and kiss her the next time I see her and touch her and hold her and smell her and--

I can't. Anna's face dissolves from my mind and I see Ellie's. Her light blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. I envision her face breaking at the sight of me and Anna. I feel like my heart is rising into my throat. 

I hardly even speak to Ellie and when we do it feels so bloody forced like neither of us want to talk but we know we are obliged to. Why, why can't I bloody break up with her! I tell myself that I'll do it, and I've pace around my dorm imagining different ways I could just say it. But, if I leave Ellie there isn't any guarantee that Anna likes me back. If I were to break up with Ellie I'd feel like an absolute arse because I made her sad. But I would know that Anna is there, and I would confess to her. Then she would reject me and things would be awkward and we would stop being best friends and then I would be alone. I just don't want to be alone right now.

That's why I'm just not going to do anything until the time is right. 

I'm going to the movies with Rashmi, Josh and Anna after school and the thought it takes my mind off all of this rubbish.

Josh and Rashmi had another blowup at lunch. But while I stand outside Josh's room with Anna, it sounds like they've made up. But, Josh is ditching with alarming frequency and we are all are starting to get a bit worried. He's stopped doing homework altogether. And the more Rashmi pushes him, the more he pulls away. I tried talking to him about it to see if I could get through to him, but he just brushed me off. 

I press my ear against Josh's door, but I shoot back like it's on fire, feeling suddenly very disturbed. 

Anna's eyes widen. "What is it?"

I grimace. "They've made up again."

She follows me outside. "Rashmi's in there?"

"They're having it off," I say bluntly. "I'd rather not interrupt."

I'm walking ahead of her, and I'm glad that she can't see my face. I'm thinking about Anna and my fingertips stroking her bare shoulder, her lips parted against my naked throat. Jesus Christ, St. Clair, you pervert. I'm practically gleaming. 

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT.

Anna switches the conversation to my mother. She's finished treatments, but we won't know if the cancer is gone until March. The doctors have to wait until the radiation leaves her system before they can test her. I'm trapped between worry and hope, and I'm ecstatic that Anna steers me towards hope whenever possible. 

She's feeling well today, so I am, too. I tell her about the medication and how me mum feels loopy in the morning after she takes her pills. I'm beginning to get distracted as I notice Anna staring at me deeply. I shake my head, it's probably nothing. She's just listening intently. 

We walk to our favorite cinema, the one we've dubbed the "Mum and Pop Basset Hound Theater." It's only a few blocks away, and it's a comfortable one-screener run by the gentleman who walks Pouce, the dog from patisserie. I don't actually think there's a "Mum" around -- Pouce's owner is more likely a "Pop and Pop" kind of guy -- but it's still a fitting nickname. We walk in and the friendly, dignified man behind the counter calls out, "Jo-ja! Atlanna, Jo-ja!"

Anna smiles back. She tells me that she's been practicing her French with him, and he's been practicing English. He remember that she's from Atlanta, Georgia (Jo-ja!), and they have another brief chat about the weather. Then she asks him if Pouce is a happy dog and if, the gentleman, likes to eat good food. I find it amusing. 

The movie this afternoon is Roman Holiday, and the rest of the theater is empty. I stretch my legs and relax my back into the seat. "All right, I have one. Being bad has. . ."

Anna giggles. "Never looked so good."

"Yes!" This is one of our favorite games, where one of us creates the beginning of a cliched tagline and the other finishes it.

Anna darkens her voice. "With friends like these. . ."

I darken my voice along with her. "Who needs enemies?"

As her laughter bounces of the curtained walls, I struggle to keep my expression straight. I fail and grin wider because of it. She stares at my mouth, and I suddenly become conscious, covering my mouth. "Stop staring."

She furrows her brow. "What?"

"My teeth. You're staring at my bottom teeth."

She laughs. "Like I have the right to make fun of anyone's teeth. I can shoot water incredible distances through this gap you know. Bridge used to tease me all the ti--" she cuts herself off. 

I lower my hand from my mouth, feeling oddly defensive. "I like your smile." 

And I love you. 

But of course I don't say that last part aloud.