Read Anna and the French Kiss for Free Online

when I asked if they served pizza. “Don’t know. It depends, though I’d like to study history.” He leans forward, like he’s about to share a naughty secret. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those blokes they interview on BBC or PBS specials.You know, with the crazy eyebrows and suede elbow patches.”
    Just like me! Sort of. “I want to be on the classic movies channel and discuss Hitchcock and Capra with Robert Osborne. He hosts most of their programs. I mean I know he’s an old dude, but he’s so freaking cool. He knows everything about film.”
    “Really?” He sounds genuinely interested.
    “St. Clair’s head is always in history books the size of dictionaries,” Meredith interrupts. “It’s hard to get him out of his room.”
    “That’s because Ellie’s always in there,” Rashmi says drily.
    “You’re one to talk.” He gestures toward Josh. “Not to mention . . . Henri.”
    “Henri!” Meredith says, and she and St. Clair burst into laughter.
    “One frigging afternoon, and you’ll never let me forget it.” Rashmi glances at Josh, who stabs his pasta.
    “Who’s Henri?” I trip over the pronunciation. En-ree .
    “This tour guide on a field trip to Versailles sophomore year,” St. Clair says. “Skinny little bugger, but Rashmi ditched us in the Hall of Mirrors and threw herself at him—”
    “I did not!”
    Meredith shakes her head. “They groped, like, all afternoon. Full public display.”
    “The whole school waited on the bus for two hours, because she forgot what time we were supposed to meet back,” he says.
    “It was NOT two hours—”
    Meredith continues. “Professeur Hansen finally tracked her down behind some shrubbery in the formal gardens, and she had teeth marks all over her neck.”
    “Teeth marks!” St. Clair snorts.
    Rashmi fumes. “Shut up, English Tongue.”
    “Huh?”
    “English Tongue,” she says. “That’s what we all called you after your and Ellie’s breathtaking display at the street fair last spring.” St. Clair tries to protest, but he’s laughing too hard. Meredith and Rashmi continue jabbing back and forth, but . . . I’m lost again. I wonder if Matt is a better kisser now that he has someone more experienced to practice on. He was probably a bad kisser because of me.
    Oh, no.
    I’m a bad kisser. I am, I must be.
    Someday I’ll be awarded a statue shaped like a pair of lips, and it’ll be engraved with the words WORLD’S WORST KISSER. And Matt will give a speech about how he only dated me because he was desperate, but I didn’t put out, so I was a waste of time because Cherrie Milliken liked him all along and she totally puts out. Everyone knows it.
    Oh God. Does Toph think I’m a bad kisser?
    It only happened once. My last night at the movie theater was also the last night before I left for France. It was slow, and we’d been alone in the lobby for most of the evening. Maybe because it was my final shift, maybe because we wouldn’t see each other again for four months, maybe because it felt like a last chance—whatever the reason, we were reckless. We were brave. The flirting escalated all night long, and by the time we were told to go home, we couldn’t walk away. We just kept . . . drawing out the conversation.
    And then, finally, he said he would miss me.
    And then, finally, he kissed me under the buzzing marquee.
    And then I left.
    “Anna? Are you all right?” someone asks.
    The whole table is staring at me.
    Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Um.Where’s the bathroom?” The bathroom is my favorite excuse for any situation. No one ever inquires further once you mention it.
    “The toilets are down the hall.” St. Clair looks concerned but doesn’t dare ask. He’s probably afraid I’ll talk about tampon absorbency or mention the dreaded P-word.

    I spend the rest of lunch in a stall. I miss home so much that it physically hurts. My head throbs, my stomach is nauseous, and it’s all so unfair. I never asked to