Kurt studies us from the bed as if he’d chanced upon a pair of wild beasts in their natural habitat.

Josh’s expression falls. “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

“Stop apologizing.” My smile widens as I drop a spoonful of powdered coffee into the Oktoberfest stein. “I only have two mugs. Sorry.”

Josh sits in my desk chair. “You stop apologizing.”

I add the hot water and give him the stein. He grins. I take a seat beside Kurt and thrust half of my baguette at Josh, who protests with a waved hand. I insist. He accepts. We’re bordering on uncomfortable silence territory.

I’m relieved when Josh turns to Kurt. “You know, there’s something I’ve always been curious about. I once saw your name written down on a list in the head’s office. Your full name.”

Kurt sighs. Heavily. “I was born the week Kurt Cobain died. My parents were friends with him, so they named me in his honour.”

Josh freezes, Nutella-smeared knife mid-air. “They were friends with him?”

“My dad is Scott Bacon. He was the lead guitarist for Dreck.”

“The early nineties grunge band,” I say. “They had that one hit, ‘No One Saw Me’?”

“Yeah.” Josh shakes his head. “Yeah, I know who they are.”

“The song made him rich and famous, and that attracted my mother. She was a runway model here in Paris,” Kurt says matter-of-factly.

Josh freezes again.

I always forget how surprising it is for people to learn about Kurt’s parents. It seems like he should come from a family of neurosurgeons or astronautical engineers, but the giveaway is that – underneath the unkempt hair and messy wardrobe – Kurt is handsome. Strangers often mistake him for an athlete, because he’s tall and angular and muscular. But he’s only in shape because he hates mass transit and walks everywhere. I wonder if his appearance is another reason why Josh thought we were dating.

“But their relationship isn’t like that,” I explain. “Kurt’s mom had her own money. They married for love, they’re still together.”

Josh takes a huge bite of bread and talks before swallowing. “I can’t believe they knew Kurt Cobain. That’s so cool.”

I used to watch Josh in the cafeteria, and he’s always been a sloppy eater. I feel oddly pleased to see this bad habit up close. Maybe because it reminds me of the Josh that his friends knew – the relaxed, barriers-down, inner-circle Josh. Or maybe because it reminds me of Kurt, and Kurt is safe.

“No,” Kurt says. “It blows. I was named after a guy who committed suicide. Also, people assume I’m this huge Nirvana fan, which isn’t even logical, because it’s not like I named myself.”

“Do you like them at all?” Josh asks.

“No. We can switch names, if you want.”

“Kurt Cobain Wasserstein.” Josh says it slowly and laughs. “Nah. Doesn’t have the same ring.”

“Kurt Donald Cobain Wasserstein. You can’t forget his middle name. I can’t.”

“Which would make you…Joshua Elvis Aaron Presley Bacon.”

Kurt startles. “Are you serious? That’s your middle name?”

Josh’s stone countenance makes me snort with laughter.

“Isla, is he serious?” Kurt asks again, but then he reads my own expression correctly. “Oh.” He wilts. “Never mind. You were just…”

But then a perfect moment occurs as Kurt straightens back up. He grins.

Josh points a finger. “You are not going to say it.”

“…joshing me.”

Josh clutches his chest in agony as Kurt explodes into loud belly laughter. My heart might burst from happiness. Josh shakes his head. “I’m only letting you get away with that because I’m trying to make a good impression on your lady friend, okay? My real middle name is David.”

Kurt considers it for several seconds. “Deal. I’ll take it.”

Josh takes his first sip of coffee. “Oh, man. You weren’t kidding. This is terrible.”

“So what should we call Isla?” Kurt asks.

Josh sets down the stein to properly examine me. He gazes into my eyes as I think, David. Josh’s middle name is David. Thanks to sleepless nights on Wikipedia, I know it’s also his father’s middle name.

“Isla is a good name,” he finally says. “The right name.”

Kurt isn’t impressed. “Isla was named after something, too, you know.”

“Don’t you dare,” I say.

Josh sits forward. His eyes shine. “Do tell.”

“Prince. Edward. Island,” Kurt says.

There’s a long pause. And then I’m the one sighing. “Yeah, so my parents did that horrible thing where they named me and my sisters after where we were conceived.”

Another pause.

“They did not,” Josh says.

“Alas. Geneviève was named after the patron saint of Paris. ‘Hattie’ is short for Manhattan, and, yeah…Prince Edward Island. My parents were on vacation. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad my name isn’t Prince or Edward. But the notion of island travel? Completely ruined for me.”

Their laughter is interrupted as the stairwell door opens with a booming metallic clang. A swarm of girls peer in at us as they pass by my open door. More than one eyebrow is raised. I hear my name murmured down the hall and into the lobby, accompanied by laughter that’s not nearly so friendly.

“You know,” Josh says, with a glance towards me. “I’d almost forgotten how annoying this room is. Those stairs drove me nuts.”

“I don’t like the window,” Kurt says.

“Seriously. The prisonlike bars, the traffic. Do you remember that opera singer who used perform out there?”

“So what are you doing today?” I ask, pushing the girls from my mind.

My question catches Josh off guard. “Um, working. Drawing. By myself. In my room. On the top floor?”

“Oh. Cool!” I try to sound chipper. How naive for me to assume that we’d be hanging out. Of course he’s busy. “We’ll be working down here. On homework. Like usual.”

But Josh seems…confused. Disappointed.

It takes me a moment. And then I realize that he’s just told me that he’ll be alone in his room and where his room is located. And I told him that I’ll be here with Kurt. The guy who slept in my bed last night.