remarkable bulge that has, indeed, been stroked to a shiny bronze.

“If I touch it, do I get another wish?” I ask, remembering Point Zéro.

“Nope. Victor deals strictly in fertility.”

“Go on. Rub it.”

St. Clair backs into another grave. “No, thank you.” He laughs again. “I don’t need that kind of problem.” My own laughter catches in my throat as I get

his meaning. Shake it off, Anna. That shouldn’t bother you. Don’t let him see how it bothers you.

“Wel . If you won’t touch him, I will . I’m not in any danger of that.” I lower my voice to a mock whisper. “You know, I’ve heard you actually have to have sex to get pregnant.”

I see the question immediately pop into his head. Crap. Maybe I was too hasty with my joke. St. Clair looks half embarrassed, half curious. “So, er,

you’re a virgin, then?”

ARGH! ME AND MY BIG MOUTH.

My overwhelming desire is to lie, but the truth comes out. “I’ve never met anyone I cared about that much. I mean, I’ve never dated anyone I cared about that much.” I blush and pet Victor. “I have a rule.”

“Elaborate.”

The statue is stil warm from the previous visitors. “I ask myself, if the worst happened—if I did get knocked up—would I be embarrassed to tell my child who his father was? If the answer is anywhere even remotely close to yes, then there’s no way.”

He nods slowly. “That’s a good rule.”

I realize I’m resting my hand on Victor’s victor and yank it away.

“Wait wait wait.” St. Clair pul s out his phone. “One more time, for posterity.”

I stick out my tongue and hold the ridiculous pose. He takes a picture. “Bril iant, that’l be what I see every time you cal —” His cel rings, and he starts.

“Spooky.”

“It’s Victor’s ghost, wanting to know why you won’t touch him.”

“Just me mum. Hold on.”

“Woooooo, stroke me, St. Clair.”

He answers, trying to keep a straight face, as Meredith and Rashmi and Josh trudge up behind us. They’re lugging the remains of our picnic.

“Thanks for ditching us,” Rashmi says.

“It’s not like we didn’t tell you where we were going,” I say.

Josh grabs the statue’s privates. “I think this is seven years’ bad luck.”

Mer sighs. “Joshua Wasserstein, what would your mother say?”

“She’d be proud that the Fine Institute of Learning she’s sent me to is teaching me such refined manners.” He leans over and licks Victor.

Mer and Rashmi and I squeal.

“You are so getting oral herpes.” I whip out my hand sanitizer and squeeze a glob into my hands. “Seriously, you should put some of this on your lips.”

Josh shakes his head. “You are so neurotic. Do you take that everywhere?”

“You know,” Rashmi says. “I’ve heard if you use too much of that stuff, you can actual y desensitize yourself to germs and get more sick.”

I freeze. “What? No.”

“HA!” Josh says.

“Ohmygod, are you okay?”

At the sound of Mer’s alarm, I quickly turn my head.

St. Clair has fal en against a tomb. It’s the only thing keeping him from col apsing to the ground. The four of us rush to his side. He’s stil holding the phone to his ear, but he’s not listening anymore. We talk over each other. “What happened? Are you okay? What is it?”

He won’t answer us. He won’t look up.

We exchange worried glances. No, terrified. Something is really wrong. Josh and I lower him to the ground before he fal s. St. Clair looks up, surprised to find us holding on to him. His face is white.

“My mum.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“She’s dying.”

Chapter fifteen

St. Clair is drunk.

His face is buried between my thighs. Under favorable circumstances, this would be quite exciting. Considering he’s minutes away from vomiting, it’s

less than attractive. I push his head toward my knees into a slightly less awkward position, and he moans. It’s the first time I’ve touched his hair. It’s soft, like Seany’s when he was a baby.

Josh and St. Clair showed up fifteen minutes ago, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. Since neither of them smoke, they’d obviously been to a bar.

“Sorry. He said wehadtuh comeup ’ere.” Josh dragged his friend’s limp body inside my room. “Wouldn’t shuttup about tit. Tit. Ha ha.”

St. Clair burbled in heavy, slurred British. “Me dad issa bastard. I’m gonna kil ’im. Gonna kil ’im, I’m sooo pissed.” Then his head rol ed, and his chin smacked violently against his chest. Alarmed, I guided him to my bed and propped him up against the side for support.

Josh stared at the picture of Seany on my wal . “Tit,” he said.

“Ahhh-nuhhh, he’s an arse. I’m serious.” St. Clair widened his eyes for emphasis.

“I know, I know he is.” Even though I didn’t know. “Wil you stop that?” I snapped at Josh. He stood on my bed with his nose pressed against Sean’s

picture. “Is he okay?”

“His mom is dying. I dontthinkhe’s OKAY.” Josh stumbled down and reached for my phone. “Told Rashmi I’d cal her.”

“His mother is not you-know-what. How can you say that?” I turned back to St. Clair. “She’l be fine. Your mom is fine, you hear me?”

St. Clair belched.

“Jesus.” I was so not equipped for this type of situation.

“Cancer.” He hung his head. “She can’t have cancer.”

“Rashmi iss me,” Josh said into my phone. “Mer? Put Rashmi on. Iss emergency.”

“It’s not an emergency!” I yel ed. “They’re just drunk.”

Seconds later, Meredith pounded on my door, and I let her in. “How’d you know we’re here?” Josh’s forehead creased in bewilderment. “Where’s

Rashmi?”

“I heard you through the wal , idiot. And you cal ed my phone, not hers.” She held up her cel and then dialed Rashmi, who arrived a minute later. They