Stop thinking about it, Anna.

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT.

I switch the conversation to his mother. She’s finished treatments, but we won’t know if the disease is gone until March. The doctors have to wait until

the radiation leaves her system before they can test her. Étienne is always trapped between worry and hope, so I steer him toward hope whenever

possible.

She’s feeling well today, so he is, too. He tell s me something about her medication, but my attention wavers as I study his profile. I’m jolted back to

Thanksgiving. Those same eyelashes, that same nose, silhouetted against the darkness in my bedroom.

God, he’s beautiful.

We walk to our favorite cinema, the one we’ve dubbed the “Mom 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 the pâtisserie. I don’t actual y think there’s a “Mom” around—Pouce’s owner is more likely a “Pop and Pop” kind of guy—but it’s stil a fitting nickname. We walk in and the friendly, dignified man behind the counter cal s out, “Jo-ja! Atlanna, Jo-ja!”

I smile back. I’ve been practicing my French with him, and he’s been practicing his English. He remembers I’m from Atlanta, Georgia (Jo-ja!), and we

have another brief chat about the weather. Then I ask him if Pouce is a happy dog and if he, the gentleman, likes to eat good food. At least I’m trying.

The movie this afternoon is Roman Holiday, and the rest of the theater is empty. Étienne stretches his legs and relaxes back into his seat. “Al right, I have one. Being bad has . . .”

“Never looked so good. ”

“Yes!” His eyes sparkle. This is one of our favorite games, where one of us creates the beginning of a clichéd tagline and the other finishes it.

“With friends like these ...”

He matches my darkened voice, “Who needs enemies?”

As my laughter bounces off the curtained wal s, Étienne struggles to keep his expression straight. He fails and grins wider because of it. The sight

makes my heart skip a beat, but I must make an odd face, because he covers his mouth. “Stop staring.”

“What?”

“My teeth.You’re staring at my bottom teeth.”

I laugh again. “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—” I cut myself off, feeling il . I stil haven’t talked to Bridgette.

Étienne lowers his hand from his mouth. His expression is serious, maybe even defensive. “I like your smile.”

I like yours, too.

But I don’t have the courage to say it aloud.

Chapter thirty-three

The front-desk girl smiles when she sees me. “I ’ave package for you!”

Résidence Lambert’s door opens again, and my friends troop in behind me.The girl hands over a large brown box, and I happily sign for it. “From your

mom?” Mer asks. Her cheeks are pink from the cold.

“Yes!” Today is my birthday. And I know exactly what’s inside. I carry the box eagerly to the lobby sofas and dig for something to open it with. Josh pul s out his room key and slices through the tape.

“AHH!” he screams.

Rashmi, Mer, and Étienne peek inside, and I gloat triumphantly.

“No!” Mer says.

“Yes,” I say.

Étienne picks up a slender green box. “Cookies?”

Josh snatches it from him. “Not just any cookies, my fine English fel ow. Thin Mints.” He turns to me. “Can I open this?”

“Of course!” Every year, my family celebrates my birthday with a feast of Girl Scout cookies instead of cake. The timing is always perfect.

Rashmi pul s out a box of Lemon Chalet Cremes. “Your mom is the best.”

“What’s so special about . . . Tagalongs?” Étienne says, inspecting another box.

“TAGALONGS?” Mer rips them from his hands.

“They’re only the tastiest morsels on the entire planet,” I explain to Étienne. “They only sel them this time of year. Haven’t you ever had a Girl Scout cookie?”

“Did someone say Girl Scout cookies?”

I’m surprised to find Amanda Spitterton-Watts peering over my shoulder. Her eyes bulge when she sees my stash.

“Girl Scout cookies?” Another face appears behind us, wearing a familiar expression of confusion. It’s Cheeseburger. Amanda curls her lip in disgust

and turns back to me.

“You have to give me a Thin Mint,” she says.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I say. Josh makes a face, but I hand one over anyway. Amanda sinks her teeth into the chocolate wafer and grips Étienne’s arm. She

groans with pleasure. He tries to pul away, but her grasp is tight. She licks her lips. I’m amazed she doesn’t have crumbs on her mouth. How does she do that?

“Have you ever tasted one of these?” she asks him.

“Yes,” he lies.

Rashmi snorts.

There’s a cough behind me, and I find Cheeseburger staring anxiously at my box. I glare at Amanda, the Arm-Toucher, and pul out an entire sleeve of

Thin Mints. “Here you go, Cheeseburger.”

He looks at me in surprise, but then again, that’s how he always looks. “Wow. Thanks, Anna.” Cheeseburger takes the cookies and lumbers toward the

stairwel .

Josh is horrified. “Whyareyougivingawaythecookies?”

“Seriously.” Mer gives Amanda an irritated glance. “Let’s go someplace private.” She grabs my package and carries it upstairs. Always prepared, she

has fresh milk in her mini-fridge. They wish me happy birthday, and we clink glasses. And then we stuff ourselves until bursting.

“Mmm.” Étienne moans from the floor. “Tagalongs.”

“Told you,” Mer says, licking chocolaty peanut butter from her rings.

“Sorry we didn’t get you anything.” Rashmi col apses. “But thanks for sharing.”

I smile. “I’m happy to.”

“Actual y”—Étienne sits up—“I was planning to give this to you at dinner, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He reaches into his backpack.