“St. Clair definitely doesn’t hate you,” Josh says.
“Though if I were Mer, I’d hate him.” Rashmi scowls. “He’s been leading her on for way too long.”
Josh is indignant. “He’s never once given her the impression that he liked her more than a friend.”
“Yeah, but he’s never discouraged her!”
“He’s been dating El ie for a year and a half.You’d think that’d be discouragement enough—oh. Sorry, Anna.”
I sob harder.
They stay with me on the bench until the sunlight dips behind the trees, and then they walk me from le jardin back to Résidence Lambert. When we
arrive, the lobby is empty. Everyone is stil out enjoying the nice weather.
“I need to talk to Mer,” I say.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Rashmi says. “Give her time.”
I slink into my room, scolded, and pul out my key.The night I lost it, I’d just left it in my room. The Beatles thump from the wal between Mer and me, and I remember my first night here. Is “Revolution” covering the sound of her crying? I tuck the key back into my shirt and flop onto my bed. I pop up and pace my room, and then lie back down.
I don’t know what to do.
Meredith hates me. Étienne has disappeared, and I don’t know if he likes me or hates me or thinks he made a mistake or what. Should I cal him? But
what would I say? “Hi, this is Anna. The girl you made out with in the park and then ditched?You wanna hang out?” But I have to know why he left. I have to know what he thinks about me. My hand shakes as I put my phone to my ear.
Straight to voice mail. I look at my ceiling. Is he up there? I can’t tell . Mer’s music is too loud to hear footsteps, so I’l have to go up. I check my reflection.
My eyes are puffy and red, and my hair looks like an owl pel et.
Breathe. One thing at a time.
Wash your face. Brush your hair. Brush your teeth, for good measure.
Breathe again. Open door.Walk upstairs. My stomach churns as I knock on his door. No one answers. I press my ear against the drawing of him in the
Napoleon hat, trying to hear inside his room. Nothing. Where is he? Where IS he?
I go back to my floor, and John Lennon’s scratchy voice is stil blasting down the hal . My feet slow as I pass her room. I have to apologize, I don’t care what Rashmi says, but Meredith is furious when she opens her door. “Great. It’s you.”
“Mer . . . I’m so sorry.”
She gives a nasty laugh. “Yeah?You looked real y sorry with your tongue lodged down his windpipe.”
“I’m sorry.” I feel so helpless. “It just happened.”
Meredith clenches her hands, which are oddly ring-free. She’s not wearing any makeup either. In fact, she’s completely disheveled. I’ve never seen her
look anything but polished before. “How could you, Anna? How could you do this to me?”
“I ... I ...”
“You what? You knew how I felt about him! I can’t believe you!”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I don’t know what we were thinking—”
“Yeah, well , it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not choosing either one of us.”
My heart stops. “What? What do you mean?”
“He chased me down.Told me he wasn’t interested.” Her face reddens. “And then he went to El ie’s. He’s there right now.”
Everything turns hazy. “He went to El ie’s?”
“Just like he always does when there’s trouble.” Her voice changes to smug. “Now how does it feel? Not so hot anymore, huh?” And then she slams her
door in my face.
El ie. He’s choosing El ie. Again.
I run to the bathroom and yank up the toilet lid. I wait to lose my lunch, but my stomach just churns, so I put the lid back down and sit on it. What’s wrong with me? Why do I always fal for the wrong guy? I didn’t want Étienne to be another Toph, but he is. Only it’s so much worse because I only liked Toph.
And I love Étienne.
I can’t face him again. How could I possibly face him again? I want to go back to Atlanta, I want my mom.The thought shames me. Eighteen-year-olds
shouldn’t need their mother. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but suddenly I’m aware of irritated sounds in the hal way. Someone bangs on the
door.
“God, are you gonna be in there all night?”
Amanda Spitterton-Watts. As if things could get any worse.
I check my reflection. My eyes look like I’ve mistaken cranberry juice for Visine, and my lips are swol en like wasp stings. I turn the faucet marked froid and splash cold water on my face. A scratchy paper towel to dry, and then I hide my face with my hand as I escape to my room.
“Hel o, bulimic,” Amanda says. “I heard you, you know.”
My back bristles. I turn, and her pale eyes widen in innocence over her beaky nose. Nicole is here, too, along with Rashmi’s sister Sanjita, and . . . Isla Martin, the petite, red-haired junior. Isla lags behind. She’s not a part of their crowd, just someone waiting in line for the bathroom.
“She was totally puking her dinner. Look at her face. She’s disgusting.”
Nicole sniggers. “Anna always looks disgusting.”
My face burns, but I don’t react because that’s what Nicole wants. I can’t, however, ignore her friend. “You didn’t hear anything, Amanda. I’m not
bulimic.”
“Did you just hear La Moufette cal me a liar?”