The front desk girl smiles when she sees me. "I 'ave package for you!"
Résidence Lambert's door opens again, and my friend's 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 fellow. 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 pull 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
stairwell.
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.
"But you hate birthdays!" I say.
"Don't thank me yet. And I don't hate them, I just don't celebrate my own. Sorry, it's not wrapped." He hands me a spiral notebook.
I'm confused. "Um . . . thanks."
"It's left-handed. See?" He flips it the other way. "Your old one is almost filled with notes and film reviews, so I thought you'd need a new one soon."
No one ever remembers I'm left-handed. A lump rises in my throat. "It's perfect."
"I know it's not much—"
"No. It's perfect. Thank you."
He bites his pinkie nail, and we smile at each other.
"Aw, St. Clair. That's sweet," Josh says.
Étienne chucks one of Mer's pillows at his head.
"So you've never explained it to me," Rashmi says. "What's the deal with that? The reviews?"
"Oh." I tear my gaze from Étienne. "It's just something I've always wanted to do. I like talking about movies. And it's hard to get into the business—it's kind of like a lifetime position—so I need all the practice I can get."
"Why don't you want to be a director? Or a screenwriter or an actress or something?" she asks. "No one wants to be a critic, it's weird."
"It's not weird," Étienne says. "I think it's cool."
I shrug. "I just like ... expressing my opinion. That possibility of turning someone on to something real y great. And, I dunno, I used to talk with this big critic in Atlanta—he lived in my theater's neighborhood, so he used to go there for screenings— and he once bragged about how there hadn't been a
respectable female film critic since Pauline Kael, because women are too soft. That we'll give any dumb movie four stars. I want to prove that's not true."
Mer grins. "Of course it's not true."
Étienne props himself up. "I don't think anyone who knows you would say it's easy to earn your good review."
I look at him, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"Yawn," Josh says, not actual y yawning. "So what's the plan?"
I wait for Étienne to reply, but he doesn't. I turn to Josh, distracted. "Huh?"
"Let's not sit here all evening. Let's go out."
He doesn't mean to the movies. I shift uncomfortably. "I like staying in."
Josh's eyes shine. "Anna. Haven't you ever drunk before?"
"Of course," I lie. But a blush destroys my cover. They all scream.
"How can you have gone half a school year without drinking?" Rashmi asks.
I squirm. "I just . . . don't. It still feels il egal."
"You're in France," Josh says. "You should at least try it."
And now they're all jumping up and down. You'd think they'd just turned of age. "YES! Let's get Anna drunk!" they say.
"I don't know—"
"Not drunk." Étienne smiles. He's the only one still sitting. "Just . . . happy."
"Happy birthday drunk," Josh says.
"Happy," Étienne repeats. "Come on, Anna. I know the perfect place to celebrate."
And because it's him, my mouth answers before my brain does. "Okay," I say.
We agree to meet later tonight. What was I thinking? I'd much rather stay in and hold a Michel Gondry marathon. I'm okay with nerves, and it takes ages
to find something to wear. My wardrobe isn't exactly stocked with clothes for barhopping. When I final y come down to the lobby, everyone's already there, even Étienne. I'm surprised he's on time for once. His back is to me.
"Alright," I say. "Let's get this party started."
At the sound of my voice, he turns around. And his head nearly snaps off.
I'm in a short skirt. It's the first time I've worn one here, but my birthday feels like the appropriate occasion. "Woo, Anna!" Rashmi fake-adjusts her
glasses. "Why do you hide those things?"
Étienne is staring at my legs. I tuck my coat around myself self-consciously, and he startles and bumps into Rashmi.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I should wear skirts more often.