For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.

I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I'm saying I'm in love with you! I've been in love with you this whole bleeding year!

I look at you, and I think about you, and ... I don't know. No one has ever confounded me the way you do.

Yes, St. Claire. I like you. But I can't say it aloud, because he's my friend. And friends don't let other friends make drunken declarations and expect them to act upon them the next day

It's become impossible to deny he means something to me.

Phones are distracting. The internet is distracting.The way he looked at you? He wasn't distracted. He was consumed.

The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.

Life isn’t about what you get, it’s about what you DO with what you get.

French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.

I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It's so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn't have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.

Soap?""School of America in Paris" he explains. "SOAP".Nice. My father sent me here to be cleansed.

The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-​u-​i and not w-​e-​e.

I'm sorry," he says."What? Why?""You're fixing everything I set down." He nods at my hands, which are readjusting the elephant. "It wasn't polite of me to come in and start touching your things.""Oh, it's okay," I say quickly, letting go of the figurine. "You can touch anything of mine you want." would be so bad.

St. Clair clears his throat. 'My fiancée and I are headed out for a celebratory dessert. I'd ask you all to join us, but I don't want you there.

What...what about when I'm married?”“We'll buy a cot. Your husband can sleep on that when he visits.

Har. Bloody. Har.

Cricket Bell.” I smiled into my phone. “How did you get so wise?

Welcome to Paris, Anna. I'm glad you've come.

We straighten , bu our snickering is barely contained as we attempt to focus our attention on a picture of a discarded Coke can. "This guy's lady love is kind of a slob, don't you think?" he whispers.I cover my mouth with my hands again."A reaaaaaaaal litterbug.""Stop it," I hiss. My eyes are watering. "Ohmygod look at this one! How did he get her toenail clippings?""If you were my girl," he whispers, "I'd take creepy pictures of your trash when I knew you weren't looking.""If you were my girl," I whisper back," I"d put the creepy pictures in a foreign museum so you wouldn't know that I take creepy pictures.

That guys. Sideburns. You like him?"My back squirms. "You've asked me that before.""What I meant was," he says, flustered. "Your feelings haven't changed? Since you've been

You ought to stop listening to stereotypes and start forming your own opinions.

St. Clair gets a crush on Anna. He's torn between her and Ellie, and he spends so much time running between them that he hardly has time left for Josh. And the more time that Josh spends alone, the more he realizes how alone he actually is. All of his friends will be gone the next year. Josh grows increasingly antagonistic toward school, which makes Rashmi increasingly antagonistic toward him, which makes him increasingly antagonistic toward her. And she's upset because Elie dropped her as a friend, and Meredith is upset because now St. Clair likes two girls who aren't her, and Anna is upset because St. Clair is leading her on, and then St. Clair's mom gets cancer. It's a freaking soap opera.

Thank you for helping my sister,” he says.I lean forward, mimicking his position. “I’m happy to.”Calliope leans out her window. “STOP FLIRTING AND GET BACK TO WORK.

It's so Hogwarts.

A blank canvas...has unlimited possibilities.

We can’t stop smiling at each other. I can’t believe that adults get to do this every day. And I don’t even mean sex, though it’s wonderful, but things like this. Brushing our teeth at the same sink. Do adults realize how lucky they are? Or do they forget that these small moments are actually small miracles? I don’t want to ever forget.

I have a rule.""Elaborate."The statue is still 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.

It gets worse. Josh tell her that he loves her. She says it back. He touches her. She touches him back. And then they're losing their virginity on the floor of her bedroom beside her pet rabbit, Isis. A rabbit.Josh literally lost his virginity in front of a metaphor for sex.

And then there's the other thing.The thing I'm trying to ignore. The thing I shouldn't want, the thing I can't have.And he's standing in front of me right now.So what do I wish for? Something I'm not sure I want? Someone I'm not sure I need? Or someone I know I can't have?Screw it. Let the fates d

I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s okay to be a blank canvas. Maybe it’s okay that my future is unknown. And maybe,” I say with another smile, “it’s okay to be inspired by the people who do know their future.

I don't know what I believe. I guess that makes me a Christmas Tree Agnostic.

Because that's the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don't want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It's mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.

That’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.

They blinked in the dusk of the setting sun, a reminder that light was a recurring state.

I doubted myself, and that made me doubt you. But you weren’t the problem. You were never the problem. I should have trusted you, but I didn’t, because I couldn’t trust myself.

He’s so close, yet so far away.” – Anna

Confidence, darling." He leans across the table and touches a finger to my cheek. "You could learn something from me, you know.

I just can't fathom why anyone would stand on a ledge when there's a respectable amount of walking space right next to it.

We're enveloped in pitch black. "Wait here," I whisper."Are you getting your ax?""Handcuffs.""Kinky. But, okay, I'll try it.

I laugh, and it sounds like I've been sucking helium.

..the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. Itbecomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I wantto nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in itsarms and not wake up for a long, long time.

I didn't know it was possible to simultaneously hate and ache for someone.

Some of us wear our hearts. Some of us carry them.

I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. "Is this okay?" I whisper. "Are you okay?"His reply is anguished. Honest. "I love you.

Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?

I mean . . . I don't know. I don't know what I want to do, or who I want to be, or where I want to live. I don't know. I like reading about adventure, sure, but I also like doing it from the safety of home. But what is home, besides a quilt-covered bed? Where is it?

How could I wish for it for so long, only to come back and find it gone. To be here, in my technical house, and discover that home is now someplace different.

But that's not quite right either.I miss Paris, but it's not home. It's more like... I miss this. This warmth over the telephone. Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Bridgette used to be home to me. Maybe St. Clair is my new home.I mull this over as our voices grow tired and we stop talking. We just keep each other company. My breath. His breath. My breath. His breath.I could never tell him, but it's true.This is home. The two of us.

And we're finally home.

I'm just as big a fool as the rest of them.

I said you were beautiful. I slept in your bed!

I bought you love poetry! 'I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.'" I blink at him. "Neruda. I starred the passage. God," he moans. "Why didn't you open it?

You're the most incredible girl I've ever known. You're gorgeous and smart, and you make me laugh like no-one else can. And I can talk to you. And I know after all this I don't deserve you, but what I'm trying to say is that I love you, Anna. Very Much.

I trail my fingers across his cheek. He stays perfectly still for me. "Please stop apologizing, Etienne.""Say my name again," he whispers.I close my eyes and lean forward. "Etienne."He takes my hands into his. Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so. "Anna?"Our foreheads touch. "Yes?""Will you please tell me you love me? I'm dying here."And then we're laughing. And then I'm in his arms, and we're kissing, at first quickly - to make up for lost time - and then slowly, because we have all the time in the world. And his lips are soft and honey sweet, and the careful, passionate way he moves them against my own says that he savors the way I taste, too.And in between kisses, I tell him I love him.Again and again and again.

He's exasperated. "I'm saying I'm in love with you! I've been in love with you this whole bleeding year!

The directness of her question throws me. "I don't know. Sometimes I think there are only so many opportunities...to get together with someone. And we've both screwed up so many times"- my voice grows quiet - "that we've missed our chance.""Anna." Mer pauses. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.""But—""But what? You love him, and he loves you, and you live in the most romantic city in the world.

The way he looked at you? He wasn’t distracted. He was consumed.

He closes his eyes.Our lips brush lightly."If you ask me to kiss you , I will," he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames."Kiss me," I say.He does.

Finally, I laugh. Genuine and normal sounding. And then my date says the best thing that he couldpossibly say: “It’s okay. I haven’t been on one of these [dates] in a while either.”My smile triples in size.Josh grins. “Just give me your hand.”“W–what?”“Your hand,” he repeats. “Give it to me.”I extend my shaking right hand. And – in a moment that is a hundred dreams come true – JoshuaWasserstein laces his fingers through mine. A staggering shock of energy shoots straight into myveins. Straight into my heart.“There,” he says. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.

Suddenly I register that St. Clair is shorter than Josh. Much shorter. It’s odd I didn’t notice earlier, but he doesn’t carry himself like a short guy. Most are shy or defensive, or some messed-up combination of the two, but St. Clair is confident and friendly and—

Andy once clipped a magazine article about how black dogs are always the last to be adopted at shelters and, therefore, more likely to be put down. Which is totally Dog Racism, if you ask me.

Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to not make the same mistake twice.

So why did he do it?"Cricket rakes a hand through his hair. "For the same reason everyone makes mistakes. He fell in love.

So why did he do it?"Cricket rakes a hand through his hair. "For the same reason everyone makes mistake. He fell in love.

Well, bloody noses." I hug his coat tighter. "Those are definitely hot.

I get out of the car, and I'm blasted by the stench of body odor. Cricket is beside me, and he's talking, but his words don't reach my ears.Because it's my mother.Smelling.On my porch.

I don't know what I want to do, or who I want to be, or where I want to live. It's like everyone else has their entire future mapped out except for me.

I told him your loins were clearly burning, and he should man up and make a move.""You did

I don't believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.

I don't care about anything. But I care about you.

To: Anna Oliphant From: Étienne St. Clair Subject: So . . . Does that mean I can call you now?

Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.

Imagine," she said, after registering, "a whole city of gorgeous Italian guys. They can say anything to me, and it'll be sexy." "You'll be so easy," Rashmi said. "Would you like-ah to order-ah the spa-ghe-tti? 'Oh, do me, Marco!

I spent the period reading the first novel assigned for English. And wow. If I hadn't realized I was in France yet, I do now. Because Like Water for Chocolate has sex in it. LOTS of sex.

Autumn is coming. For as long as I can remember, I've talked to the moon. Asked her for her guidance. There's something deeply spiritual about her waxing and waning. She wears a new dress every evening, yet she's always herself.And she's always there.

We've stopped in front of Notre-Dame again. I point at the familiar star and clear my throat. "Wanna make another wish?""You go first." He's watching me, puzzled, like he's trying to figure something out. He bites his thumbnail.This time I can't help it. All day long, I've thought about it. Him. Our s

We'll be together. We both got our Point Zéro wishes — each other. He said he wished for me every time. He was wishing for me when I entered the tower.

A moment of reserve. "That was it? The whole story?""Yes. God, you're right. That was pants."I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. "Pants?""Rubbish. Crap. S

Crushes are so awful. I wonder if they suck worse for the crush-er or the crush-ee. I consider my three years of watching Josh from afar. Yeah, definitely the crush-er.

Okay, I've lied to him. But you saw how jealous he gets. It makes me feel like I have to. And I shouldn't defend my right to be friends with another guy.

Do adults realize how lucky they are?

He snuffles. Oh, no.He's not going to cry, is he? Because even though it's sweet when guys cry, I am so not prepared for this.Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.

Hot. I’ve been upgraded to hot.No one has ever called me hot. Cute? Yes. Adorable? yes, often and it makes me want to punch them. I didn’t know short girls could even be hot. I thought I’d been permanently relegated to elfin-pixie-child status.

And then I turn another corner, and my chest constricts so tightly, so painfully, that I can no longer breathe.Because there he is.He's engrossed in an oversize book, hunched over and completely absorbed. A breeze ruffles his dark hair, and he bites his nails. . . . Several other people are soaking up the rare sunshine, but as soon as they're registered, they're forgotten. Because of him.I grip the edge of a sidewalk café table to keep from falling. The diners stare in alarm, but I don't care. I'm reeling, and I gasp for air.How can I have been so stupid?How could I have ever for a moment believed I wasn't in love with him?

And then this — the moment he calls my name — is the real moment everything changes.He is no longer St. Clair, everyone's pal, everyone's f

How did you know? That she wasn't the one for him?" Now he's staring at his hands, slowing rubbing them together. "They just didn't have that . . . natural magic. You know? It never seemed easy." My voice grows tiny. "Do you think things have to be easy? For it to work?" Cricket's head shoots up, his eyes bulging as they grasp my meaning. "NO. I mean, yes, but . . . sometimes there are ... extenuating circumstances. That prevent it from being easy. For a while. But then people overcome those ...circumstances . . . and . . .""So you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip. "Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds.If the person is . . . Lola?"This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket."Chapter 27Pg 273

You’ve crafted this bored veneer, but you’re always giving yourself away in moments like that. In the moments that really matter.

If you ask me to kiss you, I will,” he says.His fingers stroke the inside of my wrists, and I burst into flames.“Kiss me,” I say.He does.

I'd like to point out that we've had zero problem reaching each other's mouths.

I don't know.  I don't really like old movies.  The acting is so, 'Hey buddy, ol' pal.  Let's go wear our hats and have a big misunderstanding

I don't know what I believe. I guess that makes me a Christmas tree agnostic." He smiles. "I like it and you're a Yom Kippur atheist.

They left me. My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE!