A rush of adrenalin removes any last trace of morning sleepiness. “What are you doing here?” I hug a notebook to my chest, glowing with happiness.
“H–hey.” He sits up straighter. “Yeah. Funny story.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Perhaps the head of school grew suspicious about the length of my absence. Perhaps she called my parents. Perhaps my parents confirmed that we don’t celebrate Sukkoth.”
My shoulders fall. “Perhaps you have a shit-ton of detention?”
Josh shrugs, but it’s a shrug of affirmation.
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
He clasps his hands on top of his desk. “Actually.” Josh lowers his voice and leans in. “The situation isn’t all bad.”
I crinkle my nose. “It’s not?”
He stares at me. He stares harder.
“Oh.” My gaze drops in a sheepish sort of pleasure. “Um. How much detention did you receive?”
Josh sits back again, resuming his slouch. “Only three weeks, but—”
That snaps my head back up.
“Including Saturdays.” Another shrug. “It’s not a big deal, I can use the time to work. But I’m also on my final warning. Didn’t take long,” he adds.
My heart stops – literally stops – for a full beat. “Final warning? As in expulsion?”
“Seriously. Not a big deal.” But my panic must be showing, because he scoots forward in his seat. “Let’s just say that for a ‘final’ warning? It’s not my first.”
I wait. I have no idea how he can be so calm about this.
“Last year,” he explains. “In fact, I was on my final warning once in the winter and once in the spring. So, somehow, I got two. This is number three.”
“Well…be careful.” It sounds so lame. “I mean, the leaves haven’t even changed, and you wouldn’t want to miss that. Though they are prettier in New York—”
“I’ll be careful.” His voice is deliberate. He smiles.
I fiddle with a curl in my hair.
Two desks away, Emily Middlestone leans over. She’s wearing a pair of designer glasses that I’m sure are fake. “You know, that’d be really stupid if you got kicked out in your last year of school.”
Josh’s expression wipes blank. “Yeah, Emily. That would be stupid.”
Professeur Cole bursts into the room and grinds to a halt. “Am I late?” she asks Josh.
He shakes his head once. “Nope.”
“Well. How fortunate that you have finally learned how to tell the time.” But her smile is sly. She marches up to her podium, and I take my seat.
The one directly across from Josh.
We glance at each other with more openness throughout the week, but there’s still a shyness between us, an unwillingness to look or talk for too long. Our relationship has yet to be solidified. Anticipation – of something – hovers in the air. At night, it takes me hours to fall asleep. I place the beer stein on top of my mini-fridge, beside my bed, so that I can see it from my pillow. Proof that he’s thinking about me, too.
He doesn’t visit my room. His afternoon detention runs until dinner, and he still isn’t eating in the cafeteria. And then, after dinner, opposite-sex visitation hours are over. He’s cut back on rule breaking, and apparently that’s one he’s not willing to risk any more. So I continue my usual schedule of homework and studying, and I try to bite back the analysing. Kurt has been giving me dirty looks.
On Thursday, before government, Josh removes a pen from between his teeth. “So. Saturday. I’m out of detention at eighteen hours. Anytime you want to meet after that…”
Paris runs on a twenty-four-hour clock. Eighteen hours is six p.m. My stomach butterflies emerge from their chrysalises. “Yeah?”
He points the pen at me. “You know that because you asked me out, you’re the one who has to pick the place, right?”
Throat. Dry.
Dry throat.
All of the dryness in my throat.
Josh places the pen back between his teeth and then immediately takes it out again. “Whatever you suggest.” He grins. “I’ll say yes. You’ll definitely get a yes. If that helps.”
My response is another hot blush.
The rest of my school week is spent in freak-out mode, a situation that leaves me with a new-found respect for guys. Sébastien planned and organized most of our dates. It’s an alarmingly high-pressure job. Kurt reminds me that it’ll be Nuit Blanche. White Night. A night that never grows dark. The first Saturday of every October, museums and galleries open their doors for free until dawn. The tradition started in Saint Petersburg, Russia, travelled here, and has continued to spread around the world. But – even speaking as someone used to its decadence – there’s still no greater city than Paris for an all-night festival.