A/N: I've revised to include a lot more exposition here. Anna only gives us part of the story about Meredith, Rashmi, and Josh – but since St. Clair's known them longer, I thought it'd be fun to explore how they became friends and other tidbits Anna would have no way of knowing.
Arrivée à Paris, Senior Year
In our small boarding school of one hundred American students, it's quite difficult to blend in – especially when you've got a French name and an English accent. Everyone here knows practically everyone else's business. It's almost inevitable given that we live in such close quarters, supported by what are perhaps the thinnest walls this side of the Atlantic.
Nonetheless, it's always made me a bit wary. Most people here would say that I'm friendly, polite, and that I get along well with others. And that's largely true. I don't like to cause trouble – I've dealt with enough of that at home.
But there are only three people I can truly count here as my friends – Meredith, Rashmi, and Josh.
Meredith and I have been friends since our first year here. We are unlikely mates – she plays football whereas I can barely understand it – but we bonded quickly over our shared interest in art and getting away from SOAP whenever possible. We work hard, but we like to have a bit of fun, too. Like me, she was completely fluent in French when she showed up, which meant we could be a bit more adventurous with our excursions in the city. We've ended up in all sorts of places – absinthe bars, burlesque shows, trashy rock clubs near the banlieues. If you ever met her, you would never guess that Mer would enjoy any of that, but she's more complicated than her prim-and-proper exterior would suggest.
Rashmi started joining us on our excursions during our second year – right after her older sister, Leela, graduated from SOAP. Rash went from shy and reserved to cynical and outspoken practically overnight. She's incredibly loyal and will fight you – and for you – to the end. We're quite similar that way.
Josh, Rashmi's boyfriend, couldn't be any more different from me. He's all about his art whereas I only wish I could be, but I'm simply not that good enough. Although he's the son of a U.S. senator, he's always relaxed and doesn't let things bother him. It's like he's immune to pressure. Mer jokes that we secretly admire each other – and when we're all out on the streets of Paris – Josh and I sometimes play that up for the girls until they fall into hysterics.
This year, Josh, Rashmi, Meredith, and I will all be living in the same residence – Résidence Lambert. I originally was supposed to move in with Ellie, who will be studying photography at Parsons a few arrondissements away, but SOAP strictly forbids off-campus housing. They claim it's for our safety, but I suspect it's more for financial reasons.
Besides, they let us leave whenever we want for as long as we want.
I suppose it could be worse, though. I could be forced to stay here at my father's apartment for the entire year. It's an exceptional place – far more exceptional in size and stature than mum's place in San Francisco – but it's incredibly cold and unwelcoming.
"Ca va, Monsieur St. Clair?" Yolande, my father's maid, asks through the guest room door. "Êtes-vous malade?"
"Non," I respond. "Je suis simplement fatigué. Le vol était tellement longue."
"Alors, d'accord," she says. "Je laisse du lait, du fromage, et des fruits dans le frigo. Bonne soirée, Monsieur."
"Merci," I say. "Bonsoir."
My suitcase wakes me up at 5 a.m. the next morning – or rather, the incessant buzzing from my mobile in my suitcase.
"Christ," I mutter. "Who's calling at this hour?"
I begrudgingly get up and see there's a new text message from Ellie. "7 more sleeps," it reads.
I laugh. She never remembers the time difference. "Feels more like 70," I text back.
"It'll be worth the wait," Ellie responds.
Several hours later, I'm on the metro to Lambert, bags in tow. My thoughts, my interactions – everything is in a fluid French.
As I navigate the city, it strikes me that, no matter how little Paris feels like home to me, it somehow makes me feel like I belong to it. No one knows me as "that English guy" or mocks me for my American slang like they do in San Francisco and London. They just presume I'm an average French bloke going about my day.
It's kind of nice, actually.
When I arrive at Lambert, it's completely, utterly quiet. My boots snap against the marble floor and I wonder, briefly, whether anyone has arrived. I make my way up the staircase toward Meredith's new floor, because if anyone is here yet, it would be her.
"I'm fine," Mer says, her voice echoing down the hall. "Yes, everything arrived here. No, the rooms are the same as before."
Mer must be on the phone with her family. It's the only time she sounds vaguely irritated – although, secretly, I'm sometimes jealous of her situation. Her parents are still together, happily, after 20 years, and they're all rather close. They call her constantly, though more out of interest than wanting to control her life.
I follow her voice to her room when – bam!
"Sorry!" a female voice says. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were here."
I shake my head, a bit startled, and see a stripe of platinum hair in front of me. It's attached to a tall, slender girl, with dark brown hair and startling blue eyes. She's all worry and confusion in front of me.
"It's okay," I say, my breath catching slightly. "I didn't see you either. Are you all right, then?"
Her pale face flushes from my gaze, and I can't help but smirk a bit at her awkwardness. She clearly has no idea how attractive she is.
"I'm An-na!," she shouts. "I'm new here!"
Oh, right. Number 25. The student Mer and Rash wouldn't stop texting about over the summer. They were convinced she would be a spoiled princess with an unfortunate drug habit. She doesn't quite look the type.
"Étienne," I say. "I live a floor up."
It's really Étienne Jean François Alexandre St. Clair –but Christ, I'd sound like a pretentious arse if I ever said that. As it is, people just call me by my last name, because, as Josh says, everyone thinks you're just so gosh darn likeable! He claims I'm like a star quarterback, but I'm certain blokes of my short stature and slight build never are.
Strange how I haven't thought of myself like that in a while. Oh, that's right. New attractive, taller girl in front of me. That'll do it.
"I live here," Anna says, pointing at the door next to Mer's.
She looks flustered, confused even. I find myself feeling oddly the same, though I suspect I'm hiding it much better than her.
"Well," I say, knocking at Meredith's door. "I'll see you around then, Anna."
She turns away to get her keys as Meredith bursts through her door, hugging me like I've been gone forever.
"Come in!" she says, cradling her mobile to her ear. "How was your flight? When'd you get here? Mom, I've got to go."
She snaps her phone shut and closes the door behind us. We talk and laugh as I will myself not to think of the girl falling asleep next door.