room, I didn’t want to drink a bee. Kira could only shake her head. She’d never even had acne.
Worse, Tony desperately wanted to escape loser prison. Kira knew the effort would only make matters worse. Despite her advice, he’d even worn his hair in a ponytail for a while in tenth grade. He was still living that one down. Maybe he could start fresh in college.
Poor Tony. Kira looked out for him, truly, but she could only do so much. The worst part, he was funny and smart and nice. She wasn’t saying so because she was his sister. He was. And he was going to be handsome once he grew into his face and gained about twenty pounds. A couple of her friends had said so. Wait until he’s twenty-five, we’ll all be sorry we missed out.
A forecast that hardly helped him now.
Anyway, Tony had wanted to go to this Place de la République. Where the students protest, he told Kira.
Kira had no idea what French students might have to protest. Paris looked pretty good to her. But she was glad Tony made her go. Because afterward they stopped in this café for a bière pression or whatever, and in walked tall, dark, and yummy. In general French dudes were good-looking, but they came off as too stylish for her taste. Even though it was July they hardly sweated. Kira didn’t want to worry that the guy she was with had better hair than she did.
Not this guy. His hair was cut close to his head like he didn’t want to have to think about it. His stubble didn’t look planned. It looked like he’d forgotten to shave that morning. He was big, broad-shouldered. He looked like a Marine. A French Marine. When he caught her looking at him he didn’t play it cool and pretend he hadn’t noticed. He tilted his head, stared back. Then smiled.
Thirty seconds later he was at their table. Her table. Tony might as well have been invisible.
“What’s your name?” In English, of course.
“Kira.”
He extended his hand, the gesture oddly endearing. He had big hands, gorgeous long fingers. “Kira. I’m Jacques. What’s your favorite thing in Paris so far?”
The question was blunt enough to flummox her. The Louvre? The Eiffel Tower? She didn’t want to sound like a tourist. Dumb, she was a tourist. “Kind of unfair, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
“Run it on an American girl to throw her, and you’ve got some cool answer ready.”
“Swear I’ve never asked before.”
“Ever been to America, Jacques?”
“Maybe.”
“If I came up to you on your third day in New York and I said what’s your favorite thing—”
“The subways. Not like our little Métro, with the tickets and the air puffs. Steel submarines that never stop running.”
Not a bad answer. “Well I’m from D.C., and our subway sucks.”
“We’re actually from Maryland,” Tony said.
“This is my brother, Tony.”
“Hi-oh.”
“Hi-oh,” Jacques returned. Like Tony was a parrot that had spoken for the first time and needed reassurance.
“Tony was just going outside to see the protests.” She felt guilty for getting rid of him, but only a little. Having him watch her flirt would embarrass him and throw her off her game. Besides, they’d been hanging out nonstop for three straight days.
“Ahh, the protests. I forget what they’re protesting this time.”
“Universal basic income,” Tony said.
As he stood up, he spilled his beer, sending a bubbly river Jacques’s way.
Jacques grabbed a napkin more quickly than Kira thought was possible and mopped the beer before it could soak him.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Jacques seemed unflustered, and Kira liked him all the more. “I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
They watched him go.
“Your brother,” Jacques said.
“He’s a good kid.”
He nodded. She could feel them deciding as a pair not to mention Tony again.
“That was amazing.”
“What?”
“Your reflexes. With the beer.”
“Oh.” He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Have you decided your favorite thing yet?”
Really, her favorite thing so far had been the women here, the way they dressed and walked and held themselves. The way they ate and smoked. They all looked so confident, even if they weren’t pretty, even if they weren’t young. They were stylish without even trying. Unlike her mother. It wasn’t that Rebecca wasn’t successful. But she never made anything look easy.
Kira wasn’t going to explain any of this to Jacques. “Let’s say I like keeping my options open.”
He smiled. One of his top teeth had a tiny crack. “That how it is? French boy, good story for your friends?”