As a child, I found the catacombs frightening. As I got older, they grew fascinating. Now they’re almost tranquil. But maybe all of these skulls are just reminding me of a certain someone’s tattoo. I sit on a folding chair that’s meant for a guard while Kurt surreptitiously pokes around.

It feels fitting to be here. Quiet yet undeniably gloomy, much like my state of mind. Since Thanksgiving, I’ve finished detention, toiled over homework assignments, and crammed for exams. I haven’t been reading for fun. Schoolwork is better at distracting me from the enforced silence between Josh and myself.

How did my parents live before texting? Before the internet? I’m used to knowing things and all of this unknowing is driving me mad. We send each other handwritten letters, but it takes so long for the mail to arrive that he’s often in the wrong city by the time my correspondence reaches him. His family has been travelling non-stop between New York and DC.

I think he’s in DC right now. At least, that’s where I mailed his Atheist Hanukkah present, a box of his favourite pre-packaged French foods. If only I could talk to him, I know I’d feel better. I carry his letters in my bag, I use his stein as my everyday drinking glass, and I’ve hung up his drawings beside my bed – the one of my necklace from the first week of school as well as the Sagrada Família’s dove-covered tree, which he gave me after he was expelled. But he still feels so far away.

And the more time we spend apart, the more I can’t shake the ending of Boarding School Boy. Our time together was only eight rough pages. The head of school thinks I was a distraction for Josh, which means she thinks that I take our relationship more seriously than he does. But that’s not true. He did take it seriously.

Does he still?

He hasn’t given me any reason to doubt him, but the more time we spend apart, the more clearly I see that our relationship was founded on unstable ground. His loneliness. How long will it take before he realizes that having me as a girlfriend was easier than being alone? I was convenient. I was a distraction.

Josh is a romantic. He likes being in love, and he craves love to fill the void left by his absentee parents. Maybe our relationship didn’t happen quickly because we’re perfect for each other, but because we each got swept away by it – him because of this insatiable need, me because of my pre-existing crush. Did those three years of longing cloud my perception of reality? How well do I really know him? Since I’ve last seen him in person, I’ve been faced with several incarnations that I didn’t even know existed.

And he still hasn’t made a decision about finishing high school. What if Dartmouth accepts me, and I move to New England, and he’s not there? What am I supposed to do without him? I still don’t have a plan for myself, nothing that doesn’t involve him. But his plans are no longer concrete. They’re as fragile as a wall of bones.

I get through midterms on the hope that I’m only plagued by these doubts because I’ve been away from him for so long. Seeing him again will fix this. The night before my last day of class, I’m surprised by a call from Mrs. Wasserstein’s phone.

I answer, praying that it’s actually Josh. It is. But a follow-up worry kicks in, and I’m instantly on the verge of hysteria. “You’re staying in DC for winter break.”

Josh laughs. “No, I’m calling with happy news. For once. It’s an invitation to a Christmas party at the Met. Black tie. Movers and shakers. It’ll probably be atrocious, but my parents invited you, so that’s a good sign.”

It is a good sign.

“And you’ll get to wear a fancy dress, and I’ll get to show you off. As my girlfriend,” he says pointedly. “So long as you still want this world to know you exist?”

“Yes! Yes, please.”

He laughs again. “Then it’s a date.”

When his mother reclaims her phone, I leave my room for a stretch down the hall. My heart is lighter than it’s been in weeks. Josh was laughing. We’re going on a public date. His parents want to spend time with me.

I stop in my tracks. His parents want to spend time with me.

No. Stay positive. This is a good sign, really. I check my mailbox. There are two envelopes stuffed into the back, one fat and one skinny. I pull them out, giddy with renewed cheer, until I realize that neither envelope is from Josh.

One is from la Sorbonne, and the other is from Columbia.

One is an acceptance letter, and the other is a rejection.

Chapter twenty-five

“I can’t decide which is better, your hair or your dress.” Maman sighs. “They are perfect together.”

My wavy locks have been swept to one side and fixed, cascading over my shoulder, and my dress – which we spent all of yesterday frantically shopping for – is a dark shade of emerald green. For once, my pale skin is glowing thanks to a healthy dusting of shimmery powder and my natural flush at being reunited with my boyfriend. He flew in from DC only three hours ago. We haven’t seen each other yet.

Gen grins at us from my doorway. “It looks like prom night in here.”

“Prom Night, the slasher film,” Hattie says.

Much to the dismay of girls like Sanjita and Emily, the School of America in Paris doesn’t have any formal dances. I’ve never minded, but – now that I’m dressed up – I’m almost on their side. I twirl in a complete circle. “I feel like Cinderella.”

“Cinderella was blonde,” Hattie says. “Redheads are never the princess.”

“Bullshit,” Gen says, and Maman tut-tuts her. “Amy Adams. Enchanted.”

“Hello, Ariel?” I say. “She was a princess, too.”

“She was a fish,” Hattie says.

“Isla!” Dad’s voice booms from downstairs. “Your date is here!”

Is it possible to be both clammy and feverish? I don’t know what’s more nerve-racking: seeing Josh for the first time in two months, introducing him to my parents, or hanging out with his parents. Except, no. It’s definitely the last one. The thought of speaking to his mother again has kept me from being able to eat all day. At least my parents are glad – and relieved – to finally be meeting Josh. They’re also impressed that he’s taking me to such a prestigious party.

Maman acknowledges my worried expression with an encouraging smile. “Prince Charming awaits.”