“Yes. Alarmingly so.”

St. Clair wanders around, picking up things and examining them like I did in Meredith’s room. He inspects the collection of banana and elephant figurines lined up on my dresser. He holds up a glass elephant and raises his dark eyebrows in question.

“It’s my nickname.”

“Elephant?” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t see it.”

“Anna Oliphant. ‘Banana Elephant.’ My friend collects those for me, and I collect toy bridges and sandwiches for her. Her name is Bridgette Saunderwick,” I add.

St. Clair sets down the glass elephant and wanders to my desk. “So can anyone call you Elephant?”

“Banana Elephant. And no. Definitely not.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But not for that.”

“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.”

He freezes. A funny look runs across his face before I realize what I’ve said. I didn’t mean it like that.

Not that that would be so bad.

But I like Toph, and St. Clair has a girlfriend. And even if the situation were different, Mer still has dibs. I’d never do that to her after how nice she was my first day. And my second. And every other day this week.

Besides, he’s just an attractive boy. Nothing to get worked up over. I mean, the streets of Europe are filled with beautiful guys, right? Guys with grooming regimens and proper haircuts and stylish coats. Not that I’ve seen anyone even remotely as good-looking as Monsieur Étienne St. Clair. But still.

He turns his face away from mine. Is it my imagination, or does he look embarrassed? But why would he be embarrassed? I’m the one with the idiotic mouth.