Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins

Anna is looking forward to her senior year in Atlanta, where she has a great job, a loyal best friend, and a crush on the verge of becoming more. Which is why she is less than thrilled about being shipped off to boarding school in Paris—until she meets √Čtienne St. Claire: perfect, Parisian (and English and American, which makes for a swoon-worthy accent), and utterly irresistible. The only problem is that he's taken, and Anna might be, too, if anything comes of her almost-relationship back home.
As winter melts into spring, will a year of romantic near-misses end with the French kiss Anna—and readers—have long awaited?

Interesting story. Like a few out in book-dom. Girl meets cute guy. Girl falls for cute guy. Cute guy has hot girlfriend. Cute guy likes girl. Girl can't believe cute guy likes her because she's not cute. Best friend also likes cute guy too. Missed cues, misunderstood words, hurt feelings. Um. That sorta sums up this book for me. One part of the story I did like was the main character didn't want to sleep with the cute guy because she was waiting for the right person.

Rating: PG 13 (Maxi)
V: No
L: Yes. *F* words in one chapter; potty language and humor
S: Sexually tense moments

Want to buy it?

Page 69 test:
"Right." I pause. "And Ellie?"
He falls back, and now he's lying down on my bed. "Our plans fell through." He says this with a vague wave of his hand, in a way that keeps me from inquiring further.
I gesture at my pajama bottoms. "I'm not exactly dressed for it."
"Come on, Anna. Do we honestly have to go through this again?"
I give him a doubtful look, and the unicorn pillow flies at my head. I slam it back, and he grins, slides off the bed, and smacks me full force. I grab for it but miss, and he hits me again twice before letting me catch it. St. Clair doubles over in laughter, and I whack him on the back. He tries to reclaim it, but I hold on and we wrestle back and forth until he lots go. The force throws me onto the bed, dizzy and sweaty.
St. Clair flops down beside me, breathing heavily. He's lying so close that his hair tickles the side of my face. Our arms are almost touching. Almost. I try to exhale, but I no longer know how to breathe. And then I remember I'm not wearing a bra.
And now I'm paranoid.
"Okay." He's panting. "Here's the"--pant pant--"plan."
I don't want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen. I force myself up. My hair has gone all crazy and staticky from the pillow fight, so I grab an elastic band off my dresser to pull it back."

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