As we got ready Friday after dinner, I pulled out my make up bag to re-curl my eyelashes and to add bronzer to my cheeks. Inside the bag was the small, golden-metal bottle of perfume Sam had brought me from Paris the month before. From Paris. It didn't have a name or brand because it was that new. He found it at a parfumarie. In Paris.
I unscrewed the lid, held the bottle to my nose and breathed. I patted a drop at my neck and a drop on each wrist. I felt a pull inside me. I wanted him back. I was sorry for being stupid the whole week, for ignoring, for flirting with that tall boy at the concert, for alienating, for us not being able to control us. I resolved: Tonight I would ask him to dance, he would smell me, we would go back to normal, and figure out a way to make it work.
I pulled my hair half-up. I put on some apple Lip-Smackers. We headed out the dorm to meet our friends at the dance.