"We've stopped in front of Notre-Dame again. I point at the familiar star and clear my throat. "Wanna make another wish?" "You go first." He's watching me, puzzled, like he's trying to figure something out. He bites his thumbnail. This time I can't help it. All day long, I've thought about it. Him. Our secret. He steps on the coppery-bronze star after me and closes his eyes. I realize he must be wishing about his mother, and I feel guilty that she didn't even cross my mind. My thoughts are only for St. Clair. ( . . . ) Do I see the same St. Clair everyone else does? No. I don't think so. But I could be mistaking our friendship for something more, because I to mistake it for something more."