My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century

by Rachel Harris

  Immediately Lorenzo’s gorgeous face, golden curls, and hot-as-hell smile spring to mind. This is why I tried to push him away. My mother has taught me that love never lasts. But then, neither can my stay here. I sink into the pillows.

  Alessandra’s forehead crinkles, and she shakes her head. “That is a sad lesson to learn,” she says, wrapping her arm around me.

  It feels nice, being comforted. But the catch in her voice and the way she tentatively pats my shoulder tell me she’s still not buying the whole time-travel portion of the evening’s confession.

  My eyes land on my open bag on the floor.

  “I know what will prove once and for all I’m from the future,” I tell her, pulling it onto the bed and emptying the contents. She watches guardedly as I turn on my iPod and press play, hand her one of the earbuds, and demonstrate how to put it in.

  A catchy pop beat blares in our ears.

  First, the sound alone shocks her. Her spine snaps straight, and she flattens her palm against her ear. Then, as she continues to listen, probably not understanding a word of the English but recognizing it’s a woman singing, her jaw drops.

  I laugh and start bouncing on the bed along with the music. My shoulders shimmy, and my head swings. I grab a hairbrush microphone and mouth the words of the song. Less’s eyes follow my dancing, and she stiffly bops her head.

  After a couple minutes, I press stop.

  No need to send the poor girl into shock.

  She slowly removes the earbud and hands it to me, her gaze glued to my iPod. “Enlighten me, cousin, on what I just heard. How was that—” she asks, her voice growing in volume as she points to where I’m wrapping the buds around the iPod, “—possible? Is there a tiny woman living inside that box?”

  I laugh at the image and shove everything back into the bag. “Hardly. It’s how we listen to music in the future. You download what you want onto here and take it wherever you go. What did you think?”

  Her eyes sparkle, and she giggles. “It was ever so strange…but delightful!” She pauses and stares at me for several moments, then touches my hand, which is resting on my backpack. “You speak the truth. You are from the future.”

  Hearing her say she believes me removes the last trace of tension from my chest. I collapse against my pillows in relief. “Yes, I am. But Less, I’m also an Angeli. That part’s true. I’m still your cousin, just a little further removed than you thought.”

  Alessandra laughs, and together we share a smile.

  A loud clank outside the door makes us both jump. I leap off the bed, wide eyed. “Do you think someone’s out there?”

  If anyone overheard our conversation, it could be disastrous. I throw open my door in time to see Lucia scamper around the corner. At my feet is a silver tray of fruit.

  “Someone must have noticed your spectacular performance of shoving food around your plate at supper,” Alessandra says, appearing beside me. She bends down and picks up the tray. “Perhaps they thought you would enjoy a snack.”

  I close the door behind us and lean against it, gnawing on my lip. “Do you think she heard anything?”

  “Doubtful.” Alessandra pops a giant purple grape into her mouth and pulls me away from the door. She sets the tray on the bed and turns to look me in the eye. “Besides, who would believe such a thing?”

  Her soft, open, trusting smile lets me know she does.

  I’m no longer alone in this crazy, upside-down world. I have an ally. An actual friend. Alessandra is nothing like the Hollywood starlets or rich brats back home, looking for ways to knock you down. She’s honest, genuine, and kind.

  If only I could bring her back with me when this bizarre time trip ends.

  “Well, at least you know now why I act so weird. I’m trying to fit in, but it’s a lot harder than it looks.” I close my eyes and play back all the mistakes I’ve made in the last several days. “I guess the truth is that I just don’t belong here.”

  “That is untrue,” Alessandra says, and I open my eyes. She shakes her head and smiles. “You may not be from here, or from this time, cousin. But I assure you, you most certainly belong.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Girls, once you have eaten your fill, please join me in the atrium,” Aunt Francesca says, her eyes glistening. She gets up from the breakfast table and bounces to the door, entirely too energetic for the early hour. Before she steps into the hall, she turns back and wiggles her eyebrows excitedly. “The day of merriment has commenced!”

  Actually, it commenced at the break of dawn, when the house became a flutter of ball-related commotion. Servants have been pouring out of the woodwork, dusting and polishing already-gleaming furniture and bussing in candles and linens by the cartful. The kitchen staff has been a frenzy of culinary activity, bringing a crazy amount of food up the three long flights of stairs where it’s supposedly more convenient to prepare it.

  As for what my aunt has up her sleeve now, I have no clue, but I can only assume it also involves tonight’s dreaded gala, or perhaps yet another surprise I don’t want.

  Alessandra turns to me and waves her arms happily. Then she takes in my lack of enthusiasm and sighs.

  “Why the sullen face, Cat?” Hearing my real name in her sweet voice is about the only thing that can make me smile at this point. She grabs both of my hands and hauls me to my feet. “You heard Mama. Today is a day of merriment, all in honor of you, but you do not appear sufficiently joyous. Do they not have balls in your time?”

  “Oh, they have balls, all right,” I tell her as she links her arm around mine and drags me down the hall. “One in particular that I thought I’d traveled five hundred years to avoid.”

  Her forehead crinkles, and I lean my head on her shoulder. I exhale forcefully and explain. “In four days, I turn sixteen. Besides getting my driver’s permit, nothing much is gonna change when I hit that magic number. Maybe it’s different in the past, but in the United States circa twenty-first century, it really is just another year. Or at least it should be.”

  I stop next to an open window overlooking the myriad of servants scurrying back and forth across the courtyard like happy little vessels of glee. I’ve learned that holding a ball in one’s home is a big deal, and the servants take great pride in preparing everything. Each house staff strives to outdo, outshine, and out-feed the last, letting the town’s rumor mill act as judge.

  Clearly I’m the only one in this joint not in the mood to party.

  “Unfortunately, it’s become extremely popular in the future for girls my age to host big parties celebrating their sixteenth birthday. And that’s all fine and good—I’ve even gone to a few and had an okay time. But I never wanted to have one myself.”

  I sigh, slither down the plastered wall, and plop onto the floor. Alessandra glances both ways to ensure we’re alone, then demurely settles beside me, straightening her skirts around her. She catches me smiling at her ever-proper mannerisms, and I shake my head.

  Opening up to Alessandra is as easy as breathing. Things I can’t even verbalize to Dad are spilling out of me, and she’s simply being her unaffected, sweet-tempered self. I scoot closer and continue.

  “I told you about my parents, how they live in the spotlight? Well, I pretty much do, too, thanks to my mother’s many, many, many mistakes. Wherever I go, people assume they know me. They expect me to act a certain way. But when they see I’m not an exciting starlet but a geek who’d rather go to an art gallery than shop on Rodeo? I see their reaction—the boredom, the disappointment, the way their gazes shift to find someone better and more interesting. The last thing I want is to be the center of a huge, internationally televised party, with billions of people watching, so I can let the entire world down on an epic scale.”

  Alessandra worries her lower lip as she tries to understand. I know she has no clue what I’m talking about—television or the concept of billions of people watching anything—but she’s obviously trying. I lean my cheek against the cool stone, comforted me
rely by her effort as she tilts her head and asks, “But your father does not understand your heart?”

  I take a minute to consider her question. “I thought he did. And I think he still does—it’s his fiancée messing everything up. The Sweet Sixteen was her idea, and she’s the one running the show and just about everything else lately. Because this fabulous brainchild of hers didn’t come until a few weeks ago, the party won’t even be until at least a month after my actual birthday, so I really don’t see the point. But of course, Jenna couldn’t give a crap about my opinion.” I hear my voice rising, along with my blood pressure, but I can’t stop. A floodgate’s been opened, letting out all my frustration and anger for the past year, and it feels wonderfully cathartic. “My new stepmommy-to-be had one when she was younger, and since she loved it, she naturally assumes I would feel the same way. Because, you know, we are so alike.” I huff. “The woman just refuses to see that I am nothing like her!”

  The halls echo with my raised voice, and Alessandra targets me with a pointed look, the sixteenth-century, silent version of chill, chica. I fall back against the wall and try to tame my breathing as the clanging of tools floats through the window above. If only I could explain it like that to Jenna—or to Dad. Alessandra rests her hand on my arm and gives me a soft smile before closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wall, allowing me the time I need to calm down. And hopefully saving me from describing what Jenna is like, if she’s not like me. Because truthfully, she’s almost exactly like Aunt Francesca—and quite a bit like Alessandra.

  But obviously different, because I actually like them.

  Then again, when Dad first started dating Jenna nine months ago, I liked her, too. I liked that she made Dad happy and had him singing in the shower, and their relationship seemed harmless enough. It wasn’t until he sat me down for “the talk” that I found out how serious it was, and by then it was too late; she’d gotten her hooks into him. She had to have, because there’s no way Dad would’ve signed up for the pain of marriage again without coercion.

  And now that Jenna’s got Dad on the ropes, I’m her latest target. Coming to my room to talk about boys, and telling me she understands how hard high school can be. She just can’t accept that Dad and I aren’t a package deal.

  A loud thump echoes down the hall from the direction of the atrium. An eager smile creeps up Alessandra’s face, and I motorboat my lips. “Guess we better go see what your mom’s up to now,” I say, standing and giving Alessandra a hand. I smooth down my skirt and watch the dust particles dancing in the air around us.

  Looks as though the cleaning crew missed a spot, I think, and then smile in satisfaction. For some reason, this small imperfection makes me feel better about the ball—although I still have no intention of going.

  As Alessandra and I resume the journey down the hall, I decide to let her in on my plan. “So you can see, Less, that while I appreciate Aunt Francesca’s efforts, a ball in my honor is the last thing I want. Crowds give me hives, and we’ve both seen the mess I can make of social situations,” I say, shooting her a sardonic smile.

  Sweet as she is, she doesn’t agree aloud, but she’s not exactly rushing to contradict me, either. I laugh in spite of myself and continue.

  “Yesterday, I couldn’t argue because we had company, but I’ve come up with a plan to get out of tonight and avoid hurting your mom’s feelings. I’m gonna say I’m sick, that I feel nauseous, dizzy, and lightheaded. All I need you to do is vouch that I look like crap and back me up when I suggest spending the evening in bed, and I think it will be a win-win for everyone.”

  Alessandra’s eyes bug out, and she pulls my arm, stopping us a few feet shy of the atrium. I hear my aunt inside, humming and moving about with an extra dose of excitement quickening her steps.

  “But then they shall send for the physician, Signor Penni! You truly consider bloodletting preferable to wearing a beautiful dress and smiling at Mama’s friends?”

  I draw in a sharp breath at the horrifying image. “Bloodletting!” I shriek, then dart a quick glance around. I take a step closer and lower my voice to a terse whisper. Maybe my brain translated that wrong. “You mean, like leeches? Seriously? That really happens?”

  She nods, and my wonderfully thought-out plan slips away. There’s no way in Hades I’m letting some ancient barber/physician put those disgusting things anywhere near my body. I’ve seen Stand By Me.

  But if I can’t convince Aunt Francesca I’m sick and need to sit this one out, then I have no choice but to go to the ball as planned.

  So much for controlling the situation.

  My shoulders sag in defeat. “The Fates win this round. Looks like I’ll be smiling for my adoring fans, after all. Yippee.”

  Alessandra’s giggles bounce off the atrium’s walls as we walk in, and Aunt Francesca turns around, a dazzling array of richly colored surcoats draped over her arm. Uncle Marco stands beside her, his arms behind his back and chest puffed out, looking pleased. Behind them is a large gilded mirror.

  Up until today, the biggest mirror I’d seen was the small circular one in my room, and this one has to be ten times the size of that. Finally I can actually get a glimpse of myself in full period regalia.

  Alessandra squeals and rushes toward them, grabbing the olive-green silk surcoat on top. “Are these for the ball?” she asks, holding it up to her body and twirling around.

  My uncle beams at her reaction, and my aunt nods. “Patience, your measurements were approximated based on Alessandra’s, but we will send a tailor to your room for any alterations.” She waits a beat, then places her hand on her husband’s elbow. “These gowns are a gift from your father and uncle.”

  Uncle Marco slides the royal-blue gown off Aunt Francesca’s arm and walks toward me. “An intelligent gentleman apprehends that true happiness can only be attained when his women are happy,” he says, handing me the gown. “Now that I have three women under my roof, I consider it in my best interest to indulge them.”

  He winks and seems so genuine that I can’t help but smile in gratitude. I glance down at the gown in my hands and trace my finger along the silky brocade, drinking in the luxurious color. It’s gorgeous. A vision of me in this dress, gliding across a candlelit ballroom in Lorenzo’s arms, springs to mind, and my stomach flutters. Biting my lower lip, I hold the dress against me and walk to the almost full-length mirror.

  The dark-blue fabric sets off my dark eyes, and my normally uninspired coffee-colored hair transforms into something exotic. My reflection stares back without a trace of makeup, but I feel beautiful. My eyes sparkle, and I watch as a smile stretches across my face, thinking about Lorenzo’s reaction.

  I want him to see me in this dress.

  I nod slowly, accepting my fate. Since I’m destined to have to put up with a ball, I guess knowing Lorenzo will be waiting for me on the other side does make it slightly more tolerable.

  …

  It took three men to do the heavy lifting, four women to haul the steaming buckets of hot water, and one bottle of smuggled sample-sized bubble bath to make this possible, but it is so worth it. Warm water sloshes over the sides of the wooden tub as I scoop up a handful of gardenia-scented bubbles and blow gently, creating an iridescent, rainbow-infused cave.

  Now this is la bella vita.

  If I’d known all it took to get a decent bath was to confess the truth to Alessandra, I’d have blabbed the first night. Though she declined to take one herself, she wrangled up a half-dozen servants and got them to stop what they were doing just so I could soak. She also had Lucia bring me a goblet of wine.

  “For your nerves,” she told me as she lay out a white linen towel and black velvet robe.

  I gladly accepted, loving the lack of a drinking age, and took a large gulp, hoping it would chill out the convulsions happening all along my nervous system. So far, it’s yet to do its job.

  During the dress fitting, I was fine. Good, even. Wearing that dress and imagining Lorenzo’s reac
tion, I felt like a new person. I let myself fantasize about what it would be like to command the ballroom floor tonight and truly become the new version of myself I’ve been creating the past two days.

  But when I put my normal clothes on, my old self came back with a vengeance. New scenarios played alongside the other fantasies, ones where I stumble and fall, say the wrong thing, or embarrass my entire family. Again. Scenes where I hold lengthy conversations with food stuck in my teeth or horribly bad breath, and where I disappoint everyone in attendance by not living up to whatever image they expect of me.

  I shake the thoughts away and take another sip of sweet red wine.

  Time to switch my focus back to Lorenzo’s arms.

  Sinking deeper into the bubbles, I sigh as the thrill of giddy anticipation tingles across my skin, replacing my previous anxiety.

  I vowed that I’d make the most of this opportunity and experience everything I could while I had the chance, leaving here and Lorenzo with no regrets. If I were back home, things would be different. I’d continue pushing him away, knowing that getting too close would only lead to pain for the both of us. But this isn’t real life. This is a dream, a fantasy, an impossible situation with a beautiful boy who seems to like me, too. It would be idiotic not to immerse myself fully in this trip to the past and experience all the things a normal girl my age would. Including dancing in a gorgeous gown across a candlelit ballroom, in the arms of a sixteenth-century hottie.

  A gentle knock shakes me out of the glorious vision, and I look over as Alessandra’s head peeks around the door. Smiling, she comes in, closes it behind her, and leans against it.

  “I trust our ancient method of bathing met with your approval,” she teases, looking me briefly in the eye and then bouncing her gaze above my head. She ambles over in a velvet robe that matches my own, eyes still averted, and plucks the towel off my bed. “I have asked our servants to meet us here shortly to get ready. I pray you do not mind,” she says, standing patiently next to the tub and looking out the window. Her fidgety foot nearly knocks over my half-full wineglass.