“What happened last year?” Emilia asked.
“It was stolen from us,” Marco said. “The so-called winners cheated.”
Alfie and Emilia exchanged looks. Alfie wondered if there was some truth in what Marco said, or if he was being a sore loser. He wasn’t about to ask, though.
“But this year,” Marco continued, his mood lightening, “I’m in charge of gathering the ingredients. Since I’m twelve now, Papà says I’m ready.”
“That’s how old I am, too,” Emilia said. She looked to Alfie and said, “I guess that makes you the baby.”
Alfie wished she wouldn’t tease him about being younger. He certainly didn’t feel like he was the youngest.
“Emilia, watch your step,” he said, guiding her away from a murky puddle that she wasn’t even close to walking through. She smiled and stuck out her tongue at him. “Real mature,” he muttered.
“So, Marco,” Emilia said. “How many ingredients do we have to get?”
“Only a few,” he said. “Basil, tomatoes, and mozzarella.”
“That’s it?” Emilia asked.
Alfie said, “The pizzas we eat usually have at least three toppings, not including sauce and cheese.”
“If there are so many toppings, how do you taste the pizza?” Marco asked. This made absolutely no sense to Alfie. The toppings were what made the pizza, of course! “Papà always says that simple, fresh ingredients are what make all Italian foods so delicious. And first, the basil.”
As they followed him, Emilia said to her brother, “Isn’t it funny how Zia Donatella was just telling us about good pizza and Naples?”
“Funny or totally strange?” he said.
“What’s that?” Marco asked.
“Nothing,” Alfie said. “Hey, why not just go to the grocery store to get all the ingredients? Wouldn’t it be faster and easier?”
Marco looked horrified. “We’d never! Signora Ricci sells us our basil.”
They turned down Via Vecchia. The sides of the streets were lined with tables selling a colorful variety of everything imaginable, from herbs and spices to fresh fish and even ladies’ handbags and sunglasses. People walked in the middle of the street despite the cars rolling along. Alfie steered Emilia to the side and kept an eye out for vans driving through to drop off goods at the tables. The last thing they needed was to get run over.
“Papà inspects every ingredient to make sure it’s perfect,” Marco told them. “Even the flour and olive oil. And everything comes from right here in Naples. We buy basil from Signora Ricci here at the Mercato Pignasecca.”
They followed him to a table that sat between a young girl selling olives and a couple selling leather sandals. Marco greeted the woman, who had a sturdy build despite being barely taller than Alfie. Signora Ricci gestured to the bunch of small green stems, and Marco began sniffing and eyeing each bunch.
“Smell,” he said, holding a handful out to Emilia. As she took in a deep breath, Alfie noticed Marco look over his shoulder. Alfie followed his gaze and saw a boy, maybe about their age—tall and wiry with unruly hair—and wondered if that was who made Marco’s eyes dark for a moment.
“So sweet and fragrant,” Emilia said. “Like a flower you can eat.”
“That’s right,” Marco said, turning back to Emilia and obviously pleased with her response. “These are the ones,” he told Signora Ricci.
“Excellent choice, young man,” she said. She wrapped them in a paper towel, then laid them in a plastic bag. Nodding down a couple of tables, she said, “Giuseppe has some amazing mozzarella di bufala today. Wait until you taste it. Guaranteed you’ll get that title back.”
Marco paid Signora Ricci and took the bag. “Thank you. But there’s a special batch waiting for me up at the farm. That’s where we’re going now.”
“Good luck, then,” she said. “I know you’ll get them this year!”
“Good-bye, Signora!” Marco waved and led them back out of the market. “So,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind going out of town a bit, because the next stop is just up the hill. A quick bus ride and we’re there.”
Alfie was beginning to enjoy this strange adventure, and since he knew cheese was one of Emilia’s favorite things, he said, “Show us the way.”
They all climbed aboard a bus, which Marco said would take them to the hills above town where they would find their next ingredient. Marco paid their bus fare. “It’s the least I could do, since you’re helping me,” he said.
Alfie noticed Marco looking over his shoulder once again.
They walked down the aisle to take their seats. Alfie looked out the back and saw the boy from the market racing to catch the bus.
“Look,” he said. “I think I saw him at the market. Do you know him?”
Marco scowled and sat in a seat. Emilia sat in front of him by the window, and Alfie sat next to her. “Yes, unfortunately,” Marco said. “That’s Enzo. His family owns a restaurant that they think is better than ours. What a joke. They’re the ones who beat us last year in the Festa di Pizza, but we think it’s because they spied on us and learned where we got our ingredients. That’s why we’re making this special trip to the farm.”
“But if you used the same ingredients from the same places, wouldn’t the pizzas taste exactly the same?” Emilia asked.
“Every pizza is different,” Marco said. “My nonna used to always say it’s how you feel when you make it that matters, too. And last year, Papà spotted Enzo buying his mozzarella from Giuseppe at the market and that’s how he knew they were just following us around. He was so angry when he made the pizza that the judges said the crust was too tough. What an insult,” he said. “This year, you’ll taste how light our dough is, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Total perfection made without a care in the world.”
The bus stopped suddenly and they all watched as Enzo himself boarded the bus, panting from running.
“Oh, great,” Marco muttered as Enzo passed them and found a seat a few rows back. As the bus moved again, Marco turned to him and said, “Can’t you find the markets on your own?”
Enzo shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s a free country. I can take the bus anywhere I want.”
Marco turned back around. “Incredible,” he said, shaking his head. “Enzo will do anything to get what he wants. He just uses people.”
“What a jerk,” Alfie said. Alfie didn’t get involved in his parents’ business and could hardly imagine caring so much about it that he’d want to hurt another family. Emilia looked back at Enzo, who pretended to gaze casually out the window but kept shooting glances in their direction.
“Are you crazy?” her brother said. He already felt a sense of allegiance to Marco. After all, he had selflessly helped them today, no questions asked. “He looks shady.”
“I promise, he is,” Marco said. “We’ll have to ditch him at the next stop, okay?”
“You got it,” Alfie said.
“When I say run, I mean run,” Marco said to Alfie and Emilia. “Run.”
“We got it,” Alfie said, but Marco was getting up.
“No, I mean run!”
Alfie had been so busy shooting dirty looks to Enzo that he hadn’t noticed the bus slow down for the next stop. The doors were about to close, and Marco was already halfway out. Alfie scrambled up and followed him, making it out just before the doors closed. Close call!
“Thank goodness,” Marco said as the bus pulled away. “We lost him.”
Alfie never knew something as simple as making pizza could become such an adventure—not to mention so cutthroat. But, he guessed, if you were going to be competitive about a particular food, pizza might as well be the one. It was, after all, the best food in the whole world.
“Come on,” Marco said, turning on the gravel road. “We can walk the rest of the way. It’s not far.”
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It wasn’t until Alfie turned to make sure Emilia was okay with walking that he realized something that he probably should have noticed before the bus pulled away.
“Emilia?” he said, his voice on the verge of cracking.
Alfie watched helplessly as the bus drove off in a cloud of dust. Emilia was still on the bus—and getting farther and farther away from him.
“Emilia!” Alfie yelled as he frantically ran after the bus, pumping his arms and moving his legs as fast as they would go. It didn’t take long to see that it was useless. He’d never catch up. His sister was gone forever.
Marco caught up with Alfie, and they both stood on the side of the road, trying to catch their breaths.
“What am I going to do?” Alfie said, panting. His heart raced, and not just from the sprint. “My sister—she’s gone!”
Alfie couldn’t believe this was happening. He thought he’d been good about keeping Emilia close, but it wasn’t good enough. She must be so scared, alone on a bus in a foreign country. And they didn’t even know how they were here in the first place. If he ever got her back, Alfie was sure Emilia was going to kill him for this.
“Marco, what are we going to do?” Alfie said, grabbing Marco by the shirt and practically shaking him.
“Okay, we’ll figure it out, friend,” Marco said. He put his hand on Alfie’s shoulder.
“We gotta go get her,” Alfie said. “We gotta find her.” Alfie couldn’t think beyond this thought, he was so scared for his sister. What if something happened to her? He’d never forgive himself.
“Maybe she got off at the next stop, hoping we’d meet her there,” Marco said. “Let’s run there and see.”
It seemed like a logical plan, even in Alfie’s frantic mind. Marco led the way, the two boys running down the road faster than Alfie had ever run in gym class, until they got to the next bus stop. Emilia wasn’t there.
Both boys were panting, and Marco leaned on his knees to catch his breath.
“One more stop?” Alfie said, and Marco nodded. They took off again, running farther and faster than Alfie had ever run in his life. Emilia might be older and might think she was wiser, but Alfie knew his sister must be scared. He hated to think of her feeling like he left her, like he wasn’t taking care of her.
At the next stop they found the same thing—nothing. Alfie was on the verge of panicking, but he knew he had to try his best to stay calm and come up with a plan.
“Maybe she got on a bus going back to town?” Alfie said, but he didn’t believe it. They hadn’t seen a bus going the other way. “Maybe she’s going back to the restaurant, since that’s where we started.”
“Do you think she could find it again?” Marco asked.
“No,” Alfie said. He’d worked hard to pay attention to where they went as they followed Marco to the market, but Alfie knew Emilia had just been taking in the sights. She’d never find the restaurant again. Still—where else might she be going? “But maybe I should go back down there anyway, just in case she finds her way.”
“The bus back to town doesn’t come for a little while longer,” Marco said.
“Then I’ll run down,” Alfie said. “I know the way.”
“How about this,” Marco said. “Let’s go to the mozzarella farm, and we’ll use their phone to call the restaurant. We’ll see if she’s there and tell them to look out for her, just in case.”
Alfie considered Marco’s plan. Even though he didn’t like the idea of getting farther away from his sister, he knew it was a better idea than trying to run all the way to town, which would take longer than going to make the phone call. “Okay,” he said. “But as soon as we call and get the cheese, we’re going straight back to Naples. Agreed?”
“Yes, of course,” Marco said.
They walked up the hill, passed scraggly bushes and small farms selling olives, herbs, and other Italian goodies. When they got to the farm, Marco was warmly greeted by a slim and sun-browned young man who shook his hand and patted his back.
“Marco! Great to see you!” he said.
“Hello, Vito,” Marco said. “How are things?”
“Great, great,” Vito said. “Been busy. We’ve got lots of great—”
“Excuse me, can I use your phone, please?” Alfie said. He knew he was being rude, but at that moment he didn’t care. He didn’t care about cheese or being polite. He only cared about Emilia.
“This is my friend Alfredo,” Marco said. “He’s helping me with the ingredients, but we are having a bit of an emergency. Okay if we use your phone?”
“Sure, of course,” Vito said, leading them into a squat wooden building that turned out to be the office. “Help yourself.”
Alfie snatched the phone off the receiver, but he quickly realized he didn’t know the restaurant’s phone number or even how to dial it. Maybe phone numbers were different here in Italy?
He held the phone out to Marco and said, “I guess you should call.”
“Thanks,” Marco said.
The call to the restaurant was brief. When Marco hung up he said, “No sign of her.” Alfie’s stomach dropped. “I told them to keep an eye out for her and they promised they would. I know it’s hard,” Marco said, “but try not to worry. I’m sure she’s okay. We’ll find her.”
“I hope you’re right,” Alfie said glumly. “Let’s just get the cheese and get back to town.”
Vito led them into a larger section of the farm. “I’m so glad to hear about you and your father’s family,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Marco asked.
“Enzo was here,” Vito said, and Alfie was pretty sure that his and Marco’s hearts both stopped beating. “He said he was buying for his restaurant and yours. He told me to play some game of not selling to you, but I don’t have time for that.”
“He was here?” Marco asked.
“Sure,” Vito said. “You just missed him. Him and some girl. Said she was his cousin from out of town, which I guess is why she was a bit nervous. He said she’d never left her village before.”
“Did he say where they were going next?” Alfie asked. His poor sister, being held as a hostage by Enzo!
“Back to the restaurant, I guess,” Vito said. “They were trying to catch the next bus down.”
“Let’s go,” Alfie said, turning to run out the door.
“Wait,” Marco said. “I’m sorry, let’s just get the cheese very fast. I must.”
“But my sister,” Alfie said.
“Two seconds, and besides,” Marco said, “the bus probably hasn’t come yet, so they’ll still be waiting. I promise we’ll hurry. Right, Vito?”
“You bet,” Vito said casually and not moving any more quickly. “This is the best mozzarella di bufala you’ll ever taste,” he said as he led the boys into a large room filled with vats of water, some steaming, some not, but all a cloudy white with what appeared to be raw pizza dough floating in it.
“Why do you keep calling it that?” Alfie asked, a bit agitated. Why not just call it mozzarella? And why couldn’t they leave now?
“This cheese isn’t just plain old mozzarella,” Marco explained. “It’s not from cow’s milk but from buffalo’s milk. That’s one reason why it’s so special, and why it’s mozzarella di bufala.”
Several workers stood before a trough of cloudy water, scooping up white chunks of mozzarella di bufala, which they then carefully formed into balls the size of a softball. They then dropped each ball into another trough of water.
“That’s the cold water,” Marco explained.
Alfie watched with mild interest. Emilia was on his mind, of course, but standing there he realized that the only way he’d ever seen mozzarella was shredded in a bag at the grocery store. He never knew it first swam in water, and he’d never heard of anything being made from buffalo’s milk.
“M
arco, I’ve got yours over here,” Vito said. He showed them several finished balls of mozzarella. “Finished last night, so this morning they are at perfect freshness.”
“Thank you, Vito,” Marco said, inspecting each one. “My family can always count on you.”
“You’ll get your title back this year, we all know you will,” Vito said.
Marco stood up a bit straighter and said, “We will, you can be sure.”
Marco chose what he decided was the perfect ball of mozzarella di bufala, and Vito congratulated him on a strong choice.
“Tell your father I said he better show up to our next game of bocce,” Vito said to Marco as Alfie pulled him out the door. “He promised he—”
Alfie and Marco barely heard the rest as they raced back down the hill to find Emilia and Enzo.
Alfie found himself in the back of a truck driven by a weathered old man named Sal who worked at the farm and happened to be on his way to town. Marco sat in the back with Alfie, bouncing along as the truck rumbled down the hills and into the city of Naples, coughing up exhaust along the way.
The truck reached the city and began turning through the winding streets. Alfie was glad to be back where they started and hoped Emilia had somehow found her way back as well. They turned on a street called Via della Sanità, and Marco suddenly called out for the driver to stop. They jerked to a halt.
“What is it? Do you see her?” Alfie said, catching his balance and standing up.
The boys jumped down from the truck. Marco grabbed the basket of ingredients and thanked the driver. “See? Down there,” Marco said. The boys shot off down the street.
Alfie saw a sweep of long golden-brown hair and knew it was his sister—and she was with a boy. He called her name as they ran toward them, but she didn’t seem to hear. Emilia and Enzo made a turn, and Alfie and Marco followed. The street ended at a building with faded paint and an arched doorway. Enzo led Emilia inside.
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