As Alfie and Marco raced in behind them, Alfie called out his sister’s name again. This time it echoed back a dozen times. He paused and realized there were people here and they were all staring at him.
Emilia walked toward him with a scowl on her face. In a low voice she said, “Alfie! What are you doing?”
Alfie couldn’t help himself. He reached out and grabbed his sister in a hug. She was safe. As long as she was okay, he didn’t care that she was being ungrateful that he had rescued her.
When he finally gathered his emotions, he said, “I should ask you the same thing. What’s going on? What happened?” He looked up. “And where are we?”
He saw frescoes—paintings made right on the ceiling—and tourists milling around and snapping photos as locals kneeled by pews and prayed.
“This is the church of San Gennaro Extra Moenia,” Enzo said, stepping toward them casually with his hands behind his back like he was one of the nearby tour guides. “It is one of Naples’s most beautiful churches. It dates back to the 1300s, and the catacombs date back to the second century.”
For a moment, Alfie and Marco looked from Enzo to Emilia, trying to understand why they were acting like this was all totally normal.
“You’re sightseeing?” Alfie asked, completely dumbfounded.
“Enzi couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen any of the churches yet,” Emilia said. “So he brought me here.”
“Enzi?” Alfie said. What were they—best friends now?
“It’s fine,” Enzo said to them. “We were just looking around.”
“Get away from my sister,” Alfie snapped to Enzo.
“Yes, stay away from my friends,” Marco said, setting the basket down to better step between Enzo and the Bertolizzis.
“Now, boys,” Emilia said in a mocking tone. Alfie knew she loved this attention, but his only concern was getting her away from this guy.
“Come on, Emilia,” Alfie said. “We’re going.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Emilia said. “I can hang out with whoever I want.”
“Trying to act mature for your boyfriend?” Alfie said, knowing it would embarrass his sister. He was frustrated with her.
“This is low,” Marco said to Enzo. “Even for you.”
“I did nothing wrong,” Enzo said, holding up his hands innocently. “It’s not my fault if you and your friend care so little about Emilia that you leave her behind on the bus. That was low.”
“Hey, watch it,” Alfie said. He didn’t like his loyalty to his sister being questioned.
“Yes, I’m sure you were so worried about her well-being,” Marco said. “Or maybe more like the well-being of your failing restaurant.” Turning to Emilia, he said, “He just wants to spy on us. He knows he’s banned from our restaurant. He’s just using you.”
“I think you’re all acting crazy,” Emilia said. “All I know is, I was riding a bus with two people and then suddenly I was sitting there all alone. Enzo was the only one there to help me out.”
“By bringing you here?” Alfie said.
“He was going to take me to Marco’s restaurant,” Emilia said. “He figured you’d look for me there.”
“Like we’d let him within five blocks of our restaurant,” Marco said.
“But when I mentioned I hadn’t seen any of Naples,” Emilia continued, ignoring Marco, “Enzi very nicely offered to show me around. So don’t go acting like you’ve rescued me or something. I was having a good time until you two showed up.”
“And now we’re leaving,” Alfie said, desperate to take control of the situation. He was also rattled by Emilia’s confidence around Enzo, a boy she’d only just met. “Seriously, Emilia. We have to go.”
“Fine,” she said, as if that was her plan all along. She turned to Enzo and said, “Thank you, Enzi, for bringing me back to town and showing me this amazing church. I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
“What happens tonight?” Alfie demanded.
“The pizza festival, obviously,” Emilia said with a roll of her eyes. “Why do you think we’re gathering all these ingredients?”
“We will not see him tonight,” Marco said. “But we have to get going. And this time,” he said to Enzo. “You stay here.”
Alfie gave Enzo his best scowl and as the three turned to leave, Emilia called out a cheery, “Ciao!” to Enzo.
“Couldn’t you at least pretend to be on our side?” Alfie said.
“I’m on the side of being a good person,” Emilia said. “You know, the kind who doesn’t ditch his sister in a strange city.”
“As long as he doesn’t follow us again,” Marco said, holding the basket of ingredients close, “I’ll live to see another day.”
Of course, they hadn’t taken more than two steps when Enzo started to follow them again.
“This will never work,” Marco said. “We have to lose him.”
“He’s harmless,” Emilia said.
“I can’t believe you fell for him,” Alfie said, a hint of disgust and disappointment in his voice.
“I didn’t fall for him,” Emilia quickly said, her face turning a delicate shade of pink. “Whatever. Just don’t ditch me this time.”
“Follow me,” Marco said, walking deeper into the church toward the pulpit. “And try and act like you’re really enjoying looking around.”
“I actually was,” Emilia muttered. “Can you believe that people have used this church for over seven hundred years?”
“I guess you learned that from your personal tour guide, huh? Can’t you just cooperate? Please?” Why couldn’t she just go along with them? It was her fault they were in this situation to begin with.
Alfie and Emilia followed Marco along the sides of the creaky wooden pews, gazing up at the arched columns that led to the heart of the church. The ceiling, covered in ornate gold patterns with brightly colored frescoes, was at least five stories high. It looked more like a museum than a church.
Although the church was quiet, the soft voices of the tourists cast a low rumble. Alfie’s sneakers squeaked on the floor, and he tried to walk more delicately to keep them quiet. Enzo lurked farther behind them, keeping them in his sights. They continued along the black-and-white hexagonal-patterned floor, and Alfie made sure to eye each sculpture that was tucked among the columns, both to look like he was sightseeing and because they were really cool. When they reached the front, they stood to the left of the altar, and Marco turned to look back at the church as if taking it all in. Alfie did the same. An elderly woman spoke to Enzo, her hand resting on his arm. She had no idea what a huge help she was being—she had him cornered.
“This way,” Marco said in a low voice, like he was barely moving his lips. “Quickly but quietly.”
With Emilia in front of him—he wasn’t about to lose her again—Alfie followed Marco through a small side door that they had to duck to get through. They turned a sharp corner to another door that Alfie never would have spotted, since it was adorned with a painting of a saint. The saint’s head was ringed with light, and his eyes were looking toward the heavens. Once the three of them stepped through this door and it was shut tight behind them, all sound was completely muffled out and cool air washed over their skin. They carefully stepped down a flight of narrow, crumbling stairs and into a hollow space.
“Where are we?” Emilia whispered, a slight quiver in her voice. Her confidence had vanished.
The three stood side by side, looking out at the cavernous space before them. As ornate as the church was, this was totally bare. All they saw was a low, slightly curved ceiling and long cool tan walls with pockets that looked like open mouths cut out along the sides. The rooms were too dark to see into.
“These are the catacombs of San Gennaro,” Marco said as they began to walk the corridors.
“What are catacombs?” Alfie asked.
“Basically old burial grounds,” Marco said. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Alfie did think it was cool, but he felt Emilia stiffen beside him. He stepped closer to her and, for a brief moment, squeezed her hand. The way her eyes darted about, he knew she was scared.
Thinking he might distract her, Alfie asked Marco, “I bet these are really old and, like, important to Naples, right?” Emilia’s love of history might trump her fear of the catacombs.
“Very important,” Marco agreed. “They haven’t always just been burial sites. They have also been used as a hospital, a place of study for archbishops, a bomb shelter during war . . . lots of things. Here, I think the door is down this corridor.”
As they walked, Alfie noticed that the frescoes were more faded than the vibrant ones upstairs. He ran his hand along the wall—it was cool and rough, and he wondered what hands from the past had also touched it.
Marco stopped abruptly, and Alfie almost slammed into him. Alfie was about to ask what was wrong, but Marco put his finger to his lips. The three stood listening carefully and, off in the distance, Alfie heard footsteps. Emilia grabbed his arm tightly. Her whole body was shivering. He patted her hand as his own heart pounded. He willed away images of ghosts floating through the corridors, angry with anyone who disturbed their eternal peace.
When Marco said, “Someone’s coming,” Emilia clutched Alfie’s arm with new strength. He wanted to reassure her, but as Marco continued to lead them deeper into the dark shadows, he was downright scared as well—of ghosts or of getting caught and thrown in jail, it didn’t really matter. All he knew was that they weren’t supposed to be there, and now someone or something was coming.
Voices echoed off the walls, and the three friends looked at each other nervously as the sounds got closer and closer. Alfie couldn’t even breathe.
“A thousand years?” a voice said. “That’s so long!”
Marco let out a long breath. “It’s just a tour group,” he said. “But let’s stay here until they pass.”
“A tour group?” Alfie said. He was relieved they weren’t going to die or go to jail, but also thought it was really cool that you could tour these things. Officially, anyway.
Once the group passed, Marco, Alfie, and Emilia quickly made their way down another faintly lit corridor where Marco took them up a flight of stairs carved into the wall. After some more quick turns, low ceilings, and tight passageways, Marco threw open one last door and the warmth and crackling energy of the Naples street hit them in the face.
“That ought to take care of him,” Marco said triumphantly, and it took Alfie a moment to remember the whole purpose of their trip through the catacombs was to ditch Enzo. There was no way he would find them now. They’d taken so many turns underground that Alfie couldn’t even guess where in the city they were.
“Come on,” Marco said. “We’ll have to run for the tomatoes, just in case he spots us on the street.”
As they took off down the street, Alfie noticed how pale Emilia’s face had become.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“For now,” she said, “I think I’d rather read about the catacombs than go down in them.”
Alfie smiled. “They were pretty cool, though, right?”
She cracked a small smile. He knew she was braver than she thought.
Marco led them to a tiny shop that almost went unnoticed from the street. There was no sign above the faded blue door, but Marco charged in as if he’d done it a thousand times before. Inside, the cement floors were covered with dust and there were waist-high metal tables throughout. A plump woman greeted Marco.
“Hello, Signora Marta,” Marco said back.
“It’s about time,” Signora Marta said, looking at the clock. “Your father must be getting worried.”
“I know.” Marco sighed. “We ran into some trouble.”
She eyed Alfie and Emilia as if they might be the cause of the trouble Marco had run into.
“Well, come here, come here,” Signora Marta said. She lifted a basket filled with the reddest tomatoes Alfie had ever seen.
“Perfect,” Marco said as he lifted one to his nose. He breathed in deeply and said, “Ah! They feel and smell perfectly ripe. Friends, you’re looking at the best San Marzano tomatoes nature has ever produced!”
“They’re really red,” Alfie said, peering into the basket. “When I’m old enough to drive, I’m so getting a car that color.”
“When I’m old enough to wear lipstick, I’m getting one in that color,” Emilia said. She picked up a tomato as well and breathed in its scent. “I’ve never smelled a tomato that smells so tomatoey.”
Marco laughed. “Yes, well, we better get back. Signora’s right—Papà is probably having a heart attack right now, wondering where I am.”
They said good-bye and rushed back into the streets. Alfie tried to pay attention to the twists and turns, but it was all too confusing. Suddenly, he realized they were back on the street they started on and the zeppole vendor was up ahead. Alfie and Emilia ducked their heads and walked quickly past him on the opposite side of the street. Alfie knew how to get to Trattoria Floreano from here, spotting Pasta Fabbrica on the way.
As excited as Alfie was about the evening’s pizza festival, he was becoming quite tired from the day’s adventures. Also, the later in the day it got, the more aware he was that he didn’t belong here—at least not like this—and he didn’t know how they were going to get home. If night came, perhaps Marco would let them crash with him, although Alfie would have to come up with an excuse as to why he and Emilia weren’t going back to their parents. Maybe, though, if they fell asleep in Naples, they’d wake up back home. At this point, anything seemed possible.
“There’s my boy!” Marco’s father said as he walked from the kitchen in long, determined strides. He clapped his hands together and said, “Let’s see those beautiful ingredients that will make our family proud.”
“Here you are, Papà,” Marco said. He handed his father the basket of pizza ingredients.
“And who are your friends, here?” Signore Floreano asked as he began to inspect the ingredients with his eyes, hands, and nose.
“Alfredo and Emilia,” Marco said. “They’re from America, and I wanted to show them around while their parents—”
“Marco,” his father said, stopping him, “is this everything?”
“Yes, Papà, of course,” Marco said. “We went to the market, the farm, and the shop.”
Signore Floreano looked carefully at his son, and Alfie feared he knew this look. It was kind of like the one his dad gave him when he asked, “Are you sure you finished all your homework?” when Alfie knew he hadn’t.
“And just how am I supposed to make pizza without mozzarella? Son, how could you?”
Marco’s face turned into a mixture of fear and confusion.
“It’s in there,” Marco said, peering into the basket in his father’s hands. “I know it is.” But when he looked, it wasn’t.
“Distracted by your new friends?” his father said, tossing Alfie and Emilia the sharpest of glances. “And on a day like today, of all days?”
“I did get it, Papà, I swear,” Marco said. “It was here.”
“Where is it now? Marco, I gave you the most important task. I gave you everything! And this is how you show me you’re man enough to start taking on more responsibilities? One day Trattoria Floreano will be yours, but not if you can’t be trusted to care for the things we do properly. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Enzo.” That was all Marco had to say. It was clear his father understood perfectly. “He tried to follow us all day long, but I managed to shake him off. And then we sort of ran into him at San Gennaro.”
“Just what were you doing there?” Signore Floreano asked.
“It’s a long story,” Marco said.
&n
bsp; “A long story that involved some tour-guiding?” his father said.
Alfie felt terrible. If he hadn’t lost Emilia, Enzo never would have found her and taken her to the church, and none of this would have happened. He couldn’t let Marco take the blame, especially after all he’d done for him and his sister today.
“Sir,” Alfie said, his heart pounding. Signore Floreano’s eyes were wide with anger and something else—like he was deciding everyone’s fate. “It’s my fault this happened.”
“No, it’s not,” Marco was quick to say.
“If it wasn’t for me—” Alfie began.
“It’s okay,” Marco said. “Papà gave me a task, and it was my responsibility to complete it. It’s no one’s fault but mine.”
Alfie then realized that what Marco was doing was the honorable thing—taking responsibility. He was glad he wouldn’t personally feel the wrath of Signore Floreano, but he still felt terrible for his role in the outcome of the day. Alfie silently vowed to somehow make it right.
“I’ll fix this, Papà, I promise,” Marco said.
“There’s no time to go back to the farm,” Signore Floreano said. “We’ll have to go to the market and hope the sellers are still there—and that the mozzarella is up to my standards. But you’re not going anywhere. You’re finished for the day.”
“But Papà—”
“Not another word,” Signore Floreano said.
“I can go,” Alfie heard himself saying to Signore Floreano. “If Marco needs to stay here and help with the preparations, I can go to the market and get the mozzarella. I want to help.”
“Alfie,” Emilia said to him. “We’ll get lost.”
“You’re staying here,” he said firmly. Turning to Signore Floreano, he said, “Sir, I know you don’t know me or have any reason to trust me, but I do know how important this day and this festival are to you.”
“You can’t possibly understand,” Signore Floreano said, dismissing him.
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