“Well, nothing prepared me for how beautiful it was inside. The tour books didn’t make a very big deal about it at all.” She blushed slightly. “I bought the photo guide in the gift shop so I won’t forget all the details.”
Sheela smiled. “That’s great. Maybe you’ll loan it to me sometime.” She turned to Jarvis, who was offering her a bite of his panino. “Yum, that’s good. What’s in it? Eggplant and ricotta?”
Kelly watched them talking, their smiling faces pressed close to each other, and felt like an intruder. They were so cute together—not mushy, not show-offy, just nice. Jarvis genuinely seemed to care about Sheela, and it was obvious she was crazy about him.
Kelly glanced down toward Joe, who was smirking at Minnie and saying something Kelly couldn’t hear. Minnie was ignoring him, but her shoulders were hunched and her eyes blinked rapidly; Joe knew exactly how to get under the poor girl’s skin. When they were dating, Kelly had listened to Joe make fun of her roommates and never said a word in their defense. Now she felt her hackles rising. Minnie wasn’t strong enough to laugh off his abuse, and Joe wouldn’t stop until he got her to cry.
Casually, Kelly walked the length of the table and touched Minnie’s shoulder like they were best friends. “There’s an empty seat on our end. Come sit with us.” Stunned, Minnie nodded, and fixing Joe with a look of pure hatred, followed Kelly to safety.
“Your ex-boyfriend is such an asshole,” she hissed, her voice shaking. Kelly was surprised; she didn’t know Minnie ever used that kind of language.
“I know. Sorry.”
“Well.” Minnie sniffed. “I’m just glad you dumped his rear end.”
As Kelly returned to her seat and her salad, Sheela nodded and smiled at her.
Kelly grinned back and looked across the cobblestoned piazza at the graceful curve of red brick buildings that surrounded them. She really liked this little place—it was so different from anywhere she had ever been. And Siena seemed to be bringing out the best in her. Standing up for Minnie had made her feel great, much better than sticking it to Joe would have been on its own.
Kelly had been interested in style for her entire life. Now, even though it went against all of her natural instincts, she knew it was time for her to start concentrating a whole lot more on substance.
Dr. Wainwright was absolutely right—two days in Siena wasn’t enough; it was a place straight out of a fairy tale. After six weeks in a big, noisy metropolis, Kelly found Siena safe, small, and easy to navigate. Getting lost wasn’t even an option: There were street signs everywhere pointing out all the tourist attractions, and almost every street eventually led to the Piazza del Campo. Best of all, Siena was a city designed for walkers; its narrow streets and twisting alleyways couldn’t handle heavy traffic, so Kelly had been able to explore without her usual worries of getting squashed.
She walked until her feet were burning. Andrea had given everyone a crash course in Gothic architecture, and one of their assignments was to identify as many examples of flying buttresses, mullions, parapets, and vaulted ceilings as they could. It was ridiculously easy; you couldn’t turn a corner without discovering a tiny stone gargoyle or a gracefully arched window. But Kelly had kept exploring, long after she’d gotten bored with the assignment. Wandering the winding medieval streets with a bag of lemon cookies in one hand and her worksheets in the other, she felt like she had stepped back in time hundreds of years. She found herself slipping into a fantasy involving a medieval princess who looked a lot like herself and a young nobleman who bore an astonishing resemblance to Brad Pitt.
Now she was back on a bus heading for Florence, watching her little kingdom grow even tinier out the window. Outside the city, they passed by field after field of tidy rows of grapevines, which, according to Steve, would be made into Tuscany’s famous wines. Green farmland, dotted with enormous rolled cylinders of hay and grazing animals, stretched for miles.
She glanced over at Marina, in the seat next to her. She had her head down, and her pencil scratched across the pages of her sketchbook with even more urgency than usual. Kelly tried peeking over the edge. “Can I see?”
Marina hugged the pad tightly to her chest. “Back off, Brandt!” She grinned, seeing Kelly’s stung expression. “Relax. I’ll show you when I’m good and ready. Might even ask you for a little help on it.”
Kelly turned back to the window. She wasn’t going to get any information from Marina right now; they were already following the huge painted “Firenze” sign painted on the highway lanes. The faint outline of the city loomed in the distance. As far as Kelly could tell from the outskirts, Florence was a big, modern city—not the Renaissance wonderland Dr. W had described.
As they pulled off the autostrada, Steve pointed out the window at the river running alongside the road. “This is the Arno, which divides Florence into two halves. We’ll be spending a lot of time on this side of the river, in the Centro Storico. But the other side of the river has two spots we can’t miss—the Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens.”
Eventually, the bus pulled in front of a modest-looking little hotel. The kids gathered in the threadbare lobby while Andrea checked everybody in. Marina looked around dubiously, refusing to put her backpack down on the rug. “Kind of a dump, huh?”
“Who cares?” Kelly answered. “They have AC! At this point, I’d sleep in a litter box if it had air-conditioning.” Their pensione in Siena had been cute, but it had been hot as hell.
Andrea held up her hands for silence. “Listen, everybody, this city is completely crammed with tourists this time of year. We’ve booked everything in advance, so it’s essential that you get down here on time every morning.” Kelly felt several kids’ eyes on her and willed her cheeks not to go red.
“Let’s go freshen up and meet back down here in half an hour to check out some of the sights in the Centro Storico.”
Kelly shouldered her bag and headed upstairs to unpack.
That night, after trekking through the Duomo and touring two Renaissance palazzos, Kelly could barely keep her eyes open long enough to brush her teeth. She finished in the bathroom and crawled into bed.
“It’s all yours, Marina,” she said.
“Already?” Marina deadpanned. “I figured you’d be in there at least another hour. Don’t beauty-queen rituals last all night?”
“They certainly can,” Kelly acknowledged. “But tonight I need my beauty sleep even more.”
Marina climbed off her bed, knocking her sketch pad on the floor. Kelly caught a brief glimpse of pages filled with drawings of angels in all different styles, each with a face that looked strangely familiar to her. Kelly had seen that same face in several old photos clipped inside the cover of Marina’s pad. The photos showed a woman sitting on a motorcycle. She was small and a little stocky, with a wide, carefree smile and dark, laughing eyes.
“Is that your mom?” Kelly asked, grabbing another quick look before Marina snatched the sketchbook.
“Was.” Marina said. “She died last year.”
Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I’m—”
“Don’t say it! Do not say you’re sorry. I can’t stand the pity thing.” Marina’s look was threatening, “And don’t think you’re going to get me to spill the whole sob story.”
“Okay,” Kelly said quietly. “It’s just that I remember you looking at that book of angel paintings the day we went to the art store for supplies.”
“They’re for my next tattoo. I want something special to remember her by that I can carry with me all the time.”
Kelly nodded. “I had something like that of my grandmother’s. She died last year, too. It was a locket.” Her hand moved up to her collarbone. “But I lost it.”
“That’s rough. At least I know once it’s on me, the tat’s not going anywhere.” Marina headed for the bathroom, but abruptly stopped in the doorway.
“My mom had a rare heart defect, a total fluke. When she was in her thirties, she got a heart transplant, which w
orked great, until just over a year ago. The new heart gave out and she died before the doctors could find a new donor heart.” Marina looked at the carpet, her voice tight. “I want to do something in her honor, you know? But it has to be absolutely perfect, ’cause she was perfect.”
“It will be,” Kelly said, just before Marina shut the bathroom door.
“This woman needs a serious makeover,” Kelly said, staring at the painting. A desperate, wide-eyed face, framed by a crown of slithery snakes, grimaced back at her from the wall.
Marina’s eyes lit up. “Medusa—totally freakin’ cool, man. That’s what I’m talking about!”
Kelly and Marina were deep into their exploration of the Uffizi Gallery with the rest of the group on their second afternoon in Florence.
Looking at the mythical monster was supposed to turn you to stone, and Kelly could see why. “No wonder you like it—that’s exactly what you looked like when you woke up this morning. Who’s the artist?”
“My perfect man, Caravaggio. Did you know that he got thrown out of Rome for killing a guy during a tennis match? How’s that for a temper? He lived fast, died young, and totally rocked the art world. Just my luck; he died four hundred years ago.” Marina held her arms straight out, looking for an empty patch of skin. “Would this make a killer tattoo, or what?”
Kelly shrugged. “I thought your next tattoo was gonna be for your mom.”
“That’s my next tattoo—it’s not gonna be my last.” Marina grinned. “You can never have too many.”
Kelly grabbed Marina’s elbow and steered her away from Medusa. “Let’s go check out the Botticelli room—he knew how to paint beautiful faces. I want to see The Birth of Venus—at least she won’t give me nightmares.”
Marina snorted. “This from the girl who looked upon the face of Joe Leahy and survived. Fine, let’s go look at the pretty pictures, you big wuss.”
As the group made their way from the Uffizi to the Accademia del’ Arte, Kelly found herself feeling claustrophobic in the tourist-choked streets. Australians, Germans, Brits, and Americans were everywhere, lining up to see the Duomo, filling the piazzas, and milling around the leather stalls at the Mercato di San Lorenzo.
The more American tourists Kelly saw, the more embarrassed she felt. They were often slow, they were usually rude, and they automatically expected everyone to speak English. She realized that she probably looked just the same way to the locals. Kelly decided, right in the middle of Piazza San Lorenzo, that she was going to work much harder on her Italian. The next time she came to Italy, she at least wanted to be able to carry on a polite conversation. The next time she came to Italy? How had that thought popped into her head? Somehow, despite all the mistakes she’d made here, Italy had begun to grow on her.
The group slowly made its way into the Accademia del’ Arte to see Michelangelo’s David.
“The statue was recently cleaned—call it his five-hundredth birthday present,” Andrea explained. “You’re getting to see him in better shape than he’s been in hundreds of years. In this sculpture, Michelangelo portrayed muscles and bones far more accurately than any other artist of his time.”
Kelly walked around the statue, admiring the details Michelangelo had managed to coax from solid marble. She could even see the tiny veins in David’s hands. She opened up her sketch pad and flipped back to the drawing she’d made in Andrea’s class weeks ago. She compared it to the sculpture. Her version was okay, but it was nothing in comparison to the real deal.
Kelly felt a rough tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Marina standing next to her, with her hands on her hips.
“As usual, everyone is waiting for you. I’ve been sent to pry you out of here.”
“Sorry. He’s just so amazing,” Kelly said.
“You know, under your prom-queen exterior, you’re actually a massive nerd.” Marina smirked. “Unless you just dig ogling naked marble guys.”
Kelly laughed. “I’ll go with massive nerd. And coming from you, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Kelly’s favorite afternoon in Florence was spent wandering the grounds of the Boboli Gardens, the beautiful public park across the river. The view of the city was gorgeous from there, and although there were plenty of tourists around, the mood was serene and relaxed. Kelly and Marina trailed along after Sheela and Jarvis—he had been to Florence a bunch of times and knew a lot about the park’s history.
“Look at this crazy statue!” Marina called out, pointing to a dwarf riding a turtle.
“A lot of the art here has a sense of humor,” Jarvis said as Sheela beamed proudly at him. “It was an artistic style called Mannerism. The gardens were designed to entertain people who walked here.”
Kelly was really enjoying spending time with Sheela again, and she wanted to do everything she could to make it last. And the more time she spent with Jarvis, the more Kelly liked him. Unlike a lot of the kids in the program, he didn’t treat Marina like a freak, and he didn’t judge Kelly for her previous mistakes. She could see why Sheela was crazy about him.
“So this was the Renaissance version of an amusement park?” Kelly asked.
“You could say that. There used to be jets of water all over the place that would squirt up randomly and soak people. I’m not sure how funny they found it.”
“If they were half as concerned about their hair as Kelly is, I’m guessing they hated it,” Sheela deadpanned.
“Please, Sheela told me those Medicis had zillions of servants around to fix their hair,” Kelly groused. “I, on the other hand, have to brave this humidity with a zero-watt blow-dryer and a pathetic travel-size bottle of Bed Head.”
“And why are we so concerned about our hair, Kelly?” Sheela’s smile widened. “Still expecting Orlando Bloom to materialize?”
Kelly blushed as an image of Luigi popped into her head.
Marina’s eyes narrowed. “I swear, if you’re thinking about Joe, Sheela and I are gonna hang you from the Ponte Vecchio by your perfect pink toenails.”
Kelly felt strangely shy. “I was thinking about someone else, and believe me, he’s the anti-Joe. Sheela, do you remember the guy I told you about, from the Vatican info center?”
She filled them in on her second encounter with Luigi, word for word.
“Has he called yet?” Marina demanded.
“No,” Kelly said. “But I told him we’d be away for a while.” She smiled. “Even if he doesn’t, I can always use another bad wardrobe choice as an excuse to see him again.”
After the gardens, they walked across the Ponte Vecchio, the ancient bridge that connected the two halves of Florence. Kelly had never seen a bridge with stores on it before—there were jewelry shops running its entire length. Gold shimmered in every window, and the kids ambled along, window-shopping. In the center of the bridge, Kelly stopped and leaned against the rail, watching the sun set over the Arno.
She didn’t know Joe was behind her until his chin was resting on her shoulder. “Pretty, huh?”
Kelly straightened up, shaking him off. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous.”
“Romantic, right?” Joe gripped her hands and squeezed, looking deep into her eyes. “Listen, I really miss you.”
Kelly glanced over her shoulder. Sheela and Marina were both watching, concern written all over their faces. Somehow, knowing they were there made her feel stronger. “I’ve been in so much trouble already, Joe. I can’t risk screwing up again this summer. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t move. He kept gazing at her, an anguished look on his face. “You sure?” There was more than a hint of threat in those two words.
Kelly looked away. “Yup. I’m really sorry, Joe.”
He dropped her hands and smiled. “Your loss, Kel.” Then he turned and walked into the shadows.
When Sheela and Marina appeared at her side, Kelly realized she was shaking. “What the hell was that about?” Marina demanded. Kelly could have hugged them both, but PDAs were neither girl’s style.
“It
’s okay. I think he finally got the message that it’s over.” The three of them leaned their elbows on the railing and watched the water gently lapping the ancient stones below them. Finally, Kelly felt she could relax.
Their last morning in Florence, Marina and Sheela sat with Kelly at breakfast. Even though she suspected they were just there to scare Joe off, she enjoyed every minute of it. Kelly listened, slack-jawed with amazement, as Sheela held her own in an animated discussion of punk rock and alternative music. It turned out that all those hours Sheela spent reading, she had their local college radio station playing in the background.
“What’s up with Andrea?” Sheela gestured with her chin. This morning Andrea seemed exhausted and preoccupied. Before breakfast, the girls had passed by her in the hall, having an urgent-sounding conversation on her cell phone. As soon as she spotted them, she had stopped talking, watching until they stepped into the dining room.
Kelly had been too excited to notice. After getting a taste of the Tuscan countryside, she was dying to get out of the city and kick back a little. The group was visiting two villages, San Gimignano and Montepulciano, during the day. Then they were spending the night in the middle of an olive grove, at a pensione run by a farmer and his wife.
It sounded so romantic and charming, Kelly wished she had someone special to share it with. Her thoughts turned to Luigi once again. There was an air of genuine kindness and sincerity about him that made her want to get to know him better. She really hoped he’d call when she got back to Rome.
A well-aimed elbow from Marina jolted Kelly back to earth. “Don’t look now, but Princess Prada is headed directly for you, and she doesn’t look happy.”
“Kelly, can I have a moment?” Andrea asked, motioning her aside.
“We’ll see you on the bus, Kel,” Sheela said, shooting her a puzzled look.
“It’s important that I speak to you later, Kelly,” Andrea said to her once they were out of earshot. “See me right after dinner, okay? Don’t blow this off.”
Getting the Boot Page 10