Getting the Boot

by Peggy Guthart Strauss

  With every new building, arch, or fountain, Kelly learned something new about Pompeii’s inhabitants. They came from all walks of life—filthy rich to penniless, aristocrat to slave. They ate fast food, worked out in the gym, took saunas at the spa. They had laundries, bakeries, candy stores, jewelry shops, bars, and even brothels. An open-air theater and sports arena provided all sorts of entertainment. Beautiful temples allowed them to worship Greek, Roman, and Egyptian deities.

  Now all that was left were tourists and the stray dogs that everyone fed and petted, because legend had it they were the reincarnated victims of the lost city.

  By lunchtime, Kelly was obsessed. She couldn’t stop snapping photos. She was irritated by the students who complained about the heat or their aching feet.

  Seeing the bodies was hard, though. Gino told them how, in the 1800s, an archaeologist digging in Pompeii discovered hollows in the hardened ash. He filled them with plaster, ending up with models of victims buried in the eruption. Over the centuries, their bodies had decomposed, leaving behind perfectly detailed molds. It was so eerie standing next to them, seeing the shock and pain on their faces, that Kelly’s eyes filled with tears.

  Behind her, Gino spoke softly. “The citizens of Pompeii thought that the world was coming to an end. Imagine the sight—blazing ash raining down, the summer sky completely dark. A terrifying roar as a seemingly harmless mountain exploded upon them. Those of us who live near this place know to enjoy every moment of life. We have but to look toward Vesuvio for a reminder.”

  Kelly gazed at the dark form on the horizon, silhouetted against a pure blue backdrop. This place was so quiet, so strangely untouched. It was hard to fathom the horrors that had once taken place here. It was even harder to fathom that this incredible city had lain undiscovered for sixteen hundred years.

  Sheela was right, as always. Visiting Pompeii was an experience Kelly would remember forever.

  That night, Kelly sat at the wobbly desk in her cramped hotel room, scribbling and sketching every detail she could remember about Pompeii into her journal.

  For once, she was looking forward to her reading assignment, two letters written by Pliny the Younger. The nephew of a famous general and historian who died in the eruption, the seventeen-year-old kid witnessed the mayhem from across the Bay of Naples. Years later, an important statesman himself, he wrote two letters describing the whole horrible event. According to Steve, those letters were still valuable references for volcanologists and historians today.

  Marina had already finished them and was sitting on her bed, watching an Italian game show on TV and devouring a Toblerone bar. Every so often she let out a loud hoot, even though Kelly was pretty sure she didn’t understand what was going on. A growing mound of balled-up papers littered the bedspread; Marina still hadn’t found the perfect image for her tattoo.

  Shutting her journal, Kelly realized she hadn’t written to Starr in ages. Without much news to report about guys, hairstyles, or outfits, she couldn’t think of much to say to her. Starr was fun, but the longer Kelly was away, the less she found herself thinking about her. Maybe Tyff was right; maybe this summer was changing her in more ways than she knew.

  Kelly didn’t want things to be different when she got back to suburban Chicago; she loved her life at home. She had pictured herself triumphantly returning to high school, an exotic, enchanting creature with a continental flair. Now she wondered if, instead, her friends at home would find her newfound interest in art and history dull and uncool. She glanced at Marina, who had abandoned her sketch pad and was plotting a new design on her ankle with a black marker. If the two of them could get along, anything was possible. Her real friends would love her, whoever she was.

  Kelly had been standing in the museum gallery for who knows how long, staring and wondering how Marina would react. The fresco was a simple circle, painted on white plaster, but the resemblance was uncanny. The young woman gazed out at Kelly with soft brown eyes. She held a wax writing tablet in one hand, and with the other, she pressed a stylus thoughtfully against her lips. Her short brown curls were covered by a cap made of golden netting, and she had a cute gold hoop in each ear.

  Kelly had only seen pictures of Marina’s mom wearing jeans and a T-shirt, sitting on a motorcycle. But there was something about this face that was so familiar it sent a shiver up Kelly’s back. She glanced over her shoulder; Marina was across the gallery, intently examining a slimy-looking serpent curling along the bottom of an otherwise beautiful fresco. Typical.

  “’Rina, come here. You’ve got to see this.” Reluctantly, Marina slouched over and looked. Her head snapped back and her eyes bulged.

  “Holy shit. Yeah, you found it.” Without moving her eyes, Marina reached out and gave Kelly a gentle slug in the arm. “Un-freakin’-believable. That’s her.” She pulled her digital camera out of her cargo pants and started snapping away. When she put the camera down, Kelly could swear her thick plum eyeliner was a little smudgier than usual.

  Kelly ran to find Andrea. “Can Marina and I run down to the gift shop? There’s a print I really want to buy her, and I don’t want to forget.”

  Andrea nodded slowly. “Be back in fifteen minutes, okay? Otherwise I’ll come looking for you.”

  “Ooh, scary,” Marina whispered as they headed for the sweeping marble staircase. The Archaeological Museum had started life as a palace, but it was a perfect place to see art—huge, airy, and with gigantic windows that let in plenty of light. Each floor held another batch of treasures: paintings, sculpture, enormous carved cameos, even everyday objects rescued from the ruined cities.

  In the bookstore, Marina showed the clerk the image on her camera. He nodded. “She is called The Sappho of Pompeii, because she was perhaps a poet. In ancient Rome, writing was a task often left to the women. We have prints in several sizes.”

  “It’s a shame we don’t know who painted it,” Kelly murmured. Time and disaster had erased the identities of all the ancient artists. She looked into the poet’s sweet face and sent a quick thank-you to its creator, whoever he or she was.

  Marina made her choice and threw in a postcard of her favorite mosaic, an elaborate ocean-floor scene full of squid, fish, and other creepy-crawlies. She was virtually skipping as they headed back upstairs. Marina turned to Kelly, suddenly serious. “Thanks, Kel. I mean it. I’m not sure I would have noticed her on my own. She’s totally perfect. My mother even loved poetry; she read it all the time.”

  Kelly smiled. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

  Kelly sat on the train, a book about mosaics on her lap, gazing out the window. Now that they were on their way back to Rome, the landscape they passed was familiar and welcoming. Kelly only wished they’d had more time to explore some other little villages in Tuscany.

  She was already planning a return trip to Italy; maybe she’d head up to Venice and finally see those gondolas. It sounded so romantic—canals winding through the city, an island where all they did was blow glass into beautiful objects, and the legendary Bridge of Sighs. She wondered if Luigi had ever been there.

  Kelly’s eyes popped open and she started rummaging through her bag. She hadn’t checked her cell-phone messages for days—maybe he had finally called. She hit the “on” button and stared expectantly at the little window. Nothing. Kelly sank back into her seat. Maybe she had been too forward. Maybe he wanted to make the first move.

  When she stepped off the metro at Circo Massimo, Kelly realized she was downright happy to see the old neighborhood again. And when they got back to school, Dr. Wainwright, with Signor and Signora Peretti at his side, was waiting for them in the driveway, grinning from ear to ear.

  Some kids ran upstairs to unpack, and there was a traffic jam in the computer room, where kids had bolted to download their digital photos. Kelly decided to wait until later and headed for her room to finish studying her book and to recharge her phone.

  Almost as soon as she plugged it into the outlet, it rang. Kelly jumped,
then sighed. It was probably her parents, checking to make sure she had gotten back in one piece.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Kelly Brandt?” The voice had a lilting Italian accent.

  “Luigi!”

  Sheela and Jarvis, who were cuddling on the common-room couch, leaned forward to listen. Kelly quickly shut the door on them.

  “How are you?” Luigi asked. “Are you back from your travels?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, and yes, about half an hour ago. We had an amazing time.”

  “I’m glad. But are you tired? Should I call you some other time?”

  “No!” Oops. That sounded a little overeager. “I’m totally wired, so you picked a perfect time to call. What happened in Rome while I was away?”

  Luigi laughed. “Wired is good, yes? I’m afraid for me, life has been quite dull. I am hoping you will entertain me with stories of your travels.”

  “Anytime,” Kelly answered, positively beaming.

  “Are you allowed to eat meals away from campus? May I take you out next Sunday? It is my day off from work.”

  “Absolutely. That would be great.” They made plans to meet at three, in Parco Savello.

  Kelly hung up the phone, flung open the door, and beamed at Sheela and Jarvis. Her own version of Roman Holiday was about to begin!

  Kelly couldn’t afford to get too distracted about her date—she had a mural to paint. For the final three weeks, the program had shifted gears. Classes were cut back to one hour each so that groups could form to select topics and begin their projects. At lunch one day, Sheela told Kelly and Marina about her project.

  “Minnie and I are writing the autobiography of a Pompeiian teenager. We were inspired by this painting we saw in the museum in Naples.” Sheela pulled a postcard out of her book bag. “She’s called Sappho of Pompeii.”

  Kelly and Marina stared, then laughed.

  “You two are so alike, it’s scary,” Kelly told them. “Question is, which one of you is gonna start dressing like the other?”

  When they had spoken on the phone earlier that day, Luigi had promised to lend Kelly some books about the Vatican. She figured that, worst-case scenario, she’d have an excuse to see him one more time after Sunday to return them. In the meantime, Andrea was keeping her plenty busy.

  “Don’t be afraid to inject your personality into this project. I want you guys to have fun with this,” Andrea told them.

  The first chance she had, Kelly headed to Dr. Wainwright’s office. He usually holed up there for a while after dinner. His door was ajar, so she tapped softly and poked her head in.

  “Come on in, Kelly. What can I do for you?” Dr. Wainwright pushed his reading glasses onto his shiny forehead.

  “For one thing, I never got to thank you for believing in me. I know things looked really bad, and I’m so grateful that you let me stay.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, but in view of the evidence, I only did what was just.”

  Kelly nodded and turned to leave, but Dr. Wainwright called after her.

  “I almost forgot.” He opened a desk drawer and began rummaging through it. Finally, he pulled out a small envelope. “I found this when I was conducting my unfortunate investigation of your locker. It was wedged into a ridge in the corner and was quite well hidden. Is it yours?”

  Kelly opened the envelope.

  “My locket!” She had rushed downstairs to rummage for an outfit right before she and Joe had gone clubbing. It must have fallen off then.

  “The clasp was a little loose,” Dr. Wainright said, “so I did a bit of surgery on it. It should be quite secure now.” He smiled. “I’m glad you have it back, and I’m glad you made it back to Rome with us.”

  “I am, too. More than you can imagine.”

  Kelly fastened the chain around her neck, and let the warm metal rest over her heart. Once again, she had a phone call to make to her parents. And this time, she couldn’t wait.

  To: kelcat@email.com

  From: m&ebrandt@email.com

  Subject: The locket

  Hi honey,

  Dad and I got your message when we got back from the lake yesterday. I’m so thrilled that you found the locket. And your art teacher, Andrea, sent us a lovely note telling us what great progress you’re making on your mural project. We’re glad to hear you’re working hard. Take a picture of it for us when it’s finished, okay? We can’t wait to see you in just a few short weeks. Your father definitely could use your advice on his tie choices these days.

  Love,

  Mom

  Kelly stood on a ladder holding a huge sheet of paper, calculating how much space she needed for her Vatican painting. It was important to get this settled first so that nobody became a wall hog. Luckily, Veronica’s Egyptian obelisk was tall and skinny, which left more room for the other five.

  Kelly shook the charcoal dust out of her hair. She desperately needed to start her predate overhaul. One hour and forty-five minutes until Operation Luigi. Wash hair. Clean under nails. Shave legs and pits. Moisturize! The whole shebang would take at least an hour.

  With a meter stick, she measured out a decent-looking block and held up her rough sketch. She marked her turf, then hopped down and helped Marina move the ladder over to her spot. Her work here was done. Kelly slapped the dust off herself and bolted, waving over her shoulder at the rest of the group.

  “Give him hell, Kel!” Marina bellowed.

  She hadn’t felt this excited—or nervous—in ages. But when Kelly stepped through the park gate at five minutes after three, she looked cool and collected in Sheela’s beaded Indian skirt (borrowed—with permission!) and a white sleeveless blouse. She found Luigi sitting on a bench reading a paperback.

  “A pleasure to see you again, signorina.” He bowed and touched his lips to the back of her hand. “Allora, I am at your disposal. What would you like to do this afternoon?”

  “Oh, anything, really. I’m just happy to spend some time with a charming Italian gentleman.” Kelly peeked up at him through her lashes and smiled.

  Luigi laughed good-naturedly. “Well, let me know when you find him. In the meantime, I am happy to show you around.” He paused, looking over the hills and thinking. “I’m sure you’ve already seen it—the keyhole?”

  Kelly didn’t have a clue what he meant. “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Ah, come with me. I’ll show you a very special treasure of Aventino.” They left the orange-scented parco and headed up Via di Santa Sabina. The street ended in a little piazza surrounded by white walls decorated with obelisks and statues.

  “This building is home to the Knights of Malta, a religious order. The artist Piranesi designed this place for them.”

  Kelly nodded. She had heard of Piranesi, but still didn’t understand why they were there. Luigi led her over to one of several doors in the wall. A few tourists milled around, waiting, as people pressed their faces against it. When it was their turn, Luigi put his hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what you see.”

  Kelly peeked through the brass keyhole and laughed. Piranesi had created a tiny work of art by positioning a simple keyhole in just the right place. The view, perfectly framed by an arch of leafy trees, was of the glimmering dome of the Vatican. “That’s pretty cool, I must admit.”

  “If you ever need inspiration for your mural, you have only to walk here and take a look.”

  They walked back toward the park, chatting up a storm. Soon Luigi stopped next to a Vespa and unlocked it, handing Kelly a helmet. “I was thinking we could have dinner in Trastevere. How does that sound?”

  “Great,” Kelly answered, staring at the scooter. It was pretty high up on her parents’ list of no-nos. Thou shalt stay off scooters. But what the hell? She put on the helmet and climbed on, wrapping her arms tightly around Luigi’s waist.

  She had been to Trastevere a couple of times, but it was nicer with Luigi. He showed her quaint back alleyways crowded with dusty little shops, including a great English-language bo
okshop, where Kelly picked up a couple of novels for the flight home. Next they followed the Passeggiata del Gianicolo to the top of Janiculum hill, where they were rewarded with a staggering view of the city. Over espressos, they talked and watched kids riding the merry-go-round.

  Later, they ate dinner outside, next to a bubbling fountain, at a romantic little trattoria. Kelly told Luigi about her life at home—her parents, her friends, and all the activities she was involved with at school. Luigi told her about his family, college life, and his summer job at the Vatican.

  “I get to meet interesting people from all over,” he said. “And once in a while, I can help a beautiful, lost stranger. That’s the best part of my job.”

  “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re having dinner with every girl who asks you for help,” Kelly said teasingly.

  “Don’t worry.” Luigi laughed. “You are one of a kind.”

  For dessert, Luigi took her for the best gelato of the entire trip. Much sooner than Kelly wanted, she and Luigi were saying good night on the front steps of the PIR.

  “How much longer before you go home?”

  “Just over two weeks.” The thought nearly broke Kelly’s heart.

  “May I see you again before then?”

  “I’d love that.”

  Luigi kissed her, first on one cheek, then on the other, and again on the opposite side. In return, Kelly gave him a big, American-style hug. Grinning, Luigi hopped on his scooter and roared off into the most perfect evening ever.

  “What time is that thing later?” Marina asked Kelly.

  “Eightish, I think. Sheela is a train wreck, she’s so nervous.”

  The girls were in the cafeteria, finishing the outlines of their buildings. In the week since they’d returned to Rome, everyone had made good progress on the mural. Andrea had started things off for them by priming the wall and painting it the piercing blue of the Roman sky. Then she added some cottony clouds and, among them, a pair of round-faced cherubs. The room looked brighter and happier already.