to hop in the car... in the
front seat.
Lucrezia didn’t dare object. She thrust
her hands into her pockets and plopped down into the back seat, fuming.
There was a sort of mystical peace in the
car on the way home, similar to what you feel when you pass a difficult exam,
or are sick on the day of a pop quiz.
When they reached their highway exit, it
was already past midnight, and it took them another fifteen minutes to get to
Lonigo. The first to be dropped off was Lucrezia, then Carlotta. Then it was
Marika’s turn. Before she closed the car door, she shyly asked Matteo – though
it was hardly the first time – if he could pick her up after school tomorrow.
While she was trying to justify herself,
saying that she had to leave her scooter at the mechanic’s for a problem with
the ignition, he interrupted her. “No problem. When do you get out?”
“After fifth period.” Smiling ear to ear,
she said goodnight to both of them. “Thanks!” Walking on air, she entered her
home, anxious to tell her parents – who were obviously waiting up for her in
the living room, pretending to watch a serious nighttime news program – all
about her exhilarating evening.
Chapter 3
NOT EVERYONE IS BORN TO BE A SHOWGIRL
Monday, third
period. A high-pitched voice rose from the front of the class. “Everyone, I
expect your essays, and I repeat, essays – not summaries – on Carlo
Goldoni’s The Mistress of the Inn by Wednesday.” The lit teacher, Mrs.
Costa, was the typical lit teacher; no longer young, clothes out of date and
totally out of fashion, hair wound up in a straw-blond ball around a pencil,
and wrinkles in her face from too much exultation over Dante’s genius.
While she valiantly kept up her effort to
assign their homework, the whole class was a hum of energy, waiting for the
break period.
The second the bell rang, freeing them,
Marika rushed down the hall to meet up with Carlotta, who was languidly leaning
against the handrail, sucking on a sticky raspberry lollipop. Marika caught
her breath and looked around herself carefully. “Matteo’s picking me up today.”
The butterflies in her stomach began flying just at the thought of it. “I’m so
nervous!”
“Even though you’ve known him since you
were in diapers?”
“I know... but everything’s so different now,
so new, so electric!”
Carlotta sighed, “Oh my sweet cousin, what am I to do with you? Come on, show some guts and make a move! I have
the distinct feeling that he won’t say no, trust me.”
“Yeah right!” Marika objected, her face
falling.
“I can ask Dario to say something to him
if you want. He’d never say no to me.”
“Don’t even joke about a thing like that!”
Marika blurted, alarmed. “I’d have to move to the Pitcairn Islands forever.”
She blushed just thinking about it.
The Pitcairn Islands – the subject of an
improvised lesson earlier in the day on the history of film by a substitute
teacher desperately trying to tame his students – are an archipelago of four
volcanic islands in the South Pacific; they are a British territory, though
only one of them, Pitcairn, discovered in 1767, is inhabited. Population,
roughly 50. The island was the refuge for the mutineers of the Bounty and their Tahitian consorts, a true story brought to life on the silver screen
by Hollywood.
Brrriiiiiiing!!!!
“See you tonight at my place, then.”
Feeling romantic, she said, “We’ll watch The Holiday again.”
“A classic!” Carlotta agreed, heading down
the hallway toward her classroom.
Marika followed her, dreamily, her head in
the clouds. “Two more periods, and then....”
“What a drag,” her cousin muttered as she
entered class, watching Marika disappear into the last room on the right.
One hour of math, then one more of
religion... they felt interminable. Her palms had gotten sweaty, and her level
of concentration was less than zero. Everything
front seat.
Lucrezia didn’t dare object. She thrust
her hands into her pockets and plopped down into the back seat, fuming.
There was a sort of mystical peace in the
car on the way home, similar to what you feel when you pass a difficult exam,
or are sick on the day of a pop quiz.
When they reached their highway exit, it
was already past midnight, and it took them another fifteen minutes to get to
Lonigo. The first to be dropped off was Lucrezia, then Carlotta. Then it was
Marika’s turn. Before she closed the car door, she shyly asked Matteo – though
it was hardly the first time – if he could pick her up after school tomorrow.
While she was trying to justify herself,
saying that she had to leave her scooter at the mechanic’s for a problem with
the ignition, he interrupted her. “No problem. When do you get out?”
“After fifth period.” Smiling ear to ear,
she said goodnight to both of them. “Thanks!” Walking on air, she entered her
home, anxious to tell her parents – who were obviously waiting up for her in
the living room, pretending to watch a serious nighttime news program – all
about her exhilarating evening.
Chapter 3
NOT EVERYONE IS BORN TO BE A SHOWGIRL
Monday, third
period. A high-pitched voice rose from the front of the class. “Everyone, I
expect your essays, and I repeat, essays – not summaries – on Carlo
Goldoni’s The Mistress of the Inn by Wednesday.” The lit teacher, Mrs.
Costa, was the typical lit teacher; no longer young, clothes out of date and
totally out of fashion, hair wound up in a straw-blond ball around a pencil,
and wrinkles in her face from too much exultation over Dante’s genius.
While she valiantly kept up her effort to
assign their homework, the whole class was a hum of energy, waiting for the
break period.
The second the bell rang, freeing them,
Marika rushed down the hall to meet up with Carlotta, who was languidly leaning
against the handrail, sucking on a sticky raspberry lollipop. Marika caught
her breath and looked around herself carefully. “Matteo’s picking me up today.”
The butterflies in her stomach began flying just at the thought of it. “I’m so
nervous!”
“Even though you’ve known him since you
were in diapers?”
“I know... but everything’s so different now,
so new, so electric!”
Carlotta sighed, “Oh my sweet cousin, what am I to do with you? Come on, show some guts and make a move! I have
the distinct feeling that he won’t say no, trust me.”
“Yeah right!” Marika objected, her face
falling.
“I can ask Dario to say something to him
if you want. He’d never say no to me.”
“Don’t even joke about a thing like that!”
Marika blurted, alarmed. “I’d have to move to the Pitcairn Islands forever.”
She blushed just thinking about it.
The Pitcairn Islands – the subject of an
improvised lesson earlier in the day on the history of film by a substitute
teacher desperately trying to tame his students – are an archipelago of four
volcanic islands in the South Pacific; they are a British territory, though
only one of them, Pitcairn, discovered in 1767, is inhabited. Population,
roughly 50. The island was the refuge for the mutineers of the Bounty and their Tahitian consorts, a true story brought to life on the silver screen
by Hollywood.
Brrriiiiiiing!!!!
“See you tonight at my place, then.”
Feeling romantic, she said, “We’ll watch The Holiday again.”
“A classic!” Carlotta agreed, heading down
the hallway toward her classroom.
Marika followed her, dreamily, her head in
the clouds. “Two more periods, and then....”
“What a drag,” her cousin muttered as she
entered class, watching Marika disappear into the last room on the right.
One hour of math, then one more of
religion... they felt interminable. Her palms had gotten sweaty, and her level
of concentration was less than zero. Everything
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