revolved around him, around
Matteo, who would soon be at her side.
At the end of class, she rushed down into
the atrium with all of the other students, her legs quivering and her breath
getting shorter and shorter. “ What’s happening to me? ” she asked
herself nervously. “ Come on, Marika, snap out of it! It’s only Matteo .”
But the sound of that name in her head was like an electric shock running down
her spine.
She took deep anti-panic breaths until she
located the Alfa Romeo parked outside. He was radiant, leaning against it with
his arms crossed.
It was a splendid day. A warm wind was
blowing, sweeping away all clouds and haze; the only mark in the blue sky was
that of the golden early autumn sun.
Matteo was wearing an aviator-style,
tobacco leather jacket over tapered, button-fly jeans.
He was an unbelievable sight: so handsome
he could drive you crazy, and sexy, way too sexy for him to ever notice a girl
like her. “ Guys like Matteo don’t go for girls like me; since the beginning
of time they have gone out with cheerleader types, not with the girl-next-door .”
It was thoughts like these that revealed Marika’s inherent lack of
self-confidence, in spite of what she really was.
Her vision of reality was clouded by the
insecurities of her age and by the ideas of her generation. If she had lived
during the time when art was inspired by feminine beauty, she would have been
somebody’s muse, because Marika had a rare, natural, immediate beauty, a true
beauty complete with small imperfections. A round, slightly elongated face
with high cheekbones gave her a naive, innocent look. Her lips were full and
well-shaped, the color of ripe cherries, while her hazel eyes with amber and
pistachio specks were accentuated by long dark lashes and luminous light brown
hair. Her body was graceful and shapely, and she stood at about 5 feet 6 inches
tall. For years now she had been in a constant battle with her scale, and on
bad days she often felt crushed by the comments of those who thought she wasn’t
thin enough for the popular standards of a size 0 model.
Every time she argued bitterly with the
mirror, her father would scold her for thinking of the world in only two sizes,
heavyweight and flyweight, forgetting about the other sizes known as “ideal
weight”. “ And it’s only natural to put on a few pounds during the winter
which you will lose during the summer ,” he would continue, blathering on.
She was irrationally convinced that no one
found her attractive, much less someone like Matteo. How many times had she
heard the guys in her group, like Valerio, go on and on about the physical
qualities a girl should have in order to be considered beautiful: super-skinny,
waif-like, mannequin-esque... just like Lucrezia!
At the school doors, she noticed the
provocative glances of her classmates who were staring at him like a
cream-filled doughnut at breakfast, while he raised his hand halfway above his
head and signaled Marika before getting back behind the wheel. Those same
gazes, equal parts envious and complimentary, accompanied her all the way to
the car.
“Hey, Matt!” she said, smiling and excited,
sliding into the passenger seat.
“Hi.” The engine started and the car
slowly drove past the crowd of students lined up for the bus.
“Didn’t you see Livia?” she asked him,
pointing at the short, gabby brunette. “She was waving at you.”
“No.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t
see her.” And his indifference toward other girls was like a drug for her.
The drive home lasted on average just
under fifteen minutes, and the first five were spent in silence, listening to
Vasco Rossi.
“Are you coming on Saturday to watch us
play against Dogado ?”
“Of course,” Marika said, relieved that
the embarrassing elevator silence had been broken. “Same time, same place?”
“We’ve absolutely got to win,” he said,
ignoring her. “ Dogado is a
Matteo, who would soon be at her side.
At the end of class, she rushed down into
the atrium with all of the other students, her legs quivering and her breath
getting shorter and shorter. “ What’s happening to me? ” she asked
herself nervously. “ Come on, Marika, snap out of it! It’s only Matteo .”
But the sound of that name in her head was like an electric shock running down
her spine.
She took deep anti-panic breaths until she
located the Alfa Romeo parked outside. He was radiant, leaning against it with
his arms crossed.
It was a splendid day. A warm wind was
blowing, sweeping away all clouds and haze; the only mark in the blue sky was
that of the golden early autumn sun.
Matteo was wearing an aviator-style,
tobacco leather jacket over tapered, button-fly jeans.
He was an unbelievable sight: so handsome
he could drive you crazy, and sexy, way too sexy for him to ever notice a girl
like her. “ Guys like Matteo don’t go for girls like me; since the beginning
of time they have gone out with cheerleader types, not with the girl-next-door .”
It was thoughts like these that revealed Marika’s inherent lack of
self-confidence, in spite of what she really was.
Her vision of reality was clouded by the
insecurities of her age and by the ideas of her generation. If she had lived
during the time when art was inspired by feminine beauty, she would have been
somebody’s muse, because Marika had a rare, natural, immediate beauty, a true
beauty complete with small imperfections. A round, slightly elongated face
with high cheekbones gave her a naive, innocent look. Her lips were full and
well-shaped, the color of ripe cherries, while her hazel eyes with amber and
pistachio specks were accentuated by long dark lashes and luminous light brown
hair. Her body was graceful and shapely, and she stood at about 5 feet 6 inches
tall. For years now she had been in a constant battle with her scale, and on
bad days she often felt crushed by the comments of those who thought she wasn’t
thin enough for the popular standards of a size 0 model.
Every time she argued bitterly with the
mirror, her father would scold her for thinking of the world in only two sizes,
heavyweight and flyweight, forgetting about the other sizes known as “ideal
weight”. “ And it’s only natural to put on a few pounds during the winter
which you will lose during the summer ,” he would continue, blathering on.
She was irrationally convinced that no one
found her attractive, much less someone like Matteo. How many times had she
heard the guys in her group, like Valerio, go on and on about the physical
qualities a girl should have in order to be considered beautiful: super-skinny,
waif-like, mannequin-esque... just like Lucrezia!
At the school doors, she noticed the
provocative glances of her classmates who were staring at him like a
cream-filled doughnut at breakfast, while he raised his hand halfway above his
head and signaled Marika before getting back behind the wheel. Those same
gazes, equal parts envious and complimentary, accompanied her all the way to
the car.
“Hey, Matt!” she said, smiling and excited,
sliding into the passenger seat.
“Hi.” The engine started and the car
slowly drove past the crowd of students lined up for the bus.
“Didn’t you see Livia?” she asked him,
pointing at the short, gabby brunette. “She was waving at you.”
“No.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t
see her.” And his indifference toward other girls was like a drug for her.
The drive home lasted on average just
under fifteen minutes, and the first five were spent in silence, listening to
Vasco Rossi.
“Are you coming on Saturday to watch us
play against Dogado ?”
“Of course,” Marika said, relieved that
the embarrassing elevator silence had been broken. “Same time, same place?”
“We’ve absolutely got to win,” he said,
ignoring her. “ Dogado is a
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