bunch of losers at the bottom of the
rankings.”
“Well then, keep lobbing those perfect
passes towards Marcello’s head!” She reveled in being able to show off her
soccer knowledge.
“Marcello’s not the only one who can
score, you know.” He took advantage of a red light to turn an accusatory stare
on her. “Until proven otherwise, I boast a pretty-good average of goals per
game for not being a forward,” he upbraided her, pretending to be angry.
Unable to think up a quick defense, Marika
tried to make up for her awkward technical advice by saying, “I didn’t mean
that, I was just trying to....”
“I’m kidding!” Matteo burst into his
infectious and open laughter, looking her again in the face. “Don’t worry, I
know you’re my greatest fan, though don’t ever tell my brother I said so.”
“ If you could only know exactly how big
a fan I am, ” she thought, unconsciously puckering her lips. “As you wish...
I’ll let him believe that he’s the biggest die-hard around.”
He smiled at her, then launched into
another discussion based on his team’s recent performance. “Last week I felt
really good: no mistakes except for a couple of clearings at most.”
“I know, I was there.” She glanced out
the window at the pedestrians. “But you have to stop being so selfish with the
ball.”
“I know, I know... you’re right, but all I
want to do is score. It’s the only thing I can think of out there.” He was to
die for, so gorgeous in the amber colors of the fall sunshine. “And last week
half of the team was missing. After the first few stolen balls, I started to
get nervous.”
“On the other hand,” she sighed, “the
stands were full of people yelling, ‘Go Zovigo, take it yourself!’”
“Really?” Pleased with this news, Matteo
begged her to go on.
“Are you kidding?” she said forcefully. “In
truth, I was hoping you would do it too. Even though by playing like that, you’re
going to get fouled again and again,” she admitted, using her hands to imitate
chopping wood.
“Tell me about it,” he confirmed. “Their
number 6 came at me with his leg raised like a hatchet! If he gets me better,
he breaks my leg!”
“I was so afraid that you had really hurt
yourself.” The worry that she had felt at that moment was tangible in her
words.
Turning onto Palladio Road, they spied
Ferdinando Vendramini, Marika’s father, mowing his enormous front lawn.
Pulling to the side of the road, Matteo rolled down the window and said to him
politely, “Hard at work, sir?”
“Hard enough. It’s a crummy job. With
all these flowers everywhere, I have to be extra careful.” He caught his
breath and emptied the bag full of cut grass. “Otherwise, someone here will
call the environmental cops on me for vandalism,” he said, eyeing his
daughter. “By the way, thanks for driving her home.”
“No problem, sir. I get out after fifth
period too.” He put his sunglasses back on, which he had removed out of
respect while speaking with Ferdinando, and turned the key. “See you later,
sir. I’m going to get home for lunch.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Marika, ask
your mother if lunch is ready.” He looked impatiently at his daughter, who
made no move to enter the house.”
“Goodbye!” Matteo eased the car into
gear. “See ya, Marika.”
“Bye Matt, ...and thanks!” Marika howled
after the car, her voice rising two octaves. “See you Saturday at the match!”
“ To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles... ”
After lunch, Marika made time for a chat
with Carlotta and a couple hours of studying, the bare minimum required for
reviewing her English lit – Hamlet – and finishing her math homework on
exponential equations. At 6:20 she hollered to her mother,
rankings.”
“Well then, keep lobbing those perfect
passes towards Marcello’s head!” She reveled in being able to show off her
soccer knowledge.
“Marcello’s not the only one who can
score, you know.” He took advantage of a red light to turn an accusatory stare
on her. “Until proven otherwise, I boast a pretty-good average of goals per
game for not being a forward,” he upbraided her, pretending to be angry.
Unable to think up a quick defense, Marika
tried to make up for her awkward technical advice by saying, “I didn’t mean
that, I was just trying to....”
“I’m kidding!” Matteo burst into his
infectious and open laughter, looking her again in the face. “Don’t worry, I
know you’re my greatest fan, though don’t ever tell my brother I said so.”
“ If you could only know exactly how big
a fan I am, ” she thought, unconsciously puckering her lips. “As you wish...
I’ll let him believe that he’s the biggest die-hard around.”
He smiled at her, then launched into
another discussion based on his team’s recent performance. “Last week I felt
really good: no mistakes except for a couple of clearings at most.”
“I know, I was there.” She glanced out
the window at the pedestrians. “But you have to stop being so selfish with the
ball.”
“I know, I know... you’re right, but all I
want to do is score. It’s the only thing I can think of out there.” He was to
die for, so gorgeous in the amber colors of the fall sunshine. “And last week
half of the team was missing. After the first few stolen balls, I started to
get nervous.”
“On the other hand,” she sighed, “the
stands were full of people yelling, ‘Go Zovigo, take it yourself!’”
“Really?” Pleased with this news, Matteo
begged her to go on.
“Are you kidding?” she said forcefully. “In
truth, I was hoping you would do it too. Even though by playing like that, you’re
going to get fouled again and again,” she admitted, using her hands to imitate
chopping wood.
“Tell me about it,” he confirmed. “Their
number 6 came at me with his leg raised like a hatchet! If he gets me better,
he breaks my leg!”
“I was so afraid that you had really hurt
yourself.” The worry that she had felt at that moment was tangible in her
words.
Turning onto Palladio Road, they spied
Ferdinando Vendramini, Marika’s father, mowing his enormous front lawn.
Pulling to the side of the road, Matteo rolled down the window and said to him
politely, “Hard at work, sir?”
“Hard enough. It’s a crummy job. With
all these flowers everywhere, I have to be extra careful.” He caught his
breath and emptied the bag full of cut grass. “Otherwise, someone here will
call the environmental cops on me for vandalism,” he said, eyeing his
daughter. “By the way, thanks for driving her home.”
“No problem, sir. I get out after fifth
period too.” He put his sunglasses back on, which he had removed out of
respect while speaking with Ferdinando, and turned the key. “See you later,
sir. I’m going to get home for lunch.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Marika, ask
your mother if lunch is ready.” He looked impatiently at his daughter, who
made no move to enter the house.”
“Goodbye!” Matteo eased the car into
gear. “See ya, Marika.”
“Bye Matt, ...and thanks!” Marika howled
after the car, her voice rising two octaves. “See you Saturday at the match!”
“ To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles... ”
After lunch, Marika made time for a chat
with Carlotta and a couple hours of studying, the bare minimum required for
reviewing her English lit – Hamlet – and finishing her math homework on
exponential equations. At 6:20 she hollered to her mother,
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