by Carol Culver
“Who’s that?” Lizzie said. “Is that Toby?”
“No, but I want you to meet him. Toby, I mean. Some other time.” It was so ridiculous. Marco being mistaken for Toby. “That’s the soccer player who kicked the ball at me. He feels guilty so he thinks he has to take me home.”
“Wow. He’s just…” Lizzie trailed off. There weren’t words enough to describe Marco. Not in English anyway.
“I know.”
She and Lizzie walked slowly toward the car, with Marco’s grandmother following closely behind them, cane in hand.
When Marco opened the door for her, Cindy tried to tell him he didn’t have to do this, but he insisted. He helped Cindy into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. He brushed against her breast with his arm and she thought she was having a relapse. Her heart sped up, her skin was covered with goose bumps.
Then Marco lifted his grandmother into the tiny rumble seat behind her. Fortunately she was very small. Small but talkative. She kept up a steady stream in Italian while Marco answered her only briefly as he pulled away from the field where he should be kicking goals.
The last thing Cindy saw was Lizzie standing in the grass staring at the car, looking as stunned as if she’d been dropped into an alternate universe. Cindy knew how she felt. Manderley was a strange place. Lizzie might think being whisked off in a sports car by a dashing foreigner happened to her best friend every day.
She told herself it was no big deal riding with Marco in his car. The guy who hit her was giving her a ride home. It was as simple as that. And yet Lizzie was acting like she was Cinderella riding off in the prince’s coach to the castle. Nothing could be further from the truth. Could it?
twenty-seven
Like all the best families, we have our share of eccentricities, of impetuous and wayward youngsters and of family disagreements.
Elizabeth II
“My grandmother thinks you look too thin,” Marco explained after his grandmother had leaned forward to deliver a long speech into his ear. They were driving down El Camino with the wind blowing Cindy’s hair. She’d never been in a European sports car before, and she’d probably never be in one again, especially with the owner’s grandmother squeezed in the back seat, such as it was.
She wished she could enjoy it more, but her head hurt and she was confused. She wasn’t sure if she was confused because of her injury or if any normal girl be confused under these circumstances.
Where had his grandmother come from? If he was a prince, was she the queen? Perhaps the Queen Grandmother, if there was such a title? If so, wasn’t she more accustomed to riding in a coach than in the backseat of a small car? Why had she come? Had he expected her at the game? From the look on his face, she had to think no.
“I can’t help it, I’ve always been thin,” Cindy said.
“You look fine to me, but you know how grandmothers are.”
“Not really,” Cindy murmured. What wouldn’t she give for an overly solicitous grandmother.
“She’s worried about you. She wants to make you some pasta with marinara sauce.”
“That’s very kind, but…”
“Kind? No one’s ever called her kind before,” Marco said with a swift glance in the rearview mirror. “Strong, demanding, interfering, difficult. But then you probably have someone like that in your family. What about your grandmother?”
“I… I never knew her. My parents are both dead.”
He looked at her, his eyes warm and soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry. But who takes care of you?”
Cindy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She couldn’t say no one, or Marco would feel sorry for her. He might even tell his grandmother.
“My stepmother. So I’m not alone. I’m fine. Really.”
Marco’s grandmother stuck her head between them and seemed to be asking a lot of questions. Marco explained that she wanted to know what they were talking about.
“She hates to be left out,” he said. “Which is why she’s here. I mean here in America. She was worried about me, so she flew here from Italy by herself a few days ago. First time in an airplane. First time out of Italy. First time out of her town, actually.”
“She must really care about you,” Cindy said softly. What must it be like to have a grandmother like that?
“I guess she does. I just wish she hadn’t come to the game. I lost my concentration, which is why I kicked the ball in the wrong direction, right at you. Poor little thing.” Marco reached over to smooth Cindy’s hair.
His touch was so gentle she felt weak all over. Good thing she was strapped into her seat or she would have collapsed for the second time that day. No one had called her little since she was three years old. No one had ever made her feel so cared for in a long, long time. Marco had walked away before the end of an important match to take her home, missing a chance to be hoisted off the field to rousing cheers. He was not like any guy she’d ever known.
“I didn’t expect to see my nonna here. She says she took a taxi. How she found a taxi in the suburb where I live is a mystery. But my grandmother always finds a way to do what she wants. She’s called the sporganza, the boss of the family.”
“We’d say the matriarch,” Cindy said. “You’re lucky she cares so much.” What wouldn’t she give to have someone, anyone in her life who cared that much about her.
Marco gave her a rueful smile. “Lucky? I never thought of it that way.” Then he turned to talk to his grandmother in rapid Italian while he drove skillfully with one hand on the steering wheel. Cindy only interrupted to give directions to her house.
When he pulled up in front of the house, Cindy reached for the door, and Marco grabbed her backpack and her clarinet and came around to open the door for her. She said “Arrivederci” to his grandmother, then Marco carried her things up to the front door.
“Will you be all right?” he asked as Cindy took her house keys out of her backpack.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. She would be fine if her knees weren’t so weak and if her hands would stop shaking enough to get the key in the lock. Something was wrong with her. Was it her head or was it her heart?
“I’m sorry about the game. I hope they didn’t lose at the last minute because of your not being there.”
“Don’t worry. They can’t lose. The other team was terrible. Besides, it’s just a game.”
“Like poker?”
“Like poker.” He paused. “Do you play?”
“No. My father did, but it was just for fun, not for money.”
“For fun,” he said thoughtfully. “For me it has always been about the money. Cindy, I have something to ask you ..
Her heart stuttered, she felt like she might have a relapse. Then his grandmother leaned on the car horn.
He shook his head and gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Ciao, bella.”
twenty-eight
Big sisters are the crabgrass in the lawn of life.
—Charles M. Schulz
Alone in the house, enjoying the rare solitude, Cindy took two aspirin for her headache and crawled into bed with her British Literature book and tried to read a short story about an Italian man who was learning how to live. Why couldn’t the teacher have chosen something else? Cindy had enough trouble thinking about something besides a certain other Italian and trying to figure out how to live herself.
When her sisters came home, their conversation wafted in from their bedroom.
“Too bad Marco had to leave. We could have lost at the last minute,” Brie said.
“Nobody knows who it was that got hit,” Lauren said. “Some klutz who didn’t know enough to get out of the way. Bet she didn’t even really get hurt. I mean, nobody takes chances like we do. We put ourselves in danger with every stunt and we don’t even get a trainer.” Cindy heard a large thump as if Brie had kicked her dresser in frustration.
“It’s not easy to cheer when you have a lame cheer team like ours. We do all the work, and they stand around
shaking their pom-poms thinking they’re so great.”
“Especially Lynette, she’s the worst.”
“What about Pam?”
“Second to the worst. Can hardly lift her fat leg.”
“I swear, if we don’t get elected team captains ..Cindy could just see Lauren’s lips forming her usual pout.
“We will. We have to. We’re seniors. Who else could do it? Not Sandy; she’s like borderline ugly.” Brie’s whiny voice sounded louder than ever.
“Nobody appreciates us, that’s the problem.”
“We spend more hours practicing on our own than the team does. Than any team does. Because cheering season never ends,” Brie said. “Not for us.”
“I’m sick of it. The school doesn’t appreciate us. We have no trainer, no mats and a bunch of losers to work with. We practice in the corner of the gym or in the hallway.”
“It’s not fair.”
Cindy heard the phone ring, and a moment later Brie banged on her door.
“It’s for you, nerd girl,” she said, handing Cindy the phone.
“Hello, Cindy, how are you feeling now?” Marco asked. “Fine, just fine,” she said, closing the door, getting back into bed and pulling a blanket over her head so her sisters couldn’t hear. She had the creepy feeling that Brie was standing at her door listening.
“My nonna is making you a minestrone soup which I will bring you on Monday.”
“That’s very … um … nice.” She knew Marco didn’t believe his grandmother was kind, but she didn’t know what else to say. She was making soup for Cindy, a stranger. She blinked back a tear.
“Will you be at school on Monday?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said, trying to sound better than she felt. “I’ll be at work tomorrow. I have a job too.”
“I know you do. But again tomorrow? You Americans are so busy. Don’t you ever want to just, how to say, kick something and relax, listen to music or lay in the sun by the pool?”
“You mean kick back? Yes, of course, but not now. I have to get good grades to get into a good college. I have to make money to pay for my education. Besides, I like being busy.”
“I see. And after this good college, then what?”
“Then what? I don’t know. A job. A real job where the boss is not my stepmother.”
“Maybe you’ll be the boss someday. You’ll be good at it. You’ll be a fair boss, very … giusto.”
“You think so? I hope so.” How he knew she’d be a fair boss, she had no idea. But Marco had a way of making her feel good about herself.
“I know. Now maybe you can hear in the distance, my nonna is calling me. She wants to take care of me. She can’t understand I’m too old for that. It’s unfortunately just like being home in Italy.”
She couldn’t understand why there was a note of sadness in his voice. It couldn’t be because he missed home. He had his grandmother right there. Right now she’d give anything to have a grandmother hovering over her, making soup and taking care of her. Unfortunately she only had a stepmother, with an emphasis on the step.
“Who was that?” Brie yelled the minute Cindy hung up. “No one,” Cindy said.
“Because it sounded like Marco the Italian exchange student.”
“Really?”
“Except why would he be calling you, loser?”
Cindy shrugged, even though Brie couldn’t see her through the closed door. Why give her the satisfaction of an answer? “Was it a wrong number?” Brie said.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Cindy said.
twenty-nine
On Halloween the thing you must do Is pretend that nothing can frighten you.
An’ if somethin’ scares you and you want to run,
Jus’ let on like it’s Halloween fun.
Early-nineteenth-century postcard
Cindy felt like an idiot for studying her Italian lessons on tape because she barely saw Marco at all for the next two weeks. So what was the point? Did she have someone to converse with in Italian? Was she going to Italy some day on vacation? Not likely.
Marco said he was too busy for tutoring. He was practicing with the team and coaching a girls’ team, and he was supposed to be home (his nonna’s orders) at night for dinner. He mentioned in his e-mail that dinner in Italy was at nine or ten o’clock, but still he was feeling the pressure to hang around while his nonna was there.
He did deliver a container of delicious soup to her at school and she wrote a thank-you note in Italian to his nonna. When he looked at it, he grinned. He had the most contagious smile, so all she could do was to smile helplessly back at him.
“I guess I made some mistakes,” she said.
“Just one, you thanked her for the soap, sapone, instead of the soup—minestra. I didn’t know you knew any Italian. I’ll have to be careful what I say.”
“It’s a beautiful language,” she said.
“I’ll give you a lesson. Ciao.”
“Ciao,” she said. “I know that one. It means hello, doesn’t it?”
“And good-bye. Also addio is good-bye.”
“What else?”
“A presto for see you soon. Spiacente means Vm sorry. See how easy it is? Some day I will teach you more.”
Some day? When was that? Cindy knew better than to ask. She knew that promises didn’t always come true. She knew she could only count on herself. No one else. She went back to studying, working in the office and helping out at the spa when she couldn’t avoid it.
She also went to her sisters’ physics class. They said they had to go to a college information seminar that hour and they told her to go to their class and record the lecture for them. She said she couldn’t. She had an SAT practice session scheduled. But Brie said she and Lauren would fill in for her at the spa on Saturday if Cindy would go to physics. Cindy wanted to know why they couldn’t ask a friend in the class to do it, but they said they had no friends in that class. The class was full of dorks and they had no intention of being friends with any of them. That they had no friends there was easy to believe.
So Cindy accepted the bribe and took their tiny handheld voice-activated recorder and sat in the lab for an hour while she tuned out.
The physics class was boring. Not like geometry, her favorite class. She loved the problem solving and she got a kick out of Scott, who sat behind her and continued to nag her about a makeover.
“What are you wearing to the Halloween homecoming dance?” he asked as they walked down the steps after class.
“Nothing,” Cindy said. “I’m not going.”
“Not going? You have to go. Don’t you love Halloween? It’s my favorite holiday. The costumes, the makeup, the candy. What’s not to like?” he asked.
“If you put it that way,” she said.
“You haven’t even thought about it, have you? You gotta get yourself a dynamite costume and go.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Your friend Marco is nominated for homecoming king. Don’t you want to cast your vote for him?”
“He won’t need my vote.”
“It should be fun, if the General doesn’t put dancing off limits with everything else. Costumes are de rigueur.” He poked Cindy in the arm. “That means mandatory to you.”
“I got that,” Cindy said. “Us Castle transfers are not all complete dolts.”
“I’m going as Marie Antoinette. What do you think?” Cindy laughed. “Cross-dressing? You wouldn’t. I don’t think the headmaster would approve.”
“Screw the headmaster. Do you know he’s trying to shut down the Gay-Lesbian Alliance and any other activity that doesn’t meet his morality standards? Besides, who would know who I was if I wore a mask, which I would, and kept muttering ‘Let them eat cake.’” He said it in a high falsetto.
Cindy giggled. “Look, Scott, I don’t have a costume, and besides, I’m kind of busy that night.”
“What are you busy doing, trick-or-treating in your neighborhood? Come on, Cindy. I kn
ow, you can wear my Marie Antoinette costume.”
“But what would you wear?”
“I’ll be Louis the Sixteenth, your consort. I’ve got the tights and my legs aren’t that bad—so I’ve been told. All I need is a white wig and an ermine cape. Can’t you see it?” He flung his arm out in a dramatic gesture and knocked into a student coming up the staircase.
“Flaming queers,” the guy muttered.
Cindy froze but Scott kept walking. Either he didn’t hear or he didn’t care what anyone thought. That was the good thing about Scott, he was completely secure with who he was.
She never thought she’d have a guy friend that could match her BFF, but now she had Scott and Marco too. She wished Marco could be more than a friend, but Cindy was a realist above all else. And she needed all the friends she could get.
“Of course Marie Antoinette didn’t have red hair,” Scott said, tilting his head to survey her.
“That settles it then, I can’t be her so I can’t go.”
“Yes, you can. We can make your hair chestnut with a temporary rinse. Or a wig. Yeah, maybe a wig.” He wrapped his finger around one of her curls and studied it as if he were an artist. Which he was. Cindy had seen some of the drawings of his own fashion creations. She didn’t doubt for a minute he could make a fabulous Marie Antoinette costume and that he would be the next Isaac Mizrahi. What she doubted was that she could make a halfway decent queen of France, or of anything.
His eyes sparkled and he beamed a bright smile at her. “You’ll need a push-up bra, but I’ll do everything else, with some help from my friends. Then it’s a date.”
“Okay,” Cindy said. She couldn’t turn him down. He was so excited about it. If only she felt the same. Maybe when he saw her in the dress, he’d realize she couldn’t pull it off. Maybe when he tried to make her hair look like Marie’s he’d realize it was a hopeless job. Then she could gracefully retreat and spend the night at home alone with a good book, or even a bad book. Anything would be better than subjecting herself to another Manderley dance. Anything would be better than watching Marco dance with someone, then be crowned homecoming king with a gorgeous queen at his side. Someone like one of her sisters, or both of them. She shuddered at the thought.
