Four Things My Geeky-Jock-of-a-Best-Friend Must Do in Europe

by Jane Harrington

  Then I plopped down in that same orange chair where I first saw AJ, and I spotted Tatyana and Lahn across the dance floor, looking happy. And then I saw Noori and AJ, and HE was crying now. (WHAT a sensitive guy—perhaps I should have given him more of a chance. Non.) Feeling left out of this love-a-thon happening in the teen lounge, I was ECSTATIC when Gilligan announced that the pictures were up.

  We all flocked to the wall where he’d posted them and took a look at our ship’s HOTTIES. Most of the shots were of kids standing there in the teen lounge, but some were of people from around the ship—the woman who runs the spa, the guy who stands at the door of the casino keeping kids out, some people who work at the shops, etc. Someone took a picture of Gilligan, which I was happy to see.

  “Who is THAT?” we heard someone in the crowd ask, and then a bunch of people started laughing, because it was a picture of someone with no head—just a SHIRT. On the front were the words: Alexandria Recycles.

  Crossing my arms over my chest and trying to look nonchalant, I wondered to myself: Is it possible Gorkon doesn’t even realize I HAVE a head? Tatyana started cracking up, but I kicked her, and she shut up. (She responds to that sort of thing, since she is so much like you.)

  “Where IS Gorky, anyway?” Noori asked, laughing, too. (I was so happy to be a source of such amusement.)

  “Orbiting, I think,” I said.

  “Look at THAT,” I heard someone else say, and then a whole new round of laughing started.

  “Cristo?” Lahn said, laughing, too (very Frenchly).

  “Who would take a picture of HIM?” AJ asked, laughing through his tears.

  I felt GREAT that somehow I’d been able to return a favor to AJ. He’d dislodged a cherry from my throat, and I’d cheered him up. Because—yes, Delia—Cristo the hundred-year-old waiter was MY pick. OKAY, he’s not what you had in mind for me, but I bet my grandmother would think he’s hot.

  The party ended shortly after that. Before it did, though, the five of us decided to do a fruit smoothie toast to our floating friendship. We went to the bar, and we each took a mango smoothie (to be ONE with each other), and we began our toasts.

  “To Brady, who made it possible for me and AJ to get together!” Noori said, clanking her glass against mine. Which almost knocked off the yellow monkey that was dangling by its tail from the rim of her glass. (I decided not to tell her about the curse of the plastic monkeys.)

  “To Tatyana,” Lahn said, “who will come to Paris, I hope.” (BOY, he’d SURE loosened up after getting hooked up.) (AND, by the way, his accent is WONDERFUL—very French.)

  “To Noori!” AJ said, clanking his glass against hers, which made the monkey fall off completely. (Not sure what that means, curse-wise.) “Three months is too long,” he added, choking up again.

  “To my mother!” Tatyana said, clanking her glass against AJ’s. “For agreeing to the fall trip.”

  “WHAT are we TALKING about?” I asked, toast-like, clanking my glass against Tatyana’s.

  “My mother said she’d take me and Noori to the USA!” Tatyana said.

  “We’ll be in DC, Brady,” Noori said excitedly. “We can see you!”

  “I can’t wait to meet Delia,” Tatyana said. “I can tell we have a lot in common.”

  (This is a new concern of mine, yes.)

  “And it’ll be when mah class is on a school trip to the nation’s capital,” AJ said, beaming.

  “Wow!” I said, “WHAT a development. I am psyched!” And I clanked my glass against ALL of their glasses, which caused my own plastic glass thingie to fly off onto the floor.

  But I picked it up. It’s a blue mermaid. I have it in my pocket right now actually. I don’t know why, but it feels like a good luck charm to me. I am hoping it will protect me from YOU when you go crazy on me for not finding a code-red Euro-hottie. Which encounter is going to happen in about a half hour, according to the pilot, who just made the announcement.

  You want to know the truth, though, Delia? I don’t CARE that I’ve failed with this particular THING. I know you think it’s weird, but I guess boys just don’t MATTER that much to me. Or, at least, any of the boys I’ve MET. But I am FINE with that. I am FINE with ME. THAT’S what this trip has given me, maybe—confidence! (Or, perhaps, the lucky mermaid is responsible.) I am ME, Delia. BRADY. THE BIG ONE. And it’s—

  Hold on a sec. The guy next to me has apparently awakened, and he’s asking me something. (In a MOLTO BUONO Italiano accent.) He is saying:

  “What sport do you play?”

  “Huh?” I am saying back. (In my molto un-buono accent.)

  “Is that not what ‘jock’ means?” he is asking, pointing to my palm, which I have unwittingly left out in the open on my little tray table.

  “Mostly baseball,” I say, moving my hand to a new position, where it hides both the writing AND this letter.

  “I love baseball,” he says. “I want to see a game in America—the Nationals!”

  “I LOVE the Nationals,” I say (wondering if that sounded stupid).

  “You are also a geek?”

  (Once again, thank you SO much, Delia. It has been such a pleasure to be known internationally as a geek.)

  “It is good to be smart,” he adds. “And did you find a codered Euro-hottie?”

  Okay. I guess he had a LOT of time to read my hand. I am VERY embarrassed. And, Delia, you know what? Now that I see this guy without his sleep mask, he is CUTE. I am feeling suddenly VERY tingly. Am I having a stroke or something? Or, do you think, Delia, that this is . . . he’s EVEN wearing a blue shirt! That MUST be a sign! WHAT do I do NOW? HELP! HELP! HELP! I know! Maybe I should answer his question.

  “DEFINITELY,” I say.

  “I am a high school exchange student from Firenza,” he says. “I am, eh, staying with a family this year in a place called Old Town.”

  “That’s, uh, exactly where I live.” The cabin is spinning all of a sudden. Either I am about to faint, or the plane is crashing.

  “They call it Old Town, but it is only two hundred years old?” he says. “In Italy, that would be a new town.”

  I just tried to laugh, but only a snort came out. I’m going to jump off this plane now.

  “I am an art student. Do you know the National Gallery?”

  “Definitely. I’ve been there lots. Awesome place.”

  “Maybe you could show me art there sometime.”

  (I am KEEPING that blue mermaid FOREVER.)

  “Okay. I’m Brady.”

  “I am Guilio. Are those ‘thrilling adventures’ you are writing about?”

  “Were. I’m all done, actually.”

  “Do you know, Brady, how I can get a bus from the airport?”

  “We’ll give you a ride. I’d like to introduce you to a friend.”

  (Is life a trip or WHAT?)