Out of the corner of my eye I saw Waller talking to Brenda. I tried to listen to what they were saying. I think Waller had read her story. He liked her “flow” or something. Veronica managed to keep Frank so occupied that he never had the chance to meet Brenda. Typically her strategy with cute girls was to shut them out and ignore them completely. She felt it limited their power. Veronica. She always played to win.
Finally the terribly embarrassing news that Syd had disclosed about me and Veronica got repeated.
“I didn’t know you two were in high school,” Kite said.
Mrs. Knox returned from the gathering at the front just in time to hear Kite’s comment. “They are both definitely still in high school,” she said.
“I just felt my chastity belt snap shut,” Veronica whispered to me.
“Shh,” I said. I didn’t enjoy hearing Veronica talk about her private parts. Veronica looked at me and mouthed the word “chastity.” Then to my horror, I saw Roger grin. I caught his eye for a split second, then looked away. Oh my god. He could read lips.
“Here we go,” Mrs. Knox said. Her arms were filled with light blue folders. “It’s everything you’ll need. Maps. Schedules. Tourist cards. Restaurant recommendations.”
“Sweet,” Veronica said, plucking hers from the pile.
I took my folder and flipped it open. There was a lot of information in it. I mean, there was a whole section on how to avoid being cheated by cab drivers.
“And these are your travel passes,” Mrs. Knox said, handing me something that looked like a driver’s license.
“I love that picture of you,” Veronica told me. “You have such sexy eyes.”
I agreed. My eyes looked seductive and so did my lips. And in this rare instance my blond hair, flyaways and all, framed my face in a way that made me look amazingly hip. I’d turned my picture in last month, and until I was handed my travel card, I’d totally forgotten about it.
“Use this to ride everything: metro, buses, trams, funiculars,” Mrs. Knox said. “And if a person approaches you with a badge, you’ll need to show her your pass. Otherwise, keep it in your pants.”
I slid my pass into my wallet and nodded. Then I watched Waller take his pass, walk away from Brenda, and approach his friends. Veronica noticed this too.
“Follow me,” she whispered urgently. “We can’t let them get away.” We passed Brenda and hurried toward the guys.
“So are you going on one of the walking tours?” Veronica asked Waller.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re just deciding which one.”
“Too bad we have to pick just one,” Veronica said.
I smiled like I agreed, but really I couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking.
“We’re doing the historical tour,” Kite said. “Roger and Waller have roots in this country.”
“Poland, actually,” Roger said.
As we all drifted in the direction of the dorm’s front glass doors, I looked at the guys. I don’t know if it was out of loneliness or curiosity, but I wanted to study them. They seemed so different from high school guys. Taller. Thicker. More chin stubble. And in addition to feeling that I could like them, I felt that I could trust them. They were high school graduates who, when faced with life’s many options, had decided to go to college. They read textbooks. And wanted to write novels. Their heads must have been filled with amazing ideas. I wanted to have conversations with them and prove to them and myself that I had interesting ideas too. I imagined talking with them about mature issues, like drug-resistant bacteria, oil prices, and soccer.
“Which tour?” I asked.
“Historic,” Veronica said.
“Really?” I asked. “I thought you’d opt for the contemporary tour. I mean, restaurants, clubs. It’s catered to our interests.” I was curious about Prague’s history, but it seemed more practical to learn about the city’s immediate resources.
Veronica flipped her head in disapproval. “It doesn’t matter what our interests are,” she said. “We follow the guys. I mean, duh. They’re our interest.”
“Right,” I said.
Then something unforeseen and terrible happened. Through the glass doors of the lobby we could see four tour guides in orange vests dividing the students into smaller groups.
“What should we do?” I asked. It was like watching an ice floe break apart and trying to decide where it was safest to stand.
Veronica and I followed the horde out to the side-walk but stayed on the periphery.
“Historical tour number one!” yelled a guide on the far left.
“Historical tour number two!” yelled a guide in the middle.
“Contemporary tour number one!” yelled a guide on the far right, waving a batch of tour books over his head. “We stop for dumplings!”
The second contemporary tour guide didn’t yell at all. He stood with his hands clasped over his fly and rocked back and forth.
“I’ll go this way,” Veronica said, pointing to the far left. “I want to stay close to Frank. You go that way.” She pointed toward the middle. “Track Brenda for us.”
“Really?” I asked. Splitting up seemed like a random move. How and when would we reconnect?
It was too late to discuss it. Veronica had disappeared into the crowd, so I followed Brenda toward historic tour group number two.
It was a hot day for such a tour. The sun beat down on us without mercy. I looked around for the boys but didn’t see them. The two contemporary groups began to drift left out of the parking loop. I watched as the last of them rounded a corner and disappeared. The other historical tour kept drifting farther and farther away from ours.
“I’m wearing way too many clothes for this.” I knew this was Veronica’s voice, but the crowd was too dense for me to see her.
“So you’re Dessy?” Brenda asked me. “We’re suite-mates.”
“Cool,” I said, though I really had no idea whether or not this was cool. “You’re Brenda?”
“Yep. So you came with Veronica?” she asked. “You’re high school friends, right?”
I nodded.
“And Veronica is Tabitha’s daughter?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to think of a question, because I needed to turn the tables. I should be prying into Brenda’s life, not the other way around.
“So you’re from Maine and you eat granola?” I asked. Only after I said this did I realize that it might have sounded like an insult.
“I am from Maine. And I eat granola sometimes. I like easy snacks.”
“Cool,” I said again.
Unlike the other historical group, ours didn’t appear to be moving anywhere.
“Have you seen much of the city yet?” Brenda asked. She swept her long hair up into a ponytail.
“No,” I said. “We got in really late.”
“Group! Group!” our tour leader called. He was very short, and his severe buzz cut contrasted strangely with his huge smile. “I am Jiri. Let’s start moving toward the good stuff. Right now we are standing in Praha Six, fifteen minutes northwest of Praha One, the city center. This way! This way!” Jiri lifted a small wooden crate over his head and led us away from the dorm.
“I’m excited for this,” Brenda said beside me. “I’m hoping he’ll take us to Powder Tower and the exhibit for alchemy. And the evolution of science!”
“So, are you a science major?” I asked.
“Psychology.”
I had to keep this conversation going. “I bet that’s useful for your writing. Getting into your characters’ heads.”
Brenda looked at me with gushing enthusiasm. “Totally. I get in there so deep, I dwell.”
I didn’t think her psychology interest was a positive development. It meant she was armed with textbook knowledge of the male brain. I felt this gave her an advantage over Veronica and me.
“Look!” Brenda said.
I followed her finger, expecting to see either an essential Prague landmark or a crime being perpetrated.
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“That suit of armor is moving!” she said.
It took a moment for me to spot the distant metal-clad figure against the backdrop of a gray building. If she hadn’t pointed him out I would have missed him entirely. “Weird,” I said. I watched him clank down the sidewalk and enter a liquor store.
Brenda shook her head. “No. What’s weird is that last month I saw the same thing in London.”
“Wow. That’s completely medieval.”
“Yeah, it must be some kind of traveling installation art.”
“Oh.” I moved closer to Jiri. I couldn’t believe it. I was about to tour Prague, and instead of Veronica, I’d become partnered with Brenda, who apparently enjoyed making intimidating observations every five seconds.
As we followed behind Jiri, Brenda began debating with herself the true direction of north.
“It’s got to be that way, right?” she asked, pointing behind us. “Because the sun is there and it’s noon. I should know this. My father sails.”
“The sun moves west,” I said, hoping that was helpful. I just didn’t know what to ask Brenda anymore. She and her sailing father seemed experienced and cultured in ways I wasn’t used to. I tried one last question.
“I like your shoes. Are they made out of real leather?”
“I guess,” Brenda said. “Are you a member of PETA or something? Because I totally respect that.”
“No,” I said. Veronica was going to be very disappointed when she deposed me after the tour.
Our conversation fizzled and we continued to walk. After a few blocks, the world around us began to buzz. Hotels, busy streets, and convenience stores gave way to the old city. It was nothing like Parma. Or Cleveland. Or anywhere else I’d ever been. The sidewalks weren’t made out of cement anymore; they were made out of stone. But as soon as I looked up I forgot all about the ground. Because Prague’s skyline was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. The buildings soared. Their roofs were all curved or pointed or tiled or domed. And a lot of them looked orange. And there were spires everywhere. It was like a group of architects had decided that what this city needed was a bunch of buildings that looked like they were throwing lances into the sky.
“This city is so deep,” said a girl somewhere in front of us.
“It’s actually a thousand feet above sea level,” a male voice answered. It sounded eerily like Hamilton. In fact, that was the exact kind of random fact Hamilton would know. He loved being informed about city elevations because it tied into his knowledge of birds. I stood on tiptoes to see who’d made the comment, but I wasn’t tall enough.
Jiri led us through a series of small, crowded alleys. Brenda and I were too far back to hear what he was saying. But the Hamiltonlike voice continued to dispense interesting facts.
“According to legend, Prague was founded by a Bohemian princess in the seventh century. She had a vision and named the city Praha, which means thresh-old.”
“He’s talking about Princess Libuse,” Brenda told me. “It’s a great story. Prague has a rich feminist background.”
“That’s really cool,” I said.
Jiri had brought a wooden crate to stand on top of, but the edges weren’t even, so it wobbled. Therefore, he didn’t utilize the crate. I tried to push myself closer to the front.
“Look!” Brenda said again.
I began scouring the scene for something bizarre that she might have already seen in London.
“Look at her hat.”
A tall blonde walked passed us wearing a fashionable white headpiece. I’d seen a lot of women wearing little netted hats. “Do you want to buy one?” I asked.
“No!” Brenda said, practically laughing. “It’s an old Czech custom that married women wear some sort of cap or scarf to signal that they’re married. I think that’s what those are. Also, men used to wear long feathers in their hats, and once they got married they clipped them.”
“So these customs are still relevant?” I asked. Feathers in caps seemed Robin Hood ancient.
“Of course they are,” Brenda said sternly. “Capitalism has destroyed most Americans’ understanding of culture. That’s why we’re always appropriating other peoples’ culture.”
“True dat, yo,” the Hamiltonlike voice said.
“Who said that?” Brenda asked.
“Who’s asking?” the male voice called.
The tour was starting to feel like a knock-knock joke.
“I am. Brenda.”
I watched as Waller wove his way out of the front of the tour, back to where Brenda and I stood. I was thrilled to see him, but not thrilled that he was seeking out Brenda.
“Hey!” I said, waving.
Waller smiled at me. “What’s your name again?” he asked.
“Dessy,” I said.
“Can you two hear what the guide is saying?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“He’s incredibly quiet,” Brenda added. “He needs a bullhorn.”
“Yeah. I’m only catching every fifth word,” Waller said. “Which building did he say had the golem in the attic?”
“He said golem?” I asked. “I thought he said goy gum. And I had no idea why anyone would keep that in an attic.”
We turned a cobblestone corner and passed a row of yellow buildings with ornate white trim.
“For all we know, Kafka lived there,” Waller said.
I looked back at the houses. “Wouldn’t there be a plaque?”
Waller smiled. “Touché,” he said.
But I wasn’t trying to score a point. I was being serious. I smiled at him again, unable to control my mouth.
“It’s hot,” Waller said. “I didn’t realize Prague was this close to the sun.”
“The information packet says that in July temperatures can climb into the nineties,” I said. “And stay there.”
“Maybe they should have sent us those packets before we left the States,” Brenda said.
Our group came to a stop at a corner with a puppet stand on it.
“Maybe we get to see a marionette production of Don Giovanni!” Brenda said.
I watched the two puppets being dangled by their handlers. One looked like a horned red devil. The other appeared to be a nun. They were big. Almost the size of kindergarteners.
“I don’t think this is Don Giovanni,” Waller said.
We watched as the nun swam through the air on her strings toward the devil. Dramatic music blared out of a boom box beside the small stage. The man handling the nun let her fists fly. She punched the devil in the head over and over while he apparently tap danced.
“We’re supposed to root for the nun, right?” I asked.
“I guess,” Waller said. “That devil looks like a masochist.”
“I’m sure there’s a subtext of religious persecution that we’re missing,” Brenda said.
After the nun finished punching the devil, she began kicking him.
“Ever since the Middle Ages, Prague has been a huge puppet center,” Waller said. “After the Nazis invaded, puppetry was a popular form of political dissent.”
I found Waller’s Prague knowledge very sexy. How he talked about stuff wasn’t how Brenda talked about it. It didn’t make me feel intimidated. It made me curious. Once the nun defeated the devil, she broke into a series of dancing high kicks.
“I wonder how much they cost,” I said.
“Do you want me to ask?” Brenda offered. “I’m pretty good at haggling.”
“No, I was just curious.” I didn’t want anyone to think I was some sort of puppet freak.
We left the puppet corner, and Jiri began talking about the Charles Bridge.
“Did he just say it was made out of eggs?” Brenda asked.
“Oh yeah! It’s totally crazy,” Waller said. “I read that when they built the Charles Bridge they mixed in egg yolk with the mortar, to strengthen it. And all the surrounding towns shipped their eggs here. But one town was worried their eggs would break in transit, so they h
ard-boiled them. And their town was mocked for a few centuries after that.”
“That is so funny,” Brenda said. “How many guidebooks did you read before you came here?”
Waller smiled so big that I saw the sun reflect off his teeth. “Maybe ten,” he said. “I like history.”
“I hear you. My parents took me backpacking in Morocco when I was twelve, and I brought a whole library of guidebooks. The weight of them nearly killed me. I had to unload them in Accra. I gave them to a home- less woman to sell.”
“That’s hilarious,” Waller said. “I can totally picture you there.”
I felt so out of place, like I should let Waller and Brenda discuss the finer points of international travel while I hung back and fell out of the picture.
“You’ve been to Accra?” Brenda asked.
“This is actually my first trip abroad,” Waller said.
And when I heard this, I felt a little less lame. I almost felt okay with the fact that neither of my parents owned a backpack. So what if the farthest anyone in my family had ever ventured was Seattle, where my father attended a parking meter conference last year.
“This is actually the first time I’ve left the Midwest,” I said. Why I decided to be this honest, I wasn’t sure.
“Wow,” Brenda said. “That’s rare.”
Before I could think of a smart response, Waller said, “No shame in that. You’re from Ohio, right?”
He was so sweet! “Yep, near Cleveland. The mistake on the lake.”
He smiled. “Ah, the Great Lakes. I’m from Chicago. Lower West Side. So is Roger.”
I nodded. “Did you two meet in college?” I asked.
“No,” Waller said. “We knew each other long before Northwestern. Roger and I go all the way back to fourth grade. We’re both from the Pilsen neighborhood.”
It seemed like Brenda had tuned out. Waller had probably told her all this at Orientation.
I said, “Cool,” which I immediately regretted because I didn’t think it fully communicated what a good listener I was, and I wanted to maximize on our Midwestern commonalities.
“It is cool,” Waller said. “I feel like I can appreciate diverse cultures because I come from an area that has a lot of variety.”
A Field Guide for Heartbreakers Page 7
