I think he painted the way he did," I answered, "because he had something perfect with Diana."
I braced myself for her next scathing insight and nearly fell over when she reached out to pat my hand. Her wedding ring was a heavy,hammered gold band that could probably pound nails.
"Nothing but the occasional espresso is perfect," she said, not unkindly. "Let me share some wisdom, Willing Girl. Relationships are like Whack-a-Mole. You squash one annoying deformity and another one pops up in no time."
Not your classic sentiment, there. Or a particularly heartening one. It seemed well meant, though, so I figured it might be a good time to inform her, "Um, my name....is Ella. Marino."
"Oh,I know who you are, Miss Marino," she shot back. "Shall I mention again that the Willing Foundation doesn't?"
"No,Dr. Rothaus," I said meekly. "No need."
"Excellent." Dr. Rothaus headed for the door. "You may call me Maxine. Good luck finding something I haven't. And don't cry on the materials.
Pretty,eh?"
I jumped a foot. "Nonna!"
She was standing in my doorway, beaming like a demented gnome. "For your underwater dance."
"It looks like....a toga."
"Toga," she sniffed as she stalked across the room to lift the dress from its hanger, "is for boys at silly parties. This is for a goddess." She held it up to me. "You will be Salacia, Roman goddess of water."
It still looked like a toga, and not a very big one, although it did almost reach the floor. My legs would be covered, which was all well and good, except that, other than going a little too long without defuzzing, I didn't have much of a problem with my legs. I did know this wasn't going to work. I just had no idea at the moment how I was going to make it not happen.
"This is awfully...pagan of you, Nonna."
She rolled her eyes. "Ai, sixteen, with the smart mouth and such certainty. You think I just read the Bible? A goddess, she has more fun than a saint."
"Nonna!"
"Ah!" She poked me in the center of the chest with her middle finger. "Fun, si, but a bad end if she thinks to hold the heart of a boy who wants only to play. Salacia, she let Neptune chase her and chase her and prove his heart was true."
I didn't argue. My grasp of Greco-Roman mythology is shaky at best, and derived mostly from the Percy Jackson books. I had my doubts about Neptune's heart, but figured it would only be smart-assy to mention that to my grandmother.
It had seemed too whimsival on the occasions when she'd worn it, a quirky and impractical gift from a husband who hadn't lived to see her wear it. I never thought about the fact that, as Estella Marino, she was literally Star of the Sea. My grandfather had.
"I don't suppose I have much of a choice now," I said aloud.
"The admirable thing, darling Ella," came Edward's reply, "is that you ever thought you did.
There's a moment everyone knows, when you look down at your fresh white shirt and realize you've spilled Coke or egg yolk or spaghetti sauce down the front. There's that flash of denial, followed by the realization that the shirt is probably ruined; it'll certainly never be the same. Then, for some people, it's "Well, that's life.Move on."
I still haven't reached that point with the scar.
A fair questioin. You've been to Naples. Imagine it five hundred years ago. Would it have made a difference?"
"I've never been to Naples, Mr. Stone. But yeah, anywhere would have been totally different. It's not about Italy. It's about isolation and freedom and wanting more than you have."
"True.True. But...I was so sure.Didn't you talk about Vesuvius when we read The Last Days of Pompeii?"
"I think you might be confusing me with someone else."
"No,no.I'm quite sure it was you. Wasn't it?"
"No.It wasn't."
"Oh,now,Ella. I distinctly remember something about the cleansing aspects of fire...Oh."
"Wrong aspects, Mr. Stone."
"Right,right. Of course. My mistake. Okay. No harm done. So,about islands...
I started to turn toward the closest bus stop. Alex turned the other way. "Suivez-moi," he commanded. So I followed. "Bon.Je pensais que nous irions-"
"Alex."
He stopped. "Ella."
"Don't do that, the immersion thing."
"Mais, c'est tres important."
"Alex."
"Ella."
"Please.I know you do this with other linguistic losers, but it makes me feel like I should have a great big L lipsticked onto my forehead in some swirly French calligraphy."
"Do you often contemplate decorating yourself in such a manner?"
I took a quick look down.I was wearing Sienna's turtleneck again, but my own jeans. There was a large blue sea horse from the art museum fountain running from my knee to the crease of my thigh. "Yeah," I admitted. "I do."
"Quelle horreur!" he declared, eyes round in mock distress.
"Casse-toi."
He let out a bark of laughter that sounded just like a seal. "Tres bien, Mademoiselle Marino. Got any more?"
"A couple.Frankie gave me a copy of How to Offend the French when I managed to get a B in 1B last year."
"Well,I never trade insults on a first date. Not that kinda guy. But after two or three..."
I liked that he'd said "date," instead of "tutoring session." Even if it wasn't and he totally didn't mean it. I couldn't help it.
That's the thing about Willing: There's always someone happy to let you know exactly what your place is.
Melissa JensenMr. Stone is a jackass."
That was Alex's greeting when he found me in the hall Friday afternoon.
"Probably," I agreed, levering myself out of the corner where I'd been waiting, on nervous Hannanda alert, for him to show up. "But I don't think he can help it."
"Generous of you." Alex swung his backpack from his left shoulder to his right, then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulled mine out of my hand. I was too surprised to stop him. "Allons-y."
We turned a few heads as we went. I would have happily met him a block away from school, but he'd preempted my cowardice, sliding a note into my locker that morning. Front hall, 3:15. I ignored the stares as Alex held the big front door open for me, my heavily inked bag dangling from his wrist. I figured any speculation would last only as long as it would take for us to hit the street in front of the school. By then, at least one "Wait. Wait. Alex Bainbridge left with Freddy Krueger?" would have been met with "Yeah. He's tutoring her in French. Winslow's making him.
We'd reached the parking lot. Alex stopped.
"You drive to school?" I demanded.
He gestured me ahead of him through the break in the chain fence. "We don't all live five blocks away," he shot back.
"It's eight, actually."
"Fine,eight. And sometimes I walk."
I pictured the stretch between Willing and Society Hill, where I knew he lived somewhere near Sadie. It was quite a distance, and not a particularly scenic one, especially at seven thirty in the morning. "Yeah? When was the last time?"
He didn't answer immediately, leading the way now between the parked cars. He passed a big Jeep that still had its dealer plates, a low-slung-two-door Lexus, and a sick black BMW that all looked like just the sort of cars he would own. "April of last year," he admitted finally. "But it pissed rain on me the whole time, so that's gotta count for something." He stopped by the dented passenger door of an old green Mustang. "Your carriage, my lady."
"Really? This is your car?"
The door made a very scary sound when he opened it. "It's clean," he snapped, and I realized he'd totally missed my point.
"It's amazing.
Alex shrugged out of his jacket and slung it onto the bed.When he reached for mine, I tried to remember if I'd taken the tampon out of the pocket. I could just imagine it winging across the room.But Alex hung the jacket carefully over the back of the chair.
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