Melissa Jensen

“Well," he asked, "whaddya expect?"It was so obviously a rhetorical question that of course I answered it. My truth impulse seemed stronger around this boy,my impulse control way under par."I would expect you to be dancing."His expression was unreadable in the limited light. "Is that an invitation?""No. An observation."He shrugged. "Okay. I needed a break. It was either keep an eye on Chase while he pukes up a fifth of cheap rum in the guys' bathroom or follow the girls into the ladies' room."I almost smiled and told him about Willing's bathrooms and me. Instead, some truly horrific and irresistible impulse had me announcing, "Amanda looks really pretty tonight.""So do you."Bizarrely, I felt my breath catch in my chest, and for a long, awful second, I thought I might cry. I gripped the top of my pad tightly, concentrated on the spiral metal binding where it dug into my skin."It's a cool costume," he said. "Water nymph?""Sea goddess," I answered quietly. "Roman.""Hmm." Alex was staring out toward the garden now,looking so at ease that I went from pretzel to knot. Could it really be that easy for him? To say things like he did without thinking? Without meaning them at all? "Too many mermaids tonight. Not that I have anything against mermaids.Mermaids are hot. I mean,you saw my drawing."I nodded."You know," he went on, "that day in the hall,you compared my stuff to two Japanese artists-"I nodded again,even though he was looking out into the darkened gardens now and not at me. "Suzuki Harunobu and Utagawa Kuniyoshi. They were eighteenth and nineteeth-century woodblock print masters-""Ella," he interrupted. "I know who they are.""Oh.""In fact, I have a couple original Kuniyoshi prints.""Oh.Wow.Wow.”

“I was wondering where the real party was."I jumped, sending my pencil in a sharp line across the page. Alex was standing two feet away, one booted foot on my step, hands thrust into the pockets of what looked too much like Emo pants: black and tight."Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to surprise you.""You didn't surprise me," I gasped, left hand plastered to my chest. "You scared the crap out of me. Who raised you? Wolves?"He actually grinned. "You've met my parents. What do you think?"I wasn't going to touch that one. I just shrugged. "Why aren't you inside?" he asked after a few seconds."It was too hot," I lied, closing my sketchbook as casually as I could. "Oppressive.Why aren't you?""It was too...God, I don't know. Oppressive's a good word. Some fresh air seemed like a good idea."I looked past him, relieved not to see anyone else there. "All by yourself? That's...bold."His brows wen up. For a second, I thought he was going to turn around and leave. Instead,he took his hands out of his pockets and pointed at my step. "Big words for a small person. Can I sit down?"I swallowed. "Sure."He did, ending up with his elbows resting on his thighs and his right knee not quite touching mine.The silence went on just long enough to make in uncomfortable. But I wasn't going to help him with his small talk. I'm not very good at it in the best of circumstances. Sitting almost thigh to thigh with a guy who turned me into a mental pretzel was nowhere near a good circumstance.”

“There,of course,was Alex. He wasn't watching Amanda.He was looking over her head, his bored gaze skimming over the room. Before I could turn away, it had found mine. He didn't smile; he certainly didn't wave.But he didn't look away.And I had absolutely no idea what to do.”

“Maybe a young Jacques Cousteau...?" Sadie was still working on the boy in the suit. "But that would just be silly. I mean, a suit...? On.No."Apparently our scrutiny hadn't gone unnoticed. Teddy-Jacques-Whoever was bearing down on us,smiling broadly under the mustache that,I noticed, was coming loose at one corner."Good evening,ladies!"He was a senior, I thought. We didn't have any classes together; he was AP everything,but I thought I remembered seeing him during Performance Night in the spring, part of a co-ed a capella group. They'd done a Black Eyed Peas song-pretty well,too. He was cute, too, in a pale,lanky way."Walter Elias Disney," he said with a bow. "At your disposal.""Walt Disney?" Sadie was obviously too intrigued to be shy. "Um...?"He grinned and waved his arm at the spectacle behind him with a flourish. "The myriad talents of Johnny Depp aside,it is debatable whether any of this would have come about without me. It seemed only appropriate that I should make an appearance."I nodded. "I'll buy that."He bowed again,but his eyes stayed on Sadie. "Would you care to dance?""Oh.I....Oh." Several emotions flooded her face in an instant: terror, pleasure, uncertainty, and why-the-hell-not. She darted a glance at me. I gave a quick, emphatic nod. I would be fine. She absolutely should dance. "Sure," she said.And off they went.”

“Nonna likes Halloween, but draws the line at a costume, although she's been known to scare small children as she looms over them in her stark black, screeching at them to have some M&M's.”

“Teddy Roosevelt?" I suggested. Sadie and I had been trying to figure out the second mathlete's costume for a few minutes. He was wearing a 1930's-style suit,had his hair slicked down carefully, and was sporting a fake mustache."No glasses. And I can't even begin to imagine the connection between Davy Jone's Locker and Teddy Roosevelt." Sadie pulled a long gold hair from her pumpkin-orange punch and sighed.Maybe her mother hadn't topped her Sleepy Hollow triumph, but it wasn't from lack of determination. What Mrs. Winslow hadn't achieved in creativity (she'd gone the mermaid route), she'd made up in the details. The tailed skirt was intricately beaded and embroidered in a dozen shades of blue and green. It was pretty amazing.The problem was the bodice: not a bikini, but not much better as far as Sadie was concerned. It was green, plunging, and edged with itchy-looking scallops. She was managing to stay covered by the wig, but that was an issue in itself. It was massive,made up of hundreds of trailing corkscrew curls in a metallic blonde. To top it all off, the costume included a glittering, three point crown, and a six-foot trident, complete with jewels and trailing silk seaweed."Sadie," I'd asked quietly when she'd appeared at my house, shivering and tangled in her wig, "why don't you..." Just tell her where she can shove her trident? But that would just have been mean. Sadie gives in and wears the costumes because it's infinitely easier than fighting. "...come next door and we'll see if Sienna has a shawl you can borrow?”

“The floor was full of crepe streamer seaweed and decomposing pirates. Or at least so it seemed. Half of the male population of Willing was out srutting its stuff in frilly shirts, head scarves, and gruesome makeup. Although, to be fair, some of the contorted faces had more to do with exertion than costume-store goop. Some boys need to concentrate really hard if they want to get their limbs to work with the music. It looked like "Thriller" meets Titanic.Of course,the other half was blinding. As predicted, sequins reigned. Also as predicted, the costume of choice was some sort of skirt(the smaller the better) paired with a bikini top (ditto). As I watched from my seat at the edge of the gym,a mousy physics teacher dressed in a rotuned foam sea-horse suit had a brief, finger-waggling argument with a mermaid over the size ofher shells. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the hand gestures said plenty. The teacher won; Shell Girl stalked off in a huff. She stopped halfway off the floor to do an angry, hokey-pokey leg shake to disentangle a length of paper seaweed from around her ankle. A group of mathletes watched her curiously. One,wearing what looked like a real antique diving suit, even tried an experimental shake of his own leg before another elbowed him into stillness.”

“Thanks for the ride.It was really nice of you.""No worrie. Since I'm down here, maybe I'll swing by Geno's for a cheesesteak." He shook his head. "You saw what was in my fridge.""I did. Alex..."I could ask. It would be so easy. A pizza,some of Nonna's fettuccine..."I had a good time," I told him. Coward, I scolded myself. "I didn't expect to.""Yeah,well,you can't beat a good raptor attack. Next time before we get started, I'll show you my French comic book collection..." He wiggled his eyebrows at me in perv fashion. "Then we'll work.""Okay," I agreed. "Sounds good." I started up the sidewalk. Instead of going home,I'd decided to go over to Marino's. Offer to peel garlic or something.Dad would appreciate it."Hey,Ella."I turned. "Yeah?""I'll see you tomorrow."I must have looked blank."At the dance," he added."Oh.Yeah.See you tomorrow." I turned back toward the restaurant."Hey,Ella.""Yeah?""J'ai passe un tres bon moment, aussi." When I just stared at him again, he snorted. "Work it out."I did,but not before he'd driven away. He'd had a really good time,too.”

“It hit me,then,while he stared down at me with a slight frown.I was standing almost chest to chest with Alex Bainbridge in a very small space. I backed up a step and bumped into the toilet. "I should go," I said, a little shakily. "I should go home.""Right." Always polite, he let me walk out first. "Next week....Next week, we can have our tutoring session in here. We'll discuss art. Or bathroom fixtures. You can sit up there"- he pointed to the counter- "next to the Willing."Now,out of the bathroom, and a few feet away from him, I could laugh- "Okay. Before you start to think that I am obsessive and insane, there has to be something,the sight of something, that would make you go all goofy."He didn't miss a beat. "Mademoiselle Winslow in a tutu. No..." He looked a little goofy when he said, "Spider-Man versus Doctor Octopus. July 1963.""That's a comic book, right?"He sighed. "Oh,Ella." Then, "Come on. I'll drive you home.""You don't have to-""Yeah,I do.”

“There was something written in pencil in the bottom corner, smudged and faded. I leaned in until my nose was almost pressed against the glass. Narnia, it looked like.I must have stared for a lot longer than it seemed.A tap on the door had my jumping. "Ella?" A second later. "Um...Ella? You okay in there?"Alex looked red-faced and startled when I jerked the door open. Even more so when I grabbed his wrist with both of my hands and pulled him into the bathroom. Another time,I might have been equally red-faced. I would definitely have been uncomfortable, even if it wasn't in a bad way. But at the moment,I was too busy in a different part of my head.I let go of him and pointed to the sketch. "That's a Willing.""Is it?" He didn't look particularly impressed. More relieved that I hadn't fallen and hit my head or had some similar mishap."Edward Willing. You have to know who Edward Willing is."He peered past me. "Philadelphia painter. Early twentieth century, right? I was in your art history class last year,you know."I didn't.Not really. "You were?""I sat in back.You sat in front. Never saw your face during class,but I remember you arguing with Evers about Dali.I remember. You don't like Dali.""Not much.""You like this guy?""Yeah." I took a breath. "Yeah.I do. And you have one of his sketches. In your guest bathroom.”

“By the time it was over, I'd learned all the right words for all the dinosaurs (pretty much the same as they were in English), and multiple variations of "Help, for the love of God!," which might come in handy should I ever take up any of the activities that scared me most. It was also past five o'clock.Time to go. I extricated myself from the chair, leaving a distinctly Ella-shaped imprint, and retrieved my jacket.”

“I have these worksheets. They're great for the irregular verbs...""Not today."He shot me a look and kept shuffling papers."Okay," I said. "D'accord.Pas de papiers aujourd'hui. S'il vous plait,Alex. Je...je fais les choses la derniere fois.""Prochaine.""What?""La prochaine fois," he correct. "Next time. Derniere fois is 'last time.' I'm not even going to start on your verb usage.""Right.La derniere...sorry...prochaine fois. How do you say 'I'm begging you'?""Jes t'en supplie," he answered. Then, "You are aware that in order to speak better french, you actually have to speak French.""Oui,monsieur. But the Eiffel Tower will still be standing next week, and french fries will still be American.""Belgian," Alex sighed. "French fries started in Belgium. Look,I'm not going to force you to work. It's your choice and not my job.""Next week," I promised. "I promise.""Right." He rubbed the back of his head, pushing his hair into a funny little ducktail. "Okay,fine. How 'bout a movie?"Worked for me. "Sure.”

“Okay.First things first. Three things you don't want me to know about you.""What?" I gaped at him."You're the one who says we don't know each other.So let's cut to the chase."Oh,but this was too easy:1. I am wearing my oldest, ugliest underwear.2.I think your girlfriend is evil and should be destroyed.3.I am a lying, larcenous creature who talks to dead people and thinks she should be your girlfriend once the aforementioned one is out of the picture.I figured that was just about everything. "I don't think so-""Doesn't have to be embarrassing or major," Alex interrupted me, "but it has to be something that costs a little to share." When I opened my mouth to object again, he pointed a long finger at the center of my chest. "You opened the box,Pandora.So sit."There was a funny-shaped velour chair near my knees. I sat. The chair promptly molded itself to my butt. I assumed that meant it was expensive, and not dangerous. Alex flopped onto the bed,settling on his side with his elbow bent and his head propped on his hand."Can't you go first?" I asked."You opened the box...""Okay,okay. I'm thinking."He gave me about thirty seconds. Then, "Time."I took a breath. "I'm on full scholarship to Willing." One thing Truth or Dare has taught me is that you can't be too proud and still expect to get anything valuable out of the process."Next.""I'm terrified of a lot things, including lightning, driving a stick shift, and swimming in the ocean."His expression didn't change at all. He just took in my answers. "Last one.""I am not telling you about my underwear," I muttered.He laughed. "I am sorry to hear that. Not even the color?"I wanted to scowl. I couldn't. "No.But I will tell you that I like anchovies on my pizza.""That's supposed to be consolation for withholding lingeries info?""Not my concern.But you tell me-is it something you would broadcast around the lunchroom?""Probably not," he agreed."Didn't think so." I settled back more deeply into my chair. It didn't escape my notice that, yet again, I was feeling very relaxed around this boy. Yet again, it didn't make me especially happy. "Your turn."I thought about my promise to Frankie. I quietly hoped Alex would tell me something to make me like him even a little less. He was ready. "I cried so much during my first time at camp that my parents had to come get me four days early."I never went to camp. It always seemed a little bit idyllic to me. "How old were you?""Six.Why?""Why?" I imagined a very small Alex in a Spider-Man shirt, cuddling the threadbare bunny now sitting on the shelf over his computer. I sighed. "Oh,no reason. Next.""I hated Titanic, The Notebook, and Twilight.""What did you think of Ten Things I Hate About You?""Hey," he snapped. "I didn't ask questions during your turn.""No,you didn't," I agreed pleasantly. "Anser,please.""Fine.I liked Ten Things. Satisfied?"No,actually. "Alex," I said sadly, "either you are mind-bogglingly clueless about what I wouldn't want to know, or your next revelation is going to be that you have an unpleasant reaction to kryptonite."He was looking at me like I'd spoken Swahili. "What are you talking about?"Just call me Lois. I shook my head. "Never mind. Carry on.""I have been known to dance in front of the mirror-" he cringed a little- "to 'Thriller.'"And there it was. Alex now knew that I was a penniless coward with a penchant for stinky fish.I knew he was officially adorable.He pushed himself up off his elbow and swung his legs around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "And on that humiliating note, I will now make you translate bathroom words into French." He picked up a sheaf of papers from the floor. "I have these worksheets. They're great for the irregular verbs...”

“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.”

“Dad's in D.C. all week," he said as we climbed out, "so I get to use the garage. Parking's a bitch around here."I didn't know whether to roll my eyes or sympathize."Is your mom home?" I really didn't know how I felt about seeing Karina Romanova in her own home. Well,no.Truth: I was worried how she would feel about seeing me in it."Will she mind my being here?""Why would she?" Alex gave me an odd look as he pushed open a small door onto a wide brick patio. "But no, she's at the studio until midnight. It's just you,me,and the lacrosse team."I could see myself with amazing clarity in the huge glass wall that was the entire back of the house. I was small, dark, and frozen. "You're kidding, right?"Next to mine, Alex's reflection looked twice as big and ust as still. "You're kidding. Right?"I nodded. Clearly not emphatically enough."Christ,Ella. Who do you think I am?"I sighed. Honestly, I didn't know. "I think you're probably a terrific guy, Alex. But let's be truthful here.We don't really know each other.""Oh,come one.We've gone to school together for two and a half years. I've been to Marino's..." He stopped. Sighed. "Okay.Fine.So let's change it. Now." And he unlocked the door to his house.”

“But Chase might be out for a few weeks. He has tendinosis.""That's too bad," I muttered. As far as I was concerned, Chase Vere's continued absence from anywhere could only be a good thing.Alex shot me a quick look,but didn't respond.”

“But like he said, it was clean, and it was very, very cool.I told him so.He beamed. Then ordered, "Seat belt!" as he stowed our bags in the backseat. I was trying. I'd already scanned the duct-tape-patched roof in vain. The clip was where I expected it to be, next to my left hip on the bench seat.Not so the other half. "Oh,yeah.I forgot to mention it's a lap belt."He reached over me, his arm brushing against my chest, his hair just grazing my cheekbone as he pulled the belt from the crevive between the seat and the door. I caught my breath. And jumped a little when he shoved the pieces together with a loud click."Old parts," he apologized.Quivery parts,I thought as my insides settled.Kinda.”

“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.”

“He jingled his keys in his hand as he walked. "Y'know, I've looked for you around the floors.You haven't been drawing our door."Of course, there wasn't an our anything. Unless,of course, he meant our as in "we the people of means who visit France regularly enough to be in French 5." "I figured I should give up," I said shortly."Why?"Because you looked right through me. Because I might be pitiful, but I'm not stupid. Because I promised the one boy who never disappoints me. "There was no way it was going to turn out the way I wanted it to.""Too bad.""Yeah.”

“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.”

“Mr. 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.”

“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...”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“I thought maybe she would have been an okay teacher. If she hadn't been guaranteed to scare the opinions right out of just about anyone at Willing who might possess one.”

“Are his letters to Diana downstairs?"She sighed. "What is it about girls and letters? My husband left me messages in soap on the bathroom mirror. Utterly impermanent.Really wonderful-" She broke off and scowled. I would have thought she looked a little embarrassed, but I didn't think embarrassment was in her repertoire. "Anyway. Most of the correspondence between the Willings is in private collections. He had their letters with him in Paris when he died. In a noble but ultimately misguided act, his attorney sent them to his neice. Who put them all in a ghastly book that she illustrated. Her son sold them to finance the publication of six even more ghastly books of poetry. I trust there is a circle of hell for terrible poets who desecrate art.""I've seen the poetry books in the library," I told her. "The ones with Edward's paintings on the covers. I couldn't bring myself to read them.""Smart girl. I suppose worse things have been done, but not many.Of course, there was that god-awful children's television show that made one of his landscapes move.They put kangaroos in it. Kangaroos. In eastern Pennsylvania.""I've seen that,too," I admitted. I'd hated it. "Hated it.Not quite as much as the still life where Tastykakes replaced one orange with a cupcake, or the portrait of Diana dressed in a Playtex sports bra, but close.""Oh,God. I try to forget about the bra." Dr. Rothaus shuddered. "Well, I suppose they do far worse to the really famous painters.Poor van Gogh. All those hearing-aid ads.""Yeah." We shared a moment of quiet respect for van Gogh's ear.”

“Favorite painting...?""Painting? Odalisque," I said."Really.His non-nude nude. Interesting."It was,to me. Edward's most famous painting of Diana is Troie, where he painted her as Helen of Troy: naked except for the diamond bracelet and the occasional tendril of auburn hair. It had caused quite a stir at its exhibition. Apparently, Millicent Carnegie Biddle fainted on seeing it. It wasn't quite what she was used to viewing when she sat across from Mrs. Edward Willing every few weeks, sipping tea from Wedgewood china cups. Odalisque was more daring in its way, and infinitely more interesting to me. Most of the Post-Impressionist painters did an odalisque, or harem girl, reclining on a sofa or carpet, promising with their eyes that whatever it was that they did to men, they did it well. An odalisque was almost compulsory material.But unlike any of them,Edward had painted his subject-Diana-covered from neck to ankle in shimmery gauze.Covered,but still the ultimate object of desire."Why that one?" Dr. Rothaus asked."I don't know-""Oh,please.Don't go all stupid teenager on me now.You know exactly why you like the painting.Humor me and articulate it."I felt myself beginning the ubiquitos shoulder dip. "Okay. Everyone is covering up something. I guess I think there's an interesting question there.""'What are they hiding?'"I shook my head. "'Does it make a difference?'""Ah." One sharp corner of her mouth lifted. I would hesitate to call it a smile. "That is interesting.But your favorite Willing piece isn't a painting.""How-""You hesitated when I asked. Let me guess...Ravaged Man?""How-""You're a young woman. And-" Dr. Rothaus levered herself off the desk-"you went through the 1899 file. I know the archive.”

“She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a pair of gunmetal-framed reading glasses. She flicked them open, switchblade-style, with a snap of her wrist, and shoved them onto her nose.”

“I should probably leave now," I said, starting to strip off the gloves. I wasn't about to walk away with my droopy scarecrow hands.”

“Dealing with my French teacher is one thing; she wears pants with little whales on them. But I was convinced Dr. Rothaus could smell a lie from ten words away. I found myself feeling sorry for any children she might have. I imagined them as shadowy figures with excellent posture and skill at declamation.”

“Qui craint de souffrir, il souffre deja de ce qu'il craint.""Who fears to suffer, already suffers what he fears. ”

“Honestly, the pair of you" was Edward's response. I brushed cracker crumbs off my homework folder; I'd needed a snack after giving up most of my lunch. "Silly infants. Don't you know the way people see you has absolutely nothing to do with the way you actually look? Beauty is all sleight of hand. Just ask Holbein. Or Bobbi Brown.""I thought Beauty was Truth," I said wearily. I had a headache, and three pages of French to translate."That is Keats. I am not overly fond of Keats. Had he not died so poetically early, people might have realized he was not quite what they thought he was.""The same could be said of you," I shot back. I was a little annoyed by the "silly infants" comment. "Oh, so clever. What's the worst-case scenario, should you give the Bainbridge boy a try?""Well,gosh.Lemme see." I ticked off a few possibilites on my fingers. "Humilation, humiliation, mortification, and humiliation."Edward sniffed. "Qui craint de souffrir, il souffre deja de ce qu'il craint.""And what does that mean?" I recognized it from the second page of my homework."Well,gosh,darling Ella.You'll just have to ask your new tutor, won't you?" he said silkily. Right before he went back to emulating a lump of metal.”

“There's a rumor Barsky's Chemistry Club is cultivating some fierce bacteria in the lab," Frankie informed me a few minutes later, after I'd related Mademoiselle Winslow's ultimation, and my soon-to-be tutoring sessions with Alex. "I bet we could break in and get you a good dose of something. Put the kibosh on the tutoring. Could be a little pinkeye, could be leprosy..." He took a cheerful bite of his taco, which flaked everywhere. "Frankie!" Sadie scolded. "That's awful." She'd already finished her apple and Belgian endive. To me, "If it's this or fail French, well, you don't know; Alex might be just what you need.""Oh,yeah,he's a prince," Frankie muttered. "Abso-friggin-lutely guaranteed to man up and do the right thing."With that,he reached over and stole my french fries. He'd already eaten the baggie of almonds Sadie had decided had too much fat. Apparently, she and I were both obsessing with our appearance. She was having a hate-hate day with her upper arms. I was wondering if I was about to be at the tutorial mercy of the guy who'd looked right through me, or the guy who looked at me like I'd never been scarred at all.”

“He sighed again, but I couldn't see the fate of his dolphin logo person. I was completely fixated on his eyes. They're a pretty amazing combination of green and bronze. "I don't know what's going on, but it's weird, and it shouldn't be. I'm a decent guy.""Of course you are." I sighed. And caved. Apparently, my Phillite defenses were worthless around this particular specimen, no matter that he couldn't seem to make up his mind whether I was worth noticing or not.Truth: Yes,I am that naive."Good.So.Friday after school. We can meet down here."I could just see Amanda's face when she caught us on our way into the dark depths of the school. "No.""Fine.Your house.""God,no!""Do you make everything this complicated?" he asked. "No. Don't answer that. Would you come to my house?"That sounded doable.If we were at his place, I could leave whenever I wanted. "okay."As I watched, he did a slo-mo, surprisingly graceful flop onto the floor. "Finally!"I stepped over him and headed for the stairs.”

“When Sebastian, cearly delighted to be treated like one of the guys, didn't move, Alex bared his teeth. "Depeche-toi!"Sebastian depeched. Alex turned back, all Cheshire cat smile."No," I said."No what?""No,you are not going to teach me all the cool words so I can go to Chamonix and be conversational.""Good." He leaned in so I could see the faint dusting of freckles on his nose and smell spearmint gum. "Chamonix is so 1990s. Everyone who is anyone goes to Courchevel these days."I turned on my heel and started to walk off."Jeez. Ella." He loped after me. "What if your problem? Conversational, my ass. Talking to you is like dancing around a fire in paper shoes."I stopped. "What is that supposed to mean?""It's an expression my Ukranian babushka likes. I'll explain it at our first turtoring session."I scowled at his shirt. This one had what looked like a guy riding a dolphin instead of the ubiquitos alligator or polo player. "There isn't going to be a tutoring session.""Winslow seems to think otherwise.""Wouldn't be the first thing she's wrong about," I muttered.He gave an impressive sigh. The dolphin lurched, but the little guy on it held tight. "You don't want to fail French, do you? That would be a serious admission of weakness from an Italian girl."I almost smiled. Instead, I announced. "Fuhgeddaboudit. I'll buy a 'Teach Your Poodle French in Ten Easy Lessons' online. Problem solved, and Winslow will never be the wiser.""Yeah. Good luck with that. So how's this Friday? I don't have practice." When I shook my head, he demanded, " What is it? I'm a good tutor. Ask Sebastian. I was just teaching him how to tell the obnoxious French dudes on the slopes that they suck.”

“I was ready to sign over Frankie and my firstborn to get out of this particular hole.”

“There aren't many classrooms in the school basement. Most of the space is for storage and utilities. As far as student use goes, the darkroom is down there, along with yearbook and the school paper. Places that either don't require much light or are used by students so happy to be there that they don't care. The only illumination comes from the fluorescents overhead and what filters in from the hallway through the glass upper half of the doors. It usually takes me about ten minutes in French to lose my focus completely.This time,it took less.We were learning the past imperfect tense, which, as well as being completely incomprehensible in practice, in theory describes a state where every action was either left incomplete, unfulfilled, or repeated over and over.”

“Nonna tucked each of her hands into the opposite sleeve, a wizened Confucius in a leopard bathrobe. "Michelangleo, he goes. For days and days he stays away from Elisabetta. The other girls, the prettier girls, have hope again. And then, there he goes once more, carrying only his nonno's ugly old glass-his telescope-and a bag of figs. These he lays at her feet."'I see you,' he tells her. 'Every day for months, I watch. I see you. Where you sit, the sea is calm and dolphins swim near you. I see your mended net looks like a lady's lace. I see you dance in the rain before you run home. I see the jewel mosaic you leave to be scattered and remade again and again, piu bella than gold and pearls. You are piu bella than any other, queen of the sea."'You do not need silk or pearls. I see that. But they are yours if you wish. I am yours if you wish.If you like what you see.' He gives her the glass. She takes it. Then she asks, 'What about the figs? My bisnonno, he laughs. 'It might take time, your looking to see if you like me. I bring lunch.'" Nonna slapped her knee again, clearly delighted with little Michelangelo's humor. "There is the love story. You like it?"I swallowed another yawn. "Si, Nonna.It's a good story." I couldn't resist. "But...a talking seagull? A dolphin guide? That kinda stretches the truth, dontcha think?"Nonna shrugged. "All truth, not all truth, does it matter? My nonno Guillermo came to Michelangelo and Elisabetta, then my papa Euplio to him, then me, your papa, you." She lowered her feet to the floor. Then pinched my cheek. Hard. Buona notte, bellissima.""Okay,Nonna." I yawned and pulled the white eyelet quilt up.I'd inked abstract swirl-and-dot patterns all over it when I redecorated my room. They're a little optic when I'm that tired. "Buona notte."As I was dozing off,I heard her rummaging in the linen cupboard next to my door. Reorganizing again, I though. She does that when Mom can't see her. They fold things completely different ways.”

“And she says..."I'd been fighting a losing battle with yawning for a while. I was failing fast. "I have no idea.'I'm in love with someone else'?"Nonna snorted hard enough to shake the mattress. "With who? There is no one else like Michelangelo. He is king of the sea! In love with someone else. Pah.""Okay.Fine.Tell me what she said.""Nonna leaned toward me, eyes bright. "She says, 'You do not see me.' And my bisnonno, he says, 'Of course I see you! Every day I see you by the seawall. I see you in my mind, too, in pearls and furs and silks. So, here,here I offer you these things.' And she says...""Thank you?""Per carita!""'No,thank you?'""Ah,Fiorella. I think you are not the child of my child! Rifletti. Use that good brain.""Nonna...""She says, 'You do not see me!' And she sends him away."I wasn't sure I was getting the point. Here's an ordinary girl in ratty clothes who's going to end up a nun if she doesn't get married. Along comes a decent guy with money, promising to take her away from it all...Wasn't that where is usually faded to Happily Ever After?”

“My bisnonno is such a man...Fine, you laugh again. Not so handsome,I think,but just as proud. He struts through the square with his new shoes. He buys a carriage. But he gives to the poor,too, to the Church.He is kind to his siters; he is a friend to many.He is raffinato, a gentleman. And the girl he chooses? Hmm? Hmm?""I don't know, Nonna. Elizabeth Benedetto?""Hah!" Nonna slapped her hand hard against her knee. It bounced soundlessly off the leopard plush. "Elisabetta. Elisabetta, daughter of a man who works on another's boat. Elisabetta who has many sisters and who is intended for the Church if she does not marry. I don't remember her family name, if I ever knew. Maybe Benedetto.Why not? It does not matter.What matters is that no one understands why Michelangelo Costa chooses this girl. No one can...oh,the word...to say a picture of: descrivere.""Describe?""Si. Describe.No one can describe her.Small,they think. Brown, maybe. Maybe not so pretty, not so ugly. Just a girl. She sits by the seawall mending nets her family does not own. She is odd,too,her neighbors think.They think it is she who leaves little bit of shell and rock when she is done with the nets, little mosaico on the wall. So why? the piu bella girls ask, the ones with long,long necks, and long black hair, and noses that turn up at the end. Why this odd, nobody girl in her ugly dresses, with her dirty feet?"Michelangelo sends his cousins to her with gifts. A cameo, silk handkerchiefs, a fine pair of gloves. Again,the laugh.Then, you would not have laughed at a gift of gloves, piccola. Oh,you girls now. You want what? E-mails and ePods?""That's iPods,Nonna.""Whatever. See,that word I know. Now, Elisabetta sends back the little girst. So my bisnonno sends bigger: pearls, meters of silk cloth, a horse. These,too,she will not take. And the people begin to look,and ask: Who is she, this nobody girl,to refuse him? No money,no beauty,no family name.You are a fool,they tell her. Accept. Accept!"And my proud bisnonno does not understand. He can have any girl in the town.So again,he gathers the gifts, he carries them himself, leads the horse. But Elisabetta is not to be found. She is not at her papa's house or in the square or at the seawall. Michelangelo fears she has gone to the convent. But no. As he stands at the seawall, a seabird,a gull, lands on his shoulder and says-""Nonna-""Shh! The girl tells him to follow the delfino....delfin? Dolphin! So he looks, and there, a dolphin with its head above the water says, 'Follow!' So he follows,the sack with gifts for Elisabetta on his back,like a peddler, the horse trailing behind.The dolphin leads him around the bay to a beach, and there is Elisabetta, old dress covered in sand,feet bare, just drawing circles in the sand. She starts to run, but Michelangelo calls to her. 'Why,' he asks her. 'Why do you hide? Why will you not take my gifts?' And she says..."I'd been fighting a losing battle with yawning for a while. I was failing fast. "I have no idea. 'I'm in love with someone else.'?”

“This,bellissima," Nonna began, "is true love story..."The Costas, we were born to the sea and proud, very proud. Son after father after son build their boats and follow the fish.My bisnonno, father of my nonno, is proudest of all. He is the only son of a widowed mother-king of the sea.But he is...ppffftt..." Nonna blew out a breath and fluttered her fingers maybe an inch or two above her own head. "Basso. Piccolo. When he was young, his uncles and cousins at first fear to take him on board.They think the smallest of waves or biggest of tono...tono...What is it?""Tuna," I said."Si. Silly word. A tuna would flip him from the boat. But no one looks down on him. Ah, you laugh, you. Go on, laugh. They are not much bigger than he. So he is little, but he is proud, because his boat sails highest on the waves and soon brings in the most fish. Like gold, it makes him rich. And when a man becomes rich, he must think of marriage, or the village mamas will think of it for him. Capisci?"I smiled. "Yeah, I get it. 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.""Ah,si!" Nonna nodded, delighted. "Austen.So smart.""You know Pride and Prejudice?" I asked. She flicked my ear. "Ow!”

“The Fall Ball," I told her. "Our Halloween dance.""Ah.You have a boy to go with?""Absolutely.Frankie."She sighed, and perched on the edge of my bed.Her feet dangled a good six inches off the floor. "I like your Frankie, but he's not going to make pretty bambini with you.""Nonna!""Well,is he?No." She leaned forward. "Now, that boy with the nice voice and bony mother.He might do."I sighed. "He might do a lot of things, Nonna." I'm not one of them. "Dancing with me is not one of them.""He liked my pane.""Yup.He did.""And you.He likes you.""Nope.That he does not.""Hmph.You with all the answers about boys."That made me smile. "Apparently, I don't even know the right questions.""Who does? Even kings don't know te right questions.Eh,did you know there is a love story between a king and a queen in your history? Here." She patted the bed. "Get in, cucciola. I will tell you.”

“I kept my head down and my mouth full. I didn't want Frankie's sharp eyes or tongue focused on me any more than necessary. It was a lot easier with Daniel taking up half of the food and most of the air."What about it, Ella?" he asked when everything was gone except the parsley garnish. "When do we get the pleasure of your vocal stylings?""I don't sing.""You mean you won't sng," Sadie corrected. I tried to be charitable about her treason; she goes pretty brainless around Daniel. "Ella sings really well.""I'm sure she does." Daniel tipped his beer glass in my direction. "In fact, I bet she could totally murder 'Don't Stop Believin'." A song that is actually one of my guilty pleasures. I think he probably knew that. I think he probably had himself a lovely chuckle over it.Then he whispered, "Coward."In another story, the plucky little heroine would have slapped both hands onto the table, making it wobble a little on its predicatbly uneven fourth leg. She would then have taken both hands, ripped the long scarf from around her neck and, chin high and scar spotlit, stalked to the dais, leaped up, and slayed the audience with her kick-ass version of "Respect." Or maybe "Single Ladies," for the sheer Yay factor.In this version,I gave Daniel what I hoped was a slayer look and busied myself refolding my napkin.He was,not surprisingly, unfazed. "Can I ask you a question?"I sighed. "Will my answer to that one make any difference?""None whatsoever.""Fine," I grumbled. "Ask." I didn't have to answer.He wasn't my Hobbes."Why are there interstate highways in Hawaii?"I gaped at him. "That's your question?""Nope." He leaned back in his chair, propping one foot on the other knee. "That's a question. My question is this: What's the one thing you should ask yourself before getting involved with someone?""Seriously?""Do I look serious?"Maybe not serious, but vaguely deadly. Still,it was an interesting question, especially coming from Daniel Hobbes. I thought for a second. "'Will he make me happy?'""You think?" Daniel asked, the unfolded himself and got to his feet. "I'm outta here. Who's coming?”

“Frankie stayed off the stage for once, even when Daniel abandoned it for food. "I know when to sit it out," Frankie said, waving a chicken-laden fork first in his brother's direction and then toward the room. "Tonight I will let 'em watch and yearn.”

“If they sing 'Endless Love' or 'No Air,' I'm disowning them both.”

“He got her out of her jacket. In less than ten seconds." Frankie shook his head. "God help her if he tries to get her out of something else.""Oh,no.He wouldn't...You wouldn't let him...""For the record, I was kidding. But try to give them both just a little credit, if you would,please.”

“Daniel stood up and loomed over Sadie. "Sing?""Sorry?""Do.You.Want.To.Sing.With.Me?"For a count of five, nothing happened. Then,a thousand sad wallflowers at a thousand loud dances were redeemed in that moment. Sadie positively lit up. "Yes," she said, sitting up straight. "I do.""Okay." He started for the stage. "Lose the jacket."She paused halfway out of her seat. "What?""The jacket," he said over his shoudler. "It's freaking ugly."I watched as Sadie froze."C'mon, Sadie. I'm aging here."Sadie slid the jacket off her shoulders. It caught at her elbows for a second, then she let it drop to the chair. Underneath, she was wearing jeans and a red cashmere sweater. She looked terrified, mortified, and really good. "Excellent," Daniel said. "Let's go.”