“sometimes no matter how many eyelashes or dandelion seeds you blow, no matter how much of your heart you tear out and slap on your sleeve, it just ain't gonna happen.”

“Look,Freddy Krueger, if I thought there was a chance in a gazillion that Alex would even feature you in a nightmare, I might not be saying this so nicely. But I feel sorry for you, so I'm going to give you a tip." The p was sharp,harsh. She leaned in,close enough that I could see the pale,shimmery lipstick caked in the corners of her mouth. "This thing you have for him just makes you look like the world's most pitiful loser. Did you really think you had even the smallest chance with him? Did you?"I didn't answer.Maybe a no would have satisfied her. Maybe not."You are a skank and a freak," she snapped, the hard sounds making me flinch. "You don't belong here. Go back to your greaseball 'hood. The sight of you makes me sick!"Any girl who has ever been face-to-face with another angry girl, especially one with infinitely more spite and social standing knows to run.It's innate, from bunnies to baboons. Don't mess with the alpha female. She'll tear your throat out. So I ran,but not before I got a glimpse of Anna's face.In the second before she turned away, she looked like someone had slapped her. Funny, seeing that didn't make me feel any better.”

“Listen, Liar Liar, you promised. Enough with Alex Bainbridge."Home truths are not meant to be comfortable, I know.Frankie knows it, too, and for a teeny tiny second, I hated him just a teeny tiny bit for knowing just where to stick the pin.I glared at him. "How did this go from being about Sadie to an assault on my honesty? Huh?"He shrugged. "I love you, Fiorella. We ain't got no money, honey, but we got love."I've never been able to hate Frankie for more than a second at a time.”

“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.”

“I'm sorry I looked. Or saw, I guess. I didn't go digging through your book. The pages fell out.""Yeah. I kinda figured that might have been what happened." He scuffed one heel against the cement. "The book fell out of my bag again...and,well..."And,well, there he was,forgiven."Zippers," I said. "One of mankind's better inventions. Your bag has one; I've seen it.""You see much, Grasshopper."I blinked at him."C'mon. Kung Fu?" He let go of his knees and sliced both hands through the air in a choppy spiral. "Shaolin monk fighting against injustice while searching for his long-lost brother in the Old West?"I shook my head. "Nope.Sorry."""Sad. I bet you wouldn't recognize 'Live long and prosper,' either.""Nope.""How did I know? My dad got me into seventies TV.It's awfully brilliant. Or brilliantly awful, maybe." He had relaxed and was looking monumentally pleased with seventies television or himself or something.You're awfully beautiful, Alex Bainbridge.I managed to keep that one to myself,but... "You're really good." That one got away from me. "Your drawing, I mean.”

“She peeked inside the box,then slapped the top back down and glared at me. For a second I wondered if I'd broken some rule of business or cultural propriety. "Homemade?" she demanded."My grandmother."She peeked again,and groaned softly. "I don't know whether I love you or hate you right at this moment." She closed the box firmly. "Of course I'll supervise your article.""The cannoli weren't meant to be a bribe.I just...thought you might like them.""I'm sure I will," she sid crisply, "a great deal.Just as much as I will not like the extra twelve hours on the treadmill." Then her face softened. "Thank you.What a treat. What I started to say about mentoring is that I don't normally do it. Apparently I scare students. But I would be happy to help you however I can."It was my turn to thank her. I added, "You don't scare me.""Really?" She stared at me over the sharp frame of her glasses."Well,maybe a little," I admitted. "Sometimes.""Excellent. Now skedaddle.”

“Wow."That was one way of putting it."My mother likes Klimt," I explained. She had this, The Kiss, on coasters, a tote bag, and a tea set she'd bought herself for her twentieth wedding anniversay.It wasn't Klimt the painter she liked, so much as the combination of lots and lots of metallic paint and a red-haired woman in the arms of a dark-haired man. "It's me and your dad," she used to say to our collective distress. Little kids don't want to see their parents canoodling. Older kids really don't want to see it. "Hey. You keep rolling your ryes, Sienna Donatella," she would snap, "and they're gonna stick like that. See then if you can find a guy to kiss you!”