“I don’t know about that,” Nico says, taking another bite of granola bar. “How could they have known? Maybe for that girl, the stupid guy was the closest thing she’d experienced to the end of the world, up until her world actually ended. It’s all relative. Until my dad died, I thought that getting the best grades and getting into the best school were the only things that mattered. And then—bam. Everything shifted. But you can’t get that perspective if you’re still in the before.”
This is the first time he’s really spoken about his father passing away. His voice is soft, but not sad, and I wonder what sort of person Nico’s father must have been to make Nico the way he is. Gentle, I’m sure, and kind, but thoughtful, too. I want to ask for more, but I’m afraid to push too hard, push him away.
Instead, I admit, “I might still be in your ‘before,’ andmaybe that’s why all this feels so… overwhelming. Like… like I didn’t get into any of my dream schools, and sometimes it kind of feels like my life is over because of it. Like I’m stuck in the ash too. My parents emigrated from Iran to give me a better life, left behind their families and their friends, all the food and the familiar things they grew up with, only for me to end up a failure. I don’t want to be that girl who hasn’t done anything more meaningful than kiss boys before she dies.”
It feels good to say this—I hadn’t realized how long I’d been holding it in. My parents say they are proud of me, that they love me no matter what, and I believe them. But I see their disappointment in the way their shoulders sag a little when they talk about me still living at home come fall, or when they are so celebratory of Anya and Mari as my rejection letters had rolled in from UCLA and NYU and UChicago.
Nico huffs out a laugh. “You’re allowed to feel sad about that, Sora; it doesn’t matter that you aren’t literally encased in the ash. And anyway, even if you do get into your dream school, it doesn’t mean you won’t still feel trapped. Take it from me. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll end up a failure. You are bright and funny and you care about people. Don’t you think that is a success in itself?”
“And do you feel… like that?” I sneak a look at him. “Trapped?” His chestnut curls reveal flecks of gold in the sunlight, and the smell of his cedarwood deodorant mixes with the salt of his sweat in a way that makes me dizzy. He chews on his lip as if weighing something.
Finally, he says, “The hotel has been in my family forfour generations. My whole life I’ve watched people come and go, listening to stories from everywhere—from Egypt, or China, or Romania, or Brazil. The world felt so big, and Sorrento felt so small, so I worked and I worked and I got into Sapienza. But then the accident happened, and my mom couldn’t cope, and I had to defer school for a year, and now… now my world’s shrunk again.”
“But do you think your mom would want that for you?” I can’t help asking. She doesn’t seem like the type to want her son to sacrifice his dreams for her.
“It isn’t that simple.” Nico stares off. “I have obligations, responsibilities. And my mom… I can’t leave her alone to deal with all of this. Idolove the B and B. At least this way, I can still meet people from all over the world—I can meet people like you. Adventure doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards for me. Maybe I’m not cut out for it anyway.”
I spare Nico my assessment, but I think he does want all those things. It’s just easier to tell yourself otherwise when the chances are taken away from you. I spot Anya and Mari up ahead. They’re reading a plaque together, using their fingers to trace along the words. “You know, I’m right there with you in that shrinking world if you need company. I’m the only one staying at home for school. I have no one at my new college. I’ll be all alone.”
Nico’s voice softens. “I don’t think they’re the kind of friends who would leave you behind, Sora. I think they’re the kind of friends who will bring the world to you. You should talk to them. Share your fears. It might make youfeel better, especially when you see how they react. They might surprise you.”
He shifts, hand skimming against mine, and it sends a littlezingup my arm. My next sentence catches in my throat. What was that? My heart is racing. It’s so jarring that I stand up abruptly, brushing dust off my shorts. “I’ll tell mine if you tell yours,” I say with a breathless laugh. “Should we get back to them?”
“Sure.” He jumps to his feet also, but we were sitting too close and now we’re standing too close, so he’s off-balance and stumbling into me and his chest brushes against mine as he braces himself against the back of the bench. We both freeze. There’s a shiver working its way up my spine. I’m sure my cheeks are burning, and I think I see his ears reddening too, though it could just be the scorching noontime sun. For a second—just one second—I swear his eyes flick down to my lips. He’s so close, only millimeters away, and I foolishly think that he could just lean forward to press his against mine.
But then he straightens, helps me right myself, and snatches his hand away to rub bashfully at the nape of his neck. “Ah, sorry.”
That snaps me back to reality again. Curse my overactive, boy-crazy imagination, reading more into things than any normal person would. This is the exact kind of behavior that got me here in the first place. I need to chill out.
So I do.
I brush it off and move on.
CHAPTER 16
I drag Nico behind me,feeling oddly light, until we’ve caught up with Mari and Anya. The four of us meander through the souvenir offerings in the gift shop near the exit of the excavation area.
There are replica tiles of the famous Cave Canem mosaic, which consists of a painting of a dog and the wordsCAVE CANEM. It was found outside someone’s residence, the ancient version of aBEWARE OF DOGsign. There are also replicas of gear from the gladiator barracks, ornately decorated with silver detailing, and the usual display of magnets, key chains, and postcards. I pick up a small commemorative book and page through it before setting it back down. With limited space, I am forced to take my souvenir selection seriously.
“Everything good?” Anya asks cautiously as I peruse.
I pick up a small vase and admire it. “Yes. I feel much better. I was just so tired earlier.”
“Oh, glad to hear that,” Anya says, but she’s skeptical. She knows me too well.
She knows something is off.
Eventually, I decide on one of the small tiles. It’s amemento of a fully inhabited Pompeii, where things were maybe not so different. We can hang it outside our house to alert others of Reza, our viciously lazy lapdog.
Everyone picks up a souvenir. Anya has begun collecting postcards, her way of gathering memories while staying within her budget. Mari purchases jewelry, a cameo made from shells, with a harp player engraved in front of Mount Vesuvius.
Nico glances down at his watch once we’ve each checked out. “If you are all done, the next train comes in twenty minutes.”
We decide we are good to go and join the masses for the walk back.
“I think my favorite part was the bakery,” Mari says. “All those loaves of bread, freshly baked and ready for sale? That’s the moment it really hit me, when I realized this was all real.”
“It’s wild when you think about it. The entire city was functioning like normal, and then in hours it was over,” I add.
