“I’ll document the whole trip for you. You’ll get so many pictures you’ll think you’re here.”
“I’m holding you to that promise.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “This really is too much, but I love it anyway.”
“You’re worth it.”
Chapter
31
We start that evening at the Rialto Bridge, then walkdown through the city to St. Mark’s Square. The sadness of being here without Will still lingers, but he made me promise to enjoy the trip and there’s lots to enjoy. The storefronts are filled with goods both gaudy and fabulous. Lots of them sell Murano glass chandeliers and vases that come from the nearby island. Those are beautiful, but it’s the display of colorful glass fish nestled into coral reefs that really catches my attention. I can’t imagine how anyone could create something so delicate. I make a mental note to search for a present for Mom tomorrow. I don’t have much money to spend, but hopefully I can find her something small for Christmas.
Eventually we arrive at St. Mark’s Square. Huan, true to his word, immediately heads off to buy food so he can feed the pigeons, with Frank trailing behind. Dev and I skirt around the edges, checking out the cafés that ring the enormous square and admiring the extravagant domed basilica.
Dev points to four bronze horses above the entrance. “Youknow they stole those. Well, they’d probably say they won them, but really they took them from Constantinople during the Crusades. Though those are replicas.”
I bump his shoulder with my own. “Is this part of our art history material? Because I thought I was finally caught up on my reading.”
“Don’t worry, no studying while on vacation.” He puts his hands in his pockets and moves closer to the basilica. “I just read about it before coming here.”
“Light reading in your spare time?”
“Something like that.” His eyes rove over the intricate architecture. “There are supposed to be the most amazing mosaics inside.”
I study his profile and take a deep breath. “I know you don’t like talking about this, but you’re really good at art history.”
“I love talking about how good I am at stuff,” he says without taking his eyes off the building.
“Then you won’t mind me saying that you should major in art history next year instead of going premed. Have you looked into that at all? The program at Columbia is supposed to be particularly great.”
“How do you know that?” he asks with a frown.
“I was thinking about our last conversation. I know your parents have always pictured you being a doctor, but I was curious about art history, so I looked some stuff up.”
He stops and turns to me. “Really? Thanks.” He shakes his head. “But I already know what they’ll say and they’re completely right. What am I going todowith a degree in art history? It doesn’t matter how interesting something is if I can’t use the degree.College is too expensive for me to major in something that won’t get me a job.”
“You need to get your PhD and teach, of course.” I can’t believe how much I sound like Sage right now, already talking about graduate school when we haven’t even finished high school. She’s clearly rubbed off on me. “You’ll still get to be a doctor.”
He chuckles and begins to meander again. “Nice try, but not exactly what they were envisioning.”
“Then help them envision it. Dev”—I take his arm and force him to stop—“I really think this could be what you’re meant to do. Just imagine it for a second. You could spendyour lifestudying art. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I can already see you as a professor at some elite private college—harshly marking up papers in red ink, lecturing your bored students about the brilliance of Picasso. You love to lecture people!”
His eyes shine when he laughs. “You know me too well.”
“Exactly. And I know this could be perfect for you. Have you told your parents how much you like it?”
“Let’s go back to talking about how talented I am.”
“That’ll be a short conversation.” He rolls his eyes. “Promise me you’ll talk to them. You owe yourself at least that.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” He catches my hand and squeezes. “Thank you.”
I blink in surprise, then pull away as Huan and Frank appear before us. Frank is wrinkling his nose, but Huan is pure exhilaration.
“Done and done.” He points to his shoulder at a pile of white bird poop.
“Eww!” I back away.
