Uffa.What now? I straighten up and look at Mas-si. “Umm, have we done something wrong?”
He drops the serious face in an instant, clearly incapable of keeping up an act despite his love of drama. “The advanced teacher is back and you two have been promoted. Congratulations!”
“Evviva!More Italian classes.” Kenzi slow claps,her voice flat and sarcastic, but Mas-si, oblivious, shoos us up to the fourth floor like a proud father.
I notice it, though. And I feel for her. I know it annoys her—being seen as Moroccan first, even though she was born and raised here. Frustrating though it is, she has little choice if it will boost her chance of getting citizenship.
“Just think,” I joke. “It’s only for a few more weeks, then you’ll be back at school.” But it’s a jolting reminder that I’ll be gone, too. Back to Scotland. Back to Isla. And away from Kenzi, who has become a bigger part of my life than I ever expected.
She swats my arm. “Grazie mille, Livia. That really cheers me up.”
I laugh to mask the ache in my chest. But the sound dies in my throat when we reach the top floor. From this height, I get a perfect view of the bar from the stairwell window. And of Giulio standing outside it …
Talking to a girl.
Correction. Laughing with her. A girl in loosejeans and an oversized hoodie, who still manages to look … glossy. She has her back toward me, but I know who she is. And when she turns, there’s no mistaking that profile … that perfectly pert little nose …
Flaminia.
My hand grips the banister when I see the helmet in her hands. My anime helmet—at least, the one I’ve come to think of as mine. She’s putting it on … fastening it under her chin.
“You coming?” Kenzi asks, her voice snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah.” I tear my eyes away from the window. But even as we step into the new classroom, the image of Giulio and Flaminia lingers and there’s a weird lump in my throat. Is this why she called him at the Pasquino statue? To set up this … date?
The new teacher is waiting for us. She’s efficient, no-nonsense, and dives straight into the lesson. And for the first time, I’m actually challenged—and it feels good. The pace is fast and I’m keeping up,even when one horrible, distracting thought just won’t leave me alone: Flaminia pressed close to Giulio on the Vespa, feeling the vibration of his laughter through his back—I can picture it so clearly, because I’ve been there, too.
Did I imagine our almost kiss? Am I really just the clichéforeign girl everyone thinks I am?
After class, we pass the window again. My eyes automatically find the bar. No Vespa. No sign of him. Does that mean they’re still together?
Sofia and Ren are waiting for us in the stairwell. I swallow hard and force a greeting past the lump in my throat. Ren has a large tote bag filled with Tupperware containers, the corners jutting against the fabric of the bag. Of course. The language swap. With everything that’s been going on, I forgot it was on after class.
I chew the inside of my cheek. Is there any point doing it now? I say as much after I bring Ren and Sofia up to speed with the latest developments, but Sofia just scoffs.
“I set up a page for it. People are organizing meet-ups themselves—turns out, that’s the beauty of it. The only way to stop it now is to actually close the bar.” She claps a hand over her mouth, realizing what she’s just said.
Kenzi herds us out. “Hey, the swap is fun. People are enjoying it, and I’m actually improving my English. Even my family seems impressed, which never happens.” She shrugs. “May as well go out in style, right?”
“Looks like we’ve started up a food swap, too.” Kenzi nods to where Enrico has set a tray ofsupplìnext to Ren’s fusion snacks. The breadcrumb-coated rice balls, filled with melty mozzarella, look crisp and golden as if they’ve just been fried. My mouth waters as Enrico splits one open, releasing a wisp of steam that curls upward, spreading its savory aroma. Ren has outdone himself, too, adding pancetta-topped mini quiches and tempura-batter mozzarella sticks with a soy dipping sauce to the table.
People of all ages and backgrounds have gathered to practice their language skills—some for anupcoming holiday, some hoping to connect with family abroad, and others just wanting to meet new people and try something different. But it feels like the end of a fireworks display—one last, bright burst of color before everything fades to black. And I can’t help thinking that image fits me and Giulio, too …
We’ve gone from being a heartbeat away from sharing a kiss, to being at opposite ends of the bar. He hasn’t looked my way all evening. As soon as he got back, he parked the Vespa and got straight to work. But it’s as if his mind is on something—or someone—else.
My own thoughts circle back to Pasquino—before Giulio got that phone call, before I saw him with Flaminia.
I fell for you, but I didn’t tell you. And now it’s too late.
I could have written that misplaced note. Well, not in the same handwriting—Isla says mine looks like I’ve chucked spaghetti at the page—but thewords, they could have been mine. I fell for you. Too late.
Like the bar, I thought we had more time. But he has Flaminia now. She’s already going for Vespa rides. Will he take her to meet Nina, too?
I need to know. Even if it hurts. Even if it confirms my fears.
Tomorrow’s transport shutdown surfaces in my mind, and I latch on to it.
“I’ve been thinking about that strike. Should we leave early tomorrow? Traffic will be jammed and you know what Nina’s like about lunch.” There. Casual. Not the slightest trace I’m a disaster inside.
