sandwiches.
She took a bite of her sandwich. “This is delicious,” she said.
“I’m glad you like it. I had to come and apologize,” he said.
Her eyes widened.
“For last night. I invited you to come along in the car, then I left you behind.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t leave me, I left myself.” “No, it was my fault. When I returned to the dance, you were gone. I didn’t have a chance to dance with you.”
“It’s just as well. I’m not much of a dancer.”
“But I am. I could have taught you.”
“How was it? I hope the headmaster didn’t have to stop the dance again.”
“I’m not sure. I left too. It seemed like there was no reason to stay any longer.” He’d been anxious to make things right with Cindy. When she was gone, he had looked around and hadn’t seen anyone he wanted to talk to or dance with. The room had been full of loud and immature teenagers, but it might as well have been empty.
He reached for her hand across the table. “Thank you for meeting me here today.”
“Thank you for the lunch.” She looked around. “Is this what it’s like eating slowly outside in Italy?”
“Yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling at her. “But at my house, we’d be having three courses. Next time I’ll try to manage that.” He didn’t know until he said it that there would be a next time. He didn’t realize how pleasant it was to share a lunch with his tutor. He knew she was different from other girls,
piacevole,
patient and smart. He didn’t know how much he liked her until that moment.
He walked her back to the salon where she worked, then he went to Manderley for soccer practice. While he was changing into his soccer shoes he wondered what it would be like to have an American girlfriend. It probably wasn’t a good idea even though it wouldn’t be bad for his English. It would only be short-term. He had no idea where he’d be next year. Probably back in Italy, unless his grades, his soccer skill and his English were good enough to get him into an American university. A girlfriend, even one as intriguing as Cindy, would just be a distraction now. But he was tempted. And Marco wasn’t used to resisting temptation.
twenty-three
A kiss that’s never tasted, is forever and ever wasted.
—Billie Holiday
On Monday morning Cindy was in the twins’ car and she was once again a captive audience, listening to them rant about their college application essays.
“Cindy, you’re a good writer. You can write them for us.” “That would be cheating,” Cindy said primly from her usual seat behind them in the jeep.
“Flash!” Lauren said to Brie. “That’s cheating. Did you hear that, Brie?”
“Look, smart-ass, you owe us something,” Lauren said. “For what?” Cindy asked.
For letting her sleep in a closet under the stairs? For not kicking her out of the house and sending her to a foster home? For working at the spa all summer while they were at Cheer Camp?
“For everything we’ve done for you. Driving you to school, for one thing. Giving you the clothes off our backs, for another. For letting you go to our school. You’re probably wondering why anyone’s nice to you at all, being such a geek. Here’s why. Because they think you’ll put in a good word for them with us. As if.”
“I’m not writing the essays for you,” Cindy said with a newfound determination. “But I’ll look at them and make suggestions if you want.”
“Look at them?” Brie asked. “There’s nothing to look at. Just blank pages. How’re we supposed to know what to write?”
“Write about what’s important to you.”
Boys, booze, clothes, yourselves.
“What makes you special, different from everyone else.”
“Like cheerleading,” Lauren said.
“That’s good,” Cindy said. “Write about how dangerous it is, how challenging. Explain why you do it instead of something else.”
Something worthwhile like helping refugees in Darfur or taking care of
She took a bite of her sandwich. “This is delicious,” she said.
“I’m glad you like it. I had to come and apologize,” he said.
Her eyes widened.
“For last night. I invited you to come along in the car, then I left you behind.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t leave me, I left myself.” “No, it was my fault. When I returned to the dance, you were gone. I didn’t have a chance to dance with you.”
“It’s just as well. I’m not much of a dancer.”
“But I am. I could have taught you.”
“How was it? I hope the headmaster didn’t have to stop the dance again.”
“I’m not sure. I left too. It seemed like there was no reason to stay any longer.” He’d been anxious to make things right with Cindy. When she was gone, he had looked around and hadn’t seen anyone he wanted to talk to or dance with. The room had been full of loud and immature teenagers, but it might as well have been empty.
He reached for her hand across the table. “Thank you for meeting me here today.”
“Thank you for the lunch.” She looked around. “Is this what it’s like eating slowly outside in Italy?”
“Yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling at her. “But at my house, we’d be having three courses. Next time I’ll try to manage that.” He didn’t know until he said it that there would be a next time. He didn’t realize how pleasant it was to share a lunch with his tutor. He knew she was different from other girls,
piacevole,
patient and smart. He didn’t know how much he liked her until that moment.
He walked her back to the salon where she worked, then he went to Manderley for soccer practice. While he was changing into his soccer shoes he wondered what it would be like to have an American girlfriend. It probably wasn’t a good idea even though it wouldn’t be bad for his English. It would only be short-term. He had no idea where he’d be next year. Probably back in Italy, unless his grades, his soccer skill and his English were good enough to get him into an American university. A girlfriend, even one as intriguing as Cindy, would just be a distraction now. But he was tempted. And Marco wasn’t used to resisting temptation.
twenty-three
A kiss that’s never tasted, is forever and ever wasted.
—Billie Holiday
On Monday morning Cindy was in the twins’ car and she was once again a captive audience, listening to them rant about their college application essays.
“Cindy, you’re a good writer. You can write them for us.” “That would be cheating,” Cindy said primly from her usual seat behind them in the jeep.
“Flash!” Lauren said to Brie. “That’s cheating. Did you hear that, Brie?”
“Look, smart-ass, you owe us something,” Lauren said. “For what?” Cindy asked.
For letting her sleep in a closet under the stairs? For not kicking her out of the house and sending her to a foster home? For working at the spa all summer while they were at Cheer Camp?
“For everything we’ve done for you. Driving you to school, for one thing. Giving you the clothes off our backs, for another. For letting you go to our school. You’re probably wondering why anyone’s nice to you at all, being such a geek. Here’s why. Because they think you’ll put in a good word for them with us. As if.”
“I’m not writing the essays for you,” Cindy said with a newfound determination. “But I’ll look at them and make suggestions if you want.”
“Look at them?” Brie asked. “There’s nothing to look at. Just blank pages. How’re we supposed to know what to write?”
“Write about what’s important to you.”
Boys, booze, clothes, yourselves.
“What makes you special, different from everyone else.”
“Like cheerleading,” Lauren said.
“That’s good,” Cindy said. “Write about how dangerous it is, how challenging. Explain why you do it instead of something else.”
Something worthwhile like helping refugees in Darfur or taking care of
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