his shoulder as he goes to talk to a couple of club promoters, a hypertanned guy in a shiny shirt and a girl in what’s basically a bikini top over sprayedon metallic trousers. I feel a rush of jealousy as he puts a hand on the girl’s bare waist, leaning in to kiss her on bothcheeks. She laughs and touches his shoulder intimately, and the jealousy rises in me like bile till I have to look away, furious with myself for having this kind of reaction about a boy with whom I’ve barely exchanged a word.
I’m just going to throw myself onto the dance floor
, I tell myself firmly.
Distract myself by getting all hot and sweaty and too tired out to even remember his name
.
Luca turns to us and gestures with his arm, waving us all over; apparently he’s got us in free because he knows the promoters. We pile past the bouncers, feeling very cool indeed, and Luca hands us each a black card.
“It is for drinks,” he informs us. “You give it to the barmen when you want a drink and they will put a stamp on it. Then we pay when we leave, okay?”
“You must keep it safely,” Leonardo chips in. “If you lose it, you pay fifty euros.”
Our eyes widen as we stow our cards safely in our bags. Mine’s a small cross-body; again, it’s madly lucky that I grabbed this one, as it’s perfect for dancing. And dancing is all I’m going to be doing. I can hear the bass line already. Not pounding up from the floor or bouncing off the walls, because the floor is stone, and there are no walls. I see why it’s called Central Park: it’s almost all open to the air, like a beach party in the center of town. Wooden posts hold up trellised roofs draped with white canopies, palm trees between them, their trunks lit up by lights at their base, bright green fronds glowing verdant against the white fabric.
The boys know exactly where they’re going, leading us along stone paths as we gawk. I’ve never seen anything like this club; it’s amazing. Paige is oohing and aahing as well,exclaiming loudly at how gorgeous it is. Kendra, of course, is too cool to stare around or make a comment, but I bet she’s secretly just as impressed. We reach a long bar, illuminated pillars like mother-of-pearl radiating light; a whole ceiling with little inset lights is built above the bar; translucent glass gleams behind it; and the bottles shine lights themselves, the colored liquids inside bright flashes of ruby and sapphire and chartreuse on the radiant glass shelves. Tables stretch out onto a terrace beyond, open to the black velvet night; stars glitter in the sky, tiny and distinct, and I can see the bridges in the distance across the dark ribbon of river, the streetlights of Florence turning the sky over the city pale mauve with their reflected glow.
Everything in Italy is as beautiful as a picture
, I think.
There’s something about this country that makes me want to capture what I’m seeing, paint all the sights, show other people how lovely it is.…
They’re heading for the bar, Leonardo raising a hand in greeting to a bartender dressed all in black; but I don’t want another drink—not yet, anyway. And I’m much too restless to sit down with them and make halting Italian-English conversation; my limbs are twitching with excess energy I need to burn off.
“I’m going to dance,” I say to Paige, nodding my head in the direction of the throbbing bass line pounding from beyond the bar. “I’ll see you back here, okay?”
I dash off before anyone can say anything, or decide to follow me. I need, very badly, to do my own thing, to move exactly as I want to, without having to accommodate my dancing style to anyone else. It’s been a long, stressful, confusing day. My mum, of course, has been sending me screedsof guilt-inducing texts to which I’ve sent only short, unsatisfactory responses. Elisa needs dealing with, Kelly needs looking after, and Luca is making my head spin. Time to forget about everyone for a while and pound some holes
I’m just going to throw myself onto the dance floor
, I tell myself firmly.
Distract myself by getting all hot and sweaty and too tired out to even remember his name
.
Luca turns to us and gestures with his arm, waving us all over; apparently he’s got us in free because he knows the promoters. We pile past the bouncers, feeling very cool indeed, and Luca hands us each a black card.
“It is for drinks,” he informs us. “You give it to the barmen when you want a drink and they will put a stamp on it. Then we pay when we leave, okay?”
“You must keep it safely,” Leonardo chips in. “If you lose it, you pay fifty euros.”
Our eyes widen as we stow our cards safely in our bags. Mine’s a small cross-body; again, it’s madly lucky that I grabbed this one, as it’s perfect for dancing. And dancing is all I’m going to be doing. I can hear the bass line already. Not pounding up from the floor or bouncing off the walls, because the floor is stone, and there are no walls. I see why it’s called Central Park: it’s almost all open to the air, like a beach party in the center of town. Wooden posts hold up trellised roofs draped with white canopies, palm trees between them, their trunks lit up by lights at their base, bright green fronds glowing verdant against the white fabric.
The boys know exactly where they’re going, leading us along stone paths as we gawk. I’ve never seen anything like this club; it’s amazing. Paige is oohing and aahing as well,exclaiming loudly at how gorgeous it is. Kendra, of course, is too cool to stare around or make a comment, but I bet she’s secretly just as impressed. We reach a long bar, illuminated pillars like mother-of-pearl radiating light; a whole ceiling with little inset lights is built above the bar; translucent glass gleams behind it; and the bottles shine lights themselves, the colored liquids inside bright flashes of ruby and sapphire and chartreuse on the radiant glass shelves. Tables stretch out onto a terrace beyond, open to the black velvet night; stars glitter in the sky, tiny and distinct, and I can see the bridges in the distance across the dark ribbon of river, the streetlights of Florence turning the sky over the city pale mauve with their reflected glow.
Everything in Italy is as beautiful as a picture
, I think.
There’s something about this country that makes me want to capture what I’m seeing, paint all the sights, show other people how lovely it is.…
They’re heading for the bar, Leonardo raising a hand in greeting to a bartender dressed all in black; but I don’t want another drink—not yet, anyway. And I’m much too restless to sit down with them and make halting Italian-English conversation; my limbs are twitching with excess energy I need to burn off.
“I’m going to dance,” I say to Paige, nodding my head in the direction of the throbbing bass line pounding from beyond the bar. “I’ll see you back here, okay?”
I dash off before anyone can say anything, or decide to follow me. I need, very badly, to do my own thing, to move exactly as I want to, without having to accommodate my dancing style to anyone else. It’s been a long, stressful, confusing day. My mum, of course, has been sending me screedsof guilt-inducing texts to which I’ve sent only short, unsatisfactory responses. Elisa needs dealing with, Kelly needs looking after, and Luca is making my head spin. Time to forget about everyone for a while and pound some holes
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