Getting the Boot (19 page)

Knowing there was so little time left brought everyone closer. Even Lisa, who generally avoided Kelly like the plague, had become slightly more civil. And Minnie was positively genial since Kelly had rescued her in Siena. One night, sitting in the common room, Kelly realized that she'd miss hearing
Aïda
three times a day. She'd even miss old Lisa, who had taught her volumes about ozone-friendly hairspray.

Several other groups were using the cafeteria as their workroom. A big cardboard model of Florence's Duomo and an ancient Roman cookbook were coming together on one of the long tables. Several other kids were taking a study break, playing Boggle in Italian.

In three months, this place had become home. Kelly would never have believed it, but it was true. She didn't even mind the heat so much anymore.

As each hour went by, another pillar, another statue, another window appeared on the Vatican. Kelly put down her paintbrush and checked her watch: 3:51. Luigi had asked her to meet him at the Vatican at 4:30; he wouldn't say why. She cleaned the paint off her hands and arms in the huge kitchen sink and hustled off to the metro station. These days, time was at a premium, and as much as she loved being with Luigi, the mural wasn't painting itself.

Still, as she entered the information center, Kelly felt warm and nostalgic. Luigi was in his usual place behind the desk, telling two old ladies where to find the closest bathroom. When she walked in, he smiled—the same mischievous grin that had cheered her up the first time they met.

After a few minutes, Luigi joined her on the other side of the desk. “I got permission to leave work early today. I explained that I had something very important to do.”

He led her across St. Peter's Square to the Basilica, which Kelly had missed on her first visit. He flashed his ID and spoke rapidly to the guards at the door, who, with a wink to Kelly, waved them inside. They weren't nearly as intimidating this time around.

“I know you didn't get to go inside when you were here before,” Luigi said, taking her hand. “How would you like a guided tour?”

The Basilica was enormous, and beautiful. Kelly stared up at the elaborately carved altar, supported by four ornate golden columns. “The great sculptor Bernini designed the high altar,” Luigi told her. “Only the pope is permitted to give mass here. It stands over the spot where many believe Saint Peter, the first pope, is buried.”

There were ornamental carvings everywhere Kelly looked. And the columns she had admired were solid gold. Just like the galleries, this place housed a treasure trove of magnificent artwork.

“There are no paintings in the Basilica,” Luigi explained. “Only mosaics. It is necessary to constantly repair and maintain these works, and to create new ones, as well.”

Kelly turned her attention to a marble statue sitting in a huge glass case. “Michelangelo, right? We studied the
Pietà
in art class.”

“You're correct. Did you know it is the only work that bears his signature?” Luigi pointed to the sash running over the Virgin Mary's shoulder.

They spent nearly an hour in the Basilica, then Luigi grabbed Kelly's arm. “There's one more place I'd like to take you before closing. I think you'll enjoy seeing it.”

It was a workshop, off the beaten tourist path. “Here we have our own mosaic artists working full-time to keep St. Peter's beautiful,” Luigi whispered.

Kelly watched the men bent intently over their work. The mosaic tiles were tiny and delicate. Micromosaic, Luigi called it. Rome was a bustling, chaotic city. But in this peaceful place, artists toiled away all day, with tweezers and magnifying glasses, piecing together intricate works of art one tiny stone shard at a time.

“I guess my project isn't as overwhelming as I thought,” Kelly said.

As they walked back through Piazza San Pietro, Kelly gave Luigi a kiss on the cheek. “This has given me loads of inspiration for the mural. Thank you so much for doing this for me. But I've really got to get back to work.”

“May I come see it?”

“If you promise you won't laugh. I'm not the greatest painter.”

Kelly felt a bit nervous introducing Luigi to the mural group, especially to Andrea. She had become genuinely fond of the five other kids—in the many hours they'd spent together, the motley group had formed a bond. And Andrea? She was the cool older sister Kelly wished she had.

Andrea and Luigi had a nice conversation in Italian—Kelly couldn't understand all of it, but she could tell that they were saying nice things about her. Watching them talk, with Marina working in the background, brought a lump to her throat. She would miss them so badly it hurt.

“But you lied to me!” Luigi told her as he surveyed her work. “You are a wonderful painter.”

Luigi kept her company until dinnertime, then Kelly walked him to his Vespa. “I have one more surprise for you,” he said. “I hope you will think it's a pleasant one.”

Kelly's heart began to pound.

“I will be visiting America in about three months' time. Is Chicago very far from New York City? My friends and I decided several months ago to travel there for our winter holiday.”

“It's about a thousand miles.” She looked up at him thoughtfully. “You know, Chicago has some really important architecture. There are all these great old office buildings, Navy Pier, and just outside the city there are some amazing Frank Lloyd Wright houses. No engineering student should miss it.”

Luigi laughed. “I will consider that very seriously, Professor.”

She kissed Luigi good night and rushed back to her work in the caf, wondering how her parents would like spending Christmas break in New York City.

 

 

Kelly weeded through her half of the dresser, figuring out what to wear for her last three days in Rome. There was so much left to do! She pulled out a drawer and dumped the contents into a garbage bag—she'd lug it down to her storage space later. She had a summer's worth of shopping to do this afternoon—gifts for everybody, plus a couple of souvenirs for herself.

The night before, she had put the final strokes of paint onto her Vatican. Before hitting the shops, Kelly ran downstairs for one last look. St. Peter's stood shoulder to shoulder with Marina's boldly stroked, brashly colored PIR building. Veronica's obelisk sat in the center, with Dai's crazily intricate rendering of the Colosseum next to it. On the opposite end, Hildy's Fountain of Trevi kept company with Gaby's perfectly rendered Pantheon.

Kelly surveyed her own work critically. It was decent. And it had been fun to paint. For laughs, she had placed two superserious Swiss Guards at the entrance to the Basilica, holding traditional long-handled axes. But at the top of one, instead of a sharp metal blade, flew a white flag. On it she painted a tiny yellow tank top and a pair of pink shorts, with a bright red slash drawn through them. On the left side of the piazza, a tall, thin young man with glasses smilingly offered brochures to camera-toting tourists.

Looking more closely at Marina's painting, she found a tiny Kelly and Sheela, waving from their fourth-floor window. Two stories down, Dr. Wainwright stood on the terrace outside his office. Marina had signed her name in flowing graffiti script.

The next morning was open house. Everyone's projects would be displayed, read, or performed. The kids who lived in Rome were invited to bring their families. Luigi had promised to stop by on his lunch break. The banquet would take place afterward.

As Kelly stood in front of the mural, deep in thought, Andrea appeared next to her. “You guys did an amazing job. I'm really proud of you.” She looked at Kelly in her usual thoughtful way. “You know, you should really consider majoring in art at college. Dr. Wainwright and I meant what we said—you're genuinely talented.”

Kelly had always been more concerned with where she'd go to college than with what she'd study. She had wanted to go to a city that had an active nightlife, maybe New York City or Los Angeles. She'd just assumed she'd work the rest out later. “You can do that? For college credit?”

Andrea laughed. “It worked for me. You have to take other courses, too, but art counts just as much as any other major. If you'd like, I'll get you some information about some good programs back home.”

Kelly nodded. “I would love that.” She felt her eyes beginning to dampen. “Thanks, Andrea. For everything.”

“It's my pleasure, Kelly. This summer would have been dull without you.”

The two of them stood in companionable silence, admiring the mural.

The presents sat in Kelly's backpack, neatly wrapped in pretty paper bags sealed with little ribbons. Two copies of
Italian Vogue
were tucked in her suitcase, one for Tyff, one for Starr. And a spanking-new, hotter-than-hell leather jacket was burning a hole in her suitcase, far from Lisa's disapproving eyes.

The library was jam-packed with the fruits of everybody's labor. The projects ranged from a huge wooden model of an ancient Roman ship to Kelly's favorite, a modern-day Italian traffic-survival guide.

Parents and students swarmed the building, speaking in a dozen different languages and making a fuss over the projects. Kelly felt like a proud mother as she stood by the mural, answering questions and having her picture taken. She only wished her own parents could be there, to meet her friends and see how far she'd come.

After the day-schoolers and their parents went home, a group of summer kids sat on the roof terrace, drinking Cokes, trading project horror stories, and just talking. In the yard below them, a few students juggled a soccer ball in the waning afternoon sunshine. Kelly shut her eyes and breathed deep, smelling the odd mix of orange blossoms, diesel exhaust, and warm earth that she'd come to know and love in Aventino.

At six, everyone ran upstairs to get dressed for the program's farewell banquet. Kelly and Sheela primped in front of their tiny mirror, fixing each other's hair and dancing to cheesy Euro pop blasting from Sheela's clock radio. Marina met them downstairs in her party outfit—a miniskirt made out of black electrical tape, a black bat-wing top, and platform boots. “And you guys thought I never dressed up,” she said, spinning.

The banquet was held at the same
osteria
where they'd eaten their first dinner in Rome. This time, the simple wood tables were decked out with candles, linen tablecloths, and bottles of wine. Best of all, they were serving one of Kelly's favorite dishes, risotto.

Kelly had grown to love the creamy rice dish while she was in Italy, though this one looked a little strange to her. She was picking out the little black specks scattered over the top when Sheela elbowed her in the ribs. “Don't you like truffles?”

Kelly shrugged. “I don't know. I haven't tasted it yet. I'm trying to get rid of the burned stuff first.”

“No, dummy. That's truffle. Try it, it's good. And too expensive to waste.”

Kelly took a bite. She couldn't describe the taste, but she liked it. Kind of mushroomy, but with other flavors she couldn't identify. “That's insanely yummy. Can you get these at home?”

“You can, but I think they cost a lot more there.” Sheela put a forkful into her mouth and shut her eyes. “We should go halfies on a bottle of truffle oil or something before we leave. This is heavenly.”

“You'll enjoy this,” Dr. Wainwright announced as a dish holding a round brown blob was put in front of each diner. “
Tartufo
—ice cream, smothered in shaved chocolate and whipped cream, with a sour cherry in the center. It's named after the treat you just finished, the truffle, because of its resemblance to the little fungus.”

“Oh, that's appetizing,” Marina groused. “Now I feel like I ate athlete's foot for dinner.”

“It could be worse,” Jarvis answered. “You could have eaten jock itch.” Kelly and Sheela exchanged looks and giggled.

When every bit of chocolate had been licked from every spoon, Dr. Wainwright stood up, tapping his wineglass for silence. His rumpled pinstripe suit made him look even more professorial than usual.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen and women—lend me your ears. I am blessed to be an educator. In what other profession is one surrounded by enthusiastic, fascinating, intelligent, young people? Not only do I get to do what I love—teach—I learn from my students every day.

“Whenever I say farewell to a group of students, my heart aches, because I will miss each and every one of you. But my heart also sings, because I know that you are leaving here enriched, empowered, and invigorated by your experiences in this program. It gives me hope, knowing that you youngsters are our future. Thank you for a lovely summer.”