Getting the Boot (9 page)

A change in Andrea's voice got her attention. “Whatever your religious beliefs, it's hard to visit this little city-state without being moved by what you see. It is also impossible to enjoy its riches if you don't respect the beliefs of those who live and work here. If you read your trip notes last night, you will know that as we prepare to enter the Basilica, you must be dressed appropriately. Shoulders and legs must be covered.” She looked straight at Kelly. “Otherwise, the Swiss Guard will prevent you from entering the Vatican buildings.” She motioned toward two men standing at attention on either side of the Basilica's entrance. Their brightly striped outfits made them look like court jesters, but judging from their stern faces and the big ax each held, they meant business.

A knot formed in the pit of Kelly's stomach as she watched several girls untie long-sleeve shirts from around their waists and put them on over their tank tops. And they weren't wearing shorts or flip-flops, either. This place had its own laws—who knew what would happen to violators? Kelly's eyes darted around the square, looking for a souvenir shop where she could buy something, anything, to wear inside. Behind her, a couple of other group members began to whisper. Kelly usually enjoyed being the center of attention, but at the moment she wanted to curl into a ball right there on the cobblestones.

Andrea and Steve began to shepherd the group in the direction of the Basilica. As they left, Andrea glanced over her shoulder at Kelly, not entirely unkindly. “We'll take a lunch break in a few hours. Why don't you go change and meet up with us back here at one P.M.?”

Kelly nodded, too mortified to speak. As she stood watching her classmates head off to the cathedral, Joe turned back and winked broadly, a huge smile on his face. She felt like smacking him—he thought this was funny? Why the hell hadn't he warned her? Sheela kept her head down, seemingly absorbed in her notes. She hadn't looked at Kelly once.

 

 

“Idiot!” Kelly paced through St. Peter's Square, blinking back tears and trying to guess the direction of the nearest metro station. Every slap of her flip-flops on the stones pounded in her ears like a gunshot. Rows of majestic statues stared down at her from the curving walls of the Vatican; even they seemed to disapprove.

She had really, really screwed up this time. It was bad enough that she was breaking curfew almost every night and showing up late for class almost daily, but to not read the instructions and to show such disrespect in a holy place! Even Joe had taken five minutes to read the fact sheets.

Kelly felt like puking. Sheela was right for lecturing her all the time; she had worked so hard to get here, to earn her parents' trust, and all she had done lately was act like a jerk. Andrea was sure to tell Dr. Wainwright about this, and she'd probably mention all the times Kelly had fallen asleep in class, too. She wondered if she'd be sent home.

Kelly gazed absently into the huge fountain that Andrea mentioned was designed by an artist named, fittingly, Fontana. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was nine-thirty; more than three hours until the group came back for lunch. Shopping on Via del Corso crossed her mind, but Kelly reluctantly pushed away temptation. Maybe she could still salvage something from this disaster. When life gives you lemons, make
limonata.

She turned slowly in a circle, scanning the piazza until she saw a tourist information office. She entered timidly, halfway expecting to be thrown out, but the cute young man at the desk couldn't have been kinder or more sympathetic. And he spoke perfect English. He told her exactly how to get to the metro station, which ticket to buy, and how to find her stop. Kelly glanced at his name badge: LUIGI. Kelly thanked him and headed off toward Via Ottaviano with a new sense of purpose. Starting now, she'd prove that she deserved to be in Italy, do nothing else to piss off her teachers, and never blow off an assignment again.

 

 

A half hour later, Kelly was back on the familiar streets of Aventino. She stopped at the local pastry shop for a latte and a
pane cioccolato
—sugar and caffeine to fuel her journey. Up in her room, Kelly put on a pair of light gray pants, a gauzy, long-sleeve blouse, and a pair of black flats. She pulled her hair into a ponytail. Then she tucked the fact sheets, her sketchbook, and a couple of pencils into her bag and retraced her path to the metro.

When she stepped back through the doors of the Vatican tourist office, Luigi beamed at her.
“Perfetto!”
He had a really sweet smile.

“
Grazie.
I have about an hour and a half before I meet my group. Is there a short tour I can take?”

Luigi produced a small booklet and slid it over the counter. “Well, a day and a half would be better, but such is life. There are three tours, and this is the shortest one.” He circled something in the book. “Here.” He scribbled a note on a piece of official-looking stationery. “The line at this hour is way too long. Your friends will be gone by the time you get to the chapel. Instead, take the little bus that stops right out front. It will leave you at the side entrance of the galleries. Give this note to the guards, and they will make sure that you get inside with enough time to catch up with your group and see some masterpieces, too.

“Perhaps your friends will be persuaded to come back with you another time and you can come and visit me again. But now you must run and enjoy the
musei
.
Arrivederci, signorina.
”

Kelly plunked down a hefty sum for a detailed Vatican guide, thanked Luigi for the umpteenth time, and trotted off toward the bus stop. She had always enjoyed making art more than looking at it. Museums were exhausting; there was always more information than she could process. But today, if only to please Andrea, she was determined to soak up as much culture as possible.

Kelly was lucky in one respect; thanks to Luigi's VIP treatment, she made it to the special entrance and got through security with just over an hour remaining. The first gallery alone made Kelly's head spin; the popes lived like royalty, and every inch of this place seemed to be covered in intricate gilding, lush tapestries, and marble. The other visitors milled around at a snail's pace, plugged into their audio guides, shuffling from one masterpiece to the next. Kelly weaved through them like a Vespa in traffic, trying not to mow down any innocent obstacles in her path.

By twelve-thirty, she had made her way through a labyrinth of salons, and knew the difference between a fresco and a relief. It seemed that every famous episode in the Bible had been illustrated for the Catholic Church by one Renaissance luminary after another. Raphael, check. Caravaggio, check. Michelangelo, all over the place. Her head sweeping from side to side, Kelly made mental notes that she planned to write down as soon as she had the opportunity.

The rest of her group finally came into view as she puffed her way into the Sistine Chapel. Andrea was whispering animatedly, sweeping her arms skyward to point out details in each of the elaborate panels that lined the ceiling. In the center, Kelly could see the renowned image of God creating Adam, their hands outstretched and fingers touching. Other visitors to the chapel casually circled Andrea, trying to overhear her commentary on the frescoes, some peering up at the ceiling through binoculars. When Andrea saw Kelly, she gave her an approving nod. “Glad you made it back.”

Kelly tipped her head back until she got dizzy, listening to Andrea's story of how the pope had asked Michelangelo, who considered himself a sculptor, to paint the chapel ceiling. Michelangelo worked day and night for four years, under constant pressure to finish the work, until his eyes went bad. She told them how, after the frescoes were completed, Pope Paul III had brought in another artist to paint clothing on some of the naked figures. It wasn't until the 1990s, when the frescoes were cleaned and restored, that those clothes were removed, revealing Michelangelo's work just as he created it.

As they stepped out of the museum into the bright sunlight, Kelly could see how energized Andrea was. She beamed at the class, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed.

Steve met the group in front of the galleries to take over from Andrea for the rest of the day. “Okay, crew,” he said. “Let's go explore an even more important Italian art form—lunch!”

 

 

When she returned to her room after dinner, Kelly got busy studying the book she had bought from Luigi. She was lying on the lumpy couch, browsing through its pages, when Sheela came stomping in.

“Get your feet off the sofa. It's not yours.”

Kelly sat up quickly, brushing at the fabric with her book. “What bee flew up your butt? Are you pissed off that I missed the museums today? I caught up, and I'm gonna read this book from cover to cover. Andrea will hardly be able to tell that I wasn't there with you guys. And what do you care, anyway?”

“Are you serious?” Sheela threw her bag over the back of her desk chair and began emptying it noisily. Despite her friend's foul mood, Kelly had to suppress a smile; Sheela crammed more junk into her bag than could fit into the average one-bedroom apartment.

Sheela put her face up close to Kelly's, her dark eyes throwing off sparks. “Dr. Wainwright is a friend of my family. Since you were wait-listed at S.A.S.S., he was probably reluctant to accept you into the Programma at all. We've only been here a few weeks, and already you've hooked up with the class slacker, gone out of your way to learn absolutely nothing, and showed up at the Vatican in freaking hot pants! Every immature, irresponsible thing you do is a bad reflection on me.”

Kelly was her father's daughter. How would a lawyer argue this case? She paused to compose herself. “First of all, they're not hot pants. They're cargo shorts. Second, I'm my own person; I certainly don't think anyone is confusing me with you. And you know, you might have warned me about the clothing thing.”

“And when would I have done that?” Sheela's voice was really rising now. “After dinner, when you ran off to party with Joe? When you came stomping into the bedroom at four A.M., giggling? Or perhaps this morning, when you slept through not only my alarm, but yours, too. Both times it went off. So typical of you to think that what happened today is anybody's fault but your own.”

Kelly sank deeper into the couch. Perhaps the best defense wasn't a good offense, after all. She had never seen Sheela so furious. Even if she didn't rat her out to Dr. Wainwright, Sheela could do even more damage by telling Kelly's parents.

“I'm sick of this, Kelly. I'm sick of feeling embarrassed for you, and I'm so sick of making excuses for your crappy behavior. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen if you came here.”

With much effort, Sheela hiked her bag back over her shoulder and walked to the door. “I didn't travel four thousand miles to watch you screw up and ruin everybody else's summer. Do me a favor—from now on, whatever you choose to do, do it without me.”

 

 

Kelly stared at the computer screen for the longest time, her eyes prickling with tears. She was getting nowhere with her homework. She was dying for a BLT, a Fluffernutter, or anything that wasn't pasta and didn't have olive oil in it. She was starting to fantasize about finding a little pensione somewhere, with fluffy pillows like she had at home and lots and lots of extra-icy air-conditioning.

She had thought that catching up to the group would make everything okay, but Sheela was so pissed anyway that Kelly might as well have blown off the trip entirely and gone shopping. Worst of all, while she was sitting in the bathtub that morning trying to shave her legs, she had overheard two girls, whose voices she didn't recognize, talking about her.

“She completely embarrassed herself yesterday. Minnie says she's a total brat—she acts all superior, and keeps borrowing their stuff all the time without asking. And don't even get me started on her fling with that loser Joe—I don't know what that girl is thinking.”

“She's not thinking, obviously. And poor Sheela. They know each other from home or something—I guess that's why she feels like she has to apologize for Kelly all the time.”

For the second time in as many days, Kelly felt utterly humiliated. She put down her razor—she was too upset to maneuver it safely—and sat in the tub until she was certain the girls had left. Then she got dressed and went down to Joe's room. But instead of being sympathetic, he almost ruptured himself laughing.

“I'm sorry, babe, but it was so freakin' funny yesterday—you should have seen the look on your face. I can't believe you blew off the reading assignment—it was only like two pages long.” Joe playfully ran a finger down her cheek. “If only I had been in your room to help you get dressed, this never would have happened.”

Kelly swatted his hand away. “It's not funny, Joe! I made a deal with my parents that if they let me come here, I wouldn't do anything to disappoint them. Sheela knows that we've been breaking curfew and drinking. She could totally get me sent home. What if we chilled for a couple of weeks? We can still go out, but maybe just on the weekends, and maybe we can get back before Dr. W locks the door.”

Joe looked at her through his blond curls and shot her a killer smile. “I think that's what your boring friend Sheela would do.” He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “You're making way too big a thing of this. You're in Italy, it's summertime, and you're seventeen years old. You need to relax.” He stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead.

And she did relax. At least until she got back to her room that night and faced Sheela's unyielding silence.