“That’s him.”
She grinned at me. “Well, Lina, you’re two for two. Ren’s adorable. So if Underwear Model doesn’t work out, you’re still in good shape.”
“No, Ren’s off the table. I met his girlfriend tonight. She’s like Sadie Danes, only Swedish. And Photoshopped.”
“Shut up. Did you run for your life?”
“Pretty much. She didn’t seem all that happy that Ren brought some new girl along.”
Addie sighed, falling back on her pillow. “I’m spending the rest of the summer living vicariously through you. And I know the cemetery thing is weird, but now I’m one hundred percent on board with you being there. You have to stay there for at least a little while. Do it for me. Please!”
“We’ll see. How’s Matt?”
“Still not getting the message that I’m interested. But who cares about him? On a scale of one to ten, how weird would it be if I printed out Thomas’s profile picture and had it framed?”
I laughed. “Weird. Even for you.”
“Or how about I make a Thomas calendar? ‘Twelve Months of British Hotness.’ Do you think you could get more pictures of him with his shirt off? Maybe you could spill Kool-Aid or something on him next time you’re together.”
“Yeah, definitely not doing that.”
She sighed again. “You’re right. That would be pretty weird. So how’s the journal?”
“I’m just about to read more.” I hesitated. “Last night was kind of hard, but it was nice, too. She really loved it here.”
“And so will you. And so will I. Vicariously.”
I shook my head. “We’ll see.”
“Okay, you get back to the journal. I want to know what her wrong choice was. The suspense is killing me.”
“Night, Addie.”
“Morning, Lina.”
JULY 2
Florence is exactly how I thought it would be and nothing like it at all. It is absolutely magical—the cobblestones, the old buildings, the bridges—and yet it’s gritty, too. You’ll be walking down the most charming street you’ve ever seen and suddenly get a whiff of open sewer or step in something disgusting. The city enchants you, then brings you right back down to reality. I’ve never been anyplace that I want to capture so much. I spend a lot of time photographing things that seem uniquely Italian—laundry hanging in alleyways, red geraniums planted in old tomato-sauce cans—but mostly I try to capture the people. Italians are so expressive; you never have to guess what they’re feeling.
Tonight I watched the sun set at Ponte Vecchio. I think its safe to say I have finally found the place that feels right to me. I just can’t believe I had to come halfway across the world to find it.
JULY 9
Francesca has officially inducted me into her circle of friends. They were all at FAAF last semester too, and they’re smart and hilarious, and I secretly wonder if they’re being followed around by reality-TV cameras. How can this many interesting people be together in one spot? Here’s our cast of characters: Howard: The perfect Southern gentleman (Southern giant, Francesca calls him), handsome, kind, and the sort of guy who will go marching into battle for you. He’s in a research program studying Florence history, and when he isn’t teaching he sits in on a lot of our classes.
Finn: An Ernest Hemingway wannabe from Martha’s Vineyard. He pretends to just happen to have a full beard and a penchant for turtlenecks, but we all know he spends half his time reading The Sun Also Rises.
Adrienne: French and probably the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in real life. She is very quiet and unbelievably talented.
Simone and Alessio: I’m grouping them together because they are ALWAYS together. They grew up together just outside of Rome and are constantly getting into fistfights—typically over the fact that neither of them has ever dated a girl that the other didn’t immediately fall in love with.
And finally . . .
Me: Pretty boring. American wannabe photographer who has been giddy since the moment her plane touched down in Florence.
Mine and Francesca’s apartment has become the official hangout. We all crowd onto the tiny balcony and have long discussions about things like shutter speed and exposure. Is this heaven?
JULY 20
Turns out you can’t learn Italian through osmosis, no matter how many times you fall asleep with Italian for Dummies propped open on your face. Francesca said that learning a language is the easiest thing in the world, but she said it while simultaneously smoking, studying aperture, and making homemade pesto, so she may not have a normal grasp on “easy.” I signed up for the institute’s beginner Italian class. It’s held evenings in the mixed-media room and meets three times a week. Finn and Howard are in the class too. They’re both much further along than I am, but I’m glad to have them for company.