“Lina, I didn’t tell you the whole story of the porcellino.” I looked up. Howard had walked back down to the stair just above me and was looking at me encouragingly. He was going to try to distract me.
Well played, Howard. Well played.
“Tell me the story.” I looked down at the stairs again, focusing on my breathing and finally beginning to climb. There was a smattering of applause from behind me.
“A long time ago there was a couple who couldn’t have a child. They tried for years, and the husband blamed the wife for their bad luck. One day after they’d gotten into a fight, the woman stood crying at the window and a group of wild boars ran past the house. The boars had just had piglets and the woman said aloud that she wished she could have a child just like the boars did. A fairy happened to be listening in, and decided to grant her wish. A few days later the woman found out she was pregnant, but when she gave birth she and her husband were shocked because the baby came out looking more like a boar than a human. But the couple was so happy to have a son that they loved the child anyway.”
“That story doesn’t sound true,” a woman behind me said.
I winced. Four hundred more steps?
Chapter 14
THE CLIMB WAS TOTALLY WORTH it. The view of Florence was just as stunning as my mother had described it, a sea of red rooftops under an unblemished blue sky and soft green hills circling everything like a big, happy hug. We sat up there roasting for about a half hour, Howard pointing out all the important buildings in Florence and me working up the courage to climb back down the staircase, which turned out to be way easier. Afterward we stopped for lunch at a café and I left Florence with an unsettling realization. Regardless of what I was reading in the journal, I kind of liked Howard. Was that traitorous?
Ren’s scooter pulled up just after nine.
“Ren’s here!” Howard yelled from downstairs.
“Will you tell him I’m still getting ready? And don’t scare him!”
“I’ll do my best.”
I looked in the mirror. As soon as we’d gotten home I’d figured out how to use Howard’s arthritic washing machine, then hung a bunch of stuff to dry on the porch. Luckily it was still sweltering outside, so my clothes had been dry in no time. No more crumpled-up T-shirts for me. If Thomas was going to be there, I wanted to look amazing. No matter what my hair insisted on doing. I’d tried the flat iron again, but my curls were feeling extra-rebellious and had basically spat in its face. At least they were mostly vertical.
Please, please, please let him be there. I twirled around. I was wearing a short jersey dress my mom had found for me more than a year ago at a thrift shop. It was kind of amazing and I’d never really had anything to wear it to. Until now.
“Looking sharp tonight, Ren,” Howard boomed scarily from downstairs.
I groaned. Ren answered, but I couldn’t make out the rest of their conversation except for a couple of “yes, sirs.”
After a few minutes there was a knock on my bedroom door. “Lina?”
“Hang on.” I finished putting on my mascara, then gave myself one last look in the mirror. This was the longest I’d spent getting ready in ages. You’d better be there tonight, Thomas Heath.
I flung the door open. Ren’s hair was wet, like he’d just taken a shower, and he was wearing an olive-green T-shirt that set off his brown eyes.
“Hey, Lina. Have you—” He stopped. “Whoa.”
“Whoa what?” My cheeks flushed.
“You look so . . .”
“So what?”
“Bellissima. I like your dress.”
“Thanks.”
“You should wear dresses more often. Your legs are really . . .”
My blush spread like a wildfire. “Okay, you should totally stop talking about my legs. And quit staring at me!”
“Sorry.” He gave me one last look, then made this stiff forty-five-degree turn to the corner, like he was a penguin that had just been put on time-out.
“I like your hair better curly.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Last night I thought you didn’t really look like yourself.”
“Huh.” My cheeks were on fire.
He cleared his throat. “So . . . how’s the journal? Have they crashed and burned yet?”
“Shh!”
“He just left to check on something at the visitors’ center. He can’t hear us.”
“Oh, good.” I pulled him into the room, then shut the door. “And no. Their relationship is still secret and he seems kind of hot and cold, but for the most part I’m still reading about the good stuff. It’s all pretty lovey-dovey.”
“Do you mind if I read it?”
“The journal?”
“Yeah. Maybe I could help you figure out what went wrong. And I could find more places to take you to in Florence.”
I hesitated for approximately three-tenths of a second. This was way too good of an offer to pass up. “Sure. But you have to promise, promise me you won’t tell Howard. I want to finish reading it before I talk to him about it.”