“Promise. So Space doesn’t really open until about ten. How about I start reading now?”
“Good idea.” I fished the journal out of my nightstand. “It’s pretty much half writing and half photographs, so it should go pretty fast. I marked where I left off, so don’t read past that.” I turned around and he was staring at my legs again. “Ren!”
“Sorry.”
I walked over to him, flipping open the front cover. “Look what she wrote on the inside cover.”
He made a low whistling noise. “?‘I made the wrong choice’?”
“Yeah.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I think she wrote it as a message to me.”
He flipped through the pages. “This should only take me like a half hour. I’m a really fast reader.”
“Great. So . . . do you by chance know who is going to Space with us?”
“You mean, will Thomas be there?”
“And, um, other people.”
“I don’t know. All I know is that Elena sent out a mass text.” He looked up at me. “And I think Mimi is coming.”
“Nice.”
There was a pause, and then we both looked away at the exact same second.
“So . . . I’ll be on the porch.” I grabbed my laptop and ran out of the room. I sort of hadn’t been able to stop staring at him, either.
Weird.
Ren met me on the porch. I’d hoped that the Italian Internet gods would smile upon me and I’d be able to check my e-mail or watch a YouTube cat video or something, but I’d had no such luck. Instead I was lying on the swing, kicking off the banister every so often to keep me moving.
“Your mom reminds me of you.”
I sat up. “How so?”
“She’s funny. And brave. It’s cool that she took such a big risk, dropping out of nursing school and everything. And her photographs are really good. Even though she was just starting out, you can tell she was going to be a game changer.”
“Did you see the series of portraits of Italian women?”
“Yeah. That was cool. And you totally look like your mom.”
“Thanks.”
He sat down next to me. “It’s nine thirty. Ready to go to Space?”
“Ready.”
“I told Howard we’d honk on our way out. We had a good conversation earlier. I think we really made some progress.”
“I told him to be nice.”
“Is that why he kept smiling at me? It kind of freaked me out.”
LINA’S RULES OF SCOOTER RIDING:
1. Never ride a scooter sopping wet.
2. Never ride a scooter wearing a short skirt.
3. Try to pay attention to light signals. Otherwise, every time the driver accelerates you’ll smash into him and you’ll have this awkward untangling moment and then you’ll worry he’s thinking you’re doing it on purpose.
4. If by chance you aren’t abiding by rule number two, be sure to avoid eye contact with male drivers. Otherwise they’ll honk enthusiastically every time your skirt flies up.
Ren turned down a one-way street, then pulled up next to a two-story building with a long line of people wrapped around its perimeter. “This is it.” Music pulsed from the windows.
My stomach sank down to my sandals. “This is like a club club.”
“Yeah.”
“Do I have to actually dance?”
“Ren!” Elena was attempting to run across the street to us, but her high heels were making it difficult. The effect was sort of Frankenstein-ish. “Pietro put us on the list. Ciao, Lina! It is nice to see you again.” She pressed her cheek against mine and made a kissing sound. “Your dress is very beautiful.”
“Thanks. And thanks for getting us in. I really wanted to see Space.”
“Oh, yes. Ren said something about your parents coming here? They’re not here tonight, are they?”
I laughed. “No. Definitely not.”
“Who’s coming tonight?” Ren asked.
“Everyone says they are coming, but we’ll see who actually shows up. Don’t worry, Lorenzo. I’m sure a certain someone will make it. Vieni, Lina.” She linked arms with me, then dragged me across the street to the front of the line. Dragging me around was kind of her thing.
“Dove vai?” a man in line yelled as we cut ahead of him.
She tossed her hair. “Ignore him. We are much more important. Ciao, Franco!”
Franco wore a black T-shirt and was disproportionately muscular on top, like he’d skipped leg day way too many times. He unhooked the velvet cord from a stanchion that blocked the entrance and let us inside.
We stepped into a dimly lit hallway with big racks of clothing. Was this a coatroom?
“Continue,” Elena said. “The party is this way.”
I kept going, my arms stretched out in front of me, blind as a bat. It was really dark. And loud. Finally we emerged in a rectangular room with a long bar on one side. Two different songs were playing—one in English, and one in Italian—and on the far side of the room people sang group karaoke to a third. Everyone was either not talking or shouting to be heard.
“Lina, do you want a drink?” Elena asked, gesturing to the bar.
I shook my head.
“We will wait here for everyone. Once we get in the actual club there is no way to find each other.”