Wish You Were Italian (26 page)

I nod but Darren pipes up. “No. It’s overcast, so the Blue Grotto isn’t going to look too spectacular. Plus it’s a total tourist trap. The guys who row the boats in there just wear you down until you give them a tip.”

“Of course they want tips. They have to row people’s fat, rich tourist asses all day long. I’d say they deserve it.” Nina frowns at him. “What’s got your tighty-whities so tight today?”

He rolls his eyes like she’s a child. “I wanted to check out the ruins of Tiberius. The Villa Jovis.”

“It’s always ruins with you,” Nina snaps. “I need a break from all the history lessons, Darren. Plus that little excursion will take three hours minimum. There’s too much other stuff to do here … like shopping.” She links arms with Tate to show that he’s not going either.

Darren crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. “Fine,” he says through an exhale. “Monte Solaro, then.”

“Perfect!” Tate says, obviously trying to keep the peace. He pulls Nina toward the buses and Darren stalks behind them.

The tension is thicker than the humidity. I did not sign up for all the bickering.

“Wait,” I call to Tate and Nina before they get too far. “How about you two go on ahead to your Blue whatever, and I’ll go with Darren to see the ruins.”

Darren’s jaw slacks as he stares at me, which is the most attention I’ve gotten from him since he put up a wall yesterday.

“Are you sure?” Tate asks.

“Just let them go,” Nina urges, shooting me a sinister smirk like this was her plan all along. “We’ll meet you guys back here before our return ferry.”

Once upon a time, the ruins of the Roman Emperor Tiberius were a multiple-level villa built on the slope of the land just along the edge of a cliff, for maximum protection. It has that same ancient historic feel, but after Rome and Pompeii, this place is sort of a letdown.

Nevertheless, Darren is completely engrossed in every part of it, and I find myself content watching him marvel at everything from the seemingly modern ideas the architect had to the breathtaking view of the island and the sea in the distance.

“Thanks for offering to come here with me,” Darren says as we approach a vacant bench at a cliff-side lookout point. “I don’t know why I didn’t think about splitting up.”

“Ah, that’s because I’m smarter than you.” I adjust the strap around my neck, putting an arm through it so the camera rests low near my hip. “The female mind develops faster, you know.”

He lets out a gravelly laugh and my shoulders feel lighter. I didn’t realize before how much I loved the sound of it.

“Well, I’m older than you,” he points out. “So maybe we should be about even?”

“Hmm.” I scratch my chin as I sit on the end of the bench to lean on the armrest. “You’re not that much older, so my sources say no.”

He chuckles again and sits, keeping a couple of inches between us.

“So, I have to ask something,” I muster the courage to say. “You were kind of harsh back there with Nina. What’s going on with you guys? I thought you liked her.”

He inhales and absently plays with the part in his hair. “I do like her. She’s just been getting under my skin lately.”

I think of when Nina took pictures of Darren and me together. That seemed to be when his switch flipped.

“Why?”

“She’s been butting into things that aren’t her business.”

“Then what was it this morning? I don’t get what she said that pushed your buttons.”

Darren crosses his arms. “I feel bad about that now. I think I was still irritated from yesterday’s mistletoe comment. I’m sorry if you thought my attitude had anything to do with you.” He looks at his feet, the slightest hint of color appearing on his cheeks. “She doesn’t understand that things other people are going through might not be so simple.”

I nod as if I have a clue what he’s talking about.

“Plus she thinks she knows everything, so that doesn’t help,” he says, uncrossing his arms and cramming his hands into his pockets. He fidgets so much, it’s making me edgy.

“Well, she’s older than you are, right?” I nudge him in an effort to lighten things. “She’s got the advanced model of brain, even better than mine.”

He catches my eye and grins. “Nah. You’ve got her beat by miles.”

I return the smile and take a drink of water. “How long have they been together? Tate and Nina. They seem pretty serious.”

“Two years. I think.”

“Wow. My longest relationship has been, like, two months. If that.”

“Well, it’s different when you’re out of high school,” he says.

I frown. That’s right. I’m still a baby. Is that what he meant about things not being so simple?

“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter.

“I didn’t mean it to sound condescending, Pippa. I
just
graduated, remember? I’m just saying—” He stops himself and sighs. “Look. Think about the relationships people have at your school. That your friends are in, or maybe even that you’ve been in. Isn’t it just a bunch of drama? Fighting and whining and jealousy?”

I scrunch up my nose, but he’s right. “Basically.”

“It’s ridiculous. People end up making mistakes when they’re swept up in someone else, and they can’t even see that the person they’re with isn’t right.” He kicks at a loose pebble and it skitters off underneath the guardrail.

“You say this from experience?”

“I wouldn’t go through high school again if someone paid me a million dollars.” He snorts. It’s a joke, but his tone is laced with pain. We’re getting dangerously close to hitting a nerve. Maybe the same one Nina keeps tempting.

“A million, no,” I say. “You’d still need a job with only one mil. What if it were two?”

His smile looks forced. “Not even for two.”

I swallow, staring at his eyes though he’s not looking at me. “Must have been some wicked girl. What did she do?”

He considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“You can tell me, you know,” I push, for equal parts curiosity and because he might really need to talk about it. “I won’t judge.”

“No, she did nothing, that’s just it. She didn’t love me.”

Whoa
. Wasn’t expecting the
L
word.

“And you … loved her?” A lump forms in my throat. Whoever she is, I want to punch her.

“Felt like it at the time.” He finally turns to look at me. “Now I’m not so sure.”

The lump in my throat turns into a gripping fist and I forget to breathe.

“What about you?” he asks. “Ever been in love?” He looks away as if he’s embarrassed.

“Well, there was one guy about a year ago, and I thought maybe I was. But he turned out to be a major tool, so I sort of can’t even remember that feeling I had.”

Darren makes a grunting noise.

“What?”

He sucks on his bottom lip as if selecting his words carefully. “This just proves my point that most high school relationships are worthless. A waste of time.”

I guess if you consider making out with the most popular
guy in school a waste of time. Everything I know in the department of French kissing I owe to that idiot. It may have been a crappy relationship, but I refuse to believe it was all for nothing.

“So what you’re saying is that I’ve still got another year or so until I’m going to find anything worthwhile, seeing as how I’m still in high school and all.” My words have a little more bite than I intended, but his signals are too conflicting. He flirts with me and a minute later he gets mad at Nina for hinting that we should kiss. How did he go from being just Darren to being such a guy?

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know,” he says, deflated.

“You don’t know enough about me to say that.” My throat and my eyes both burn. Why am I getting so worked up over this?

Because I like him and I feel like he’s telling me, in code, that I’m not worth his time. That starting something with me would be a mistake. I’m officially giving up being logical about this. He should too. I already know it’s going to suck saying good-bye, so he should kiss me and at least give me a tingly memory to take back with me.

“I might be different.” I clench my teeth when I realize I said that out loud, keeping myself from saying any more.

“Pippa.” He breathes a sigh, eyes looking everywhere but at me. “You
are
different.”

I slowly turn toward him on the bench, pleading with my eyes for him to look at me.

Footsteps crunching gravel behind me rob me of my daydream, and an older couple approaches the metal railing near
the cliff edge. The tired-looking woman glances back at the bench with longing.

“You can sit here,” Darren says to her. He clasps my hand, sending a current up my arm to my chest. “We were just leaving.”

He leads me back down the path and for the brief moment he keeps hold of my hand, it’s the only thing anchoring me to the ground.

The chairlift up Mt. Solaro seats only one person per chair, which terrifies me. I play it cool until I get on, then press myself back as far as I can and grip the seat with both hands as I rise into the air. It doesn’t go nearly as high as a ski lift, maybe between ten and twenty feet, so after a few minutes I’m able to relax and actually enjoy the view.

Below me are manicured gardens, children playing in their backyards, women tending to potted plants, none of them paying attention to the human birds flying overhead.

Halfway through the ride I get brave and cling to the safety bar, twisting to look back at Darren in the chair behind me. When I meet his gaze, he offers a half smile, his thoughts clearly holding him back. I face forward again, heavy with the feeling that I’m to blame for that.

At the top of the lift, I mutter a “
grazie
” to the attendant that helps guide me off. I follow the little red arrows painted on the ground to get out of the way so fast that I nearly bump into the lady who got off in front of me.

I turn around just as Darren hops out of his chair like a pro. He holds his half smile steady as he leads me up to the lookout.

“Look how high we are,” I say in both wonder and anxiety, standing so close to the edge of the highest point on the entire island. I clutch the railing with both hands and peer over. “We can see everything from here.”

“What do you think?” he asks after a few moments.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Pippa …”

I can tell he’s staring at me, waiting for me to look him in the eye. But I pick at the chipping paint on the top of the railing, fighting to appear interested only in the turquoise of the Gulf of Naples, the clusters of white buildings along the shore, the countless boats circling the island. Maybe Nina and Tate are on one of them, returning from the Blue Grotto.

“About earlier—”

My attention shifts behind Darren to a little blond boy in overalls trying to push his head between the rods of the railing.

Darren turns to see what I’m looking at and laughs. “You’re gonna get stuck.”

The boy looks up at him in confusion and yells something in another language. His mother rushes over and snatches his hand, giving both Darren and me the evil eye as she drags him away.

“Kids.” Darren shrugs. “Do you want any?”

“Kids?” I choke. “Uh, I don’t know. Probably. Someday. Not anytime soon, so don’t get any ideas tonight back at the hotel.” My cheeks flame from the shock of my own words and I conjure up a laugh to play it cool. Inappropriate jokes are Morgan’s forte, not mine.

“Noted.” Darren does a cough-laugh combo and rubs one of his ears. “What was I saying before?”

I can’t let him get back to that train of thought, wherever it was headed.

“You were about to tell me your favorite color today.”

“Huh?” He squints, studying me.

“You said it changes every day. So which is your favorite today?” I hold his gaze and try to convey that I’m not kidding. I’d rather hear his favorite color than another version of how I’m still in high school.

“Yellow,” he finally says. “Let’s go look on the other side.”

I follow, catching a glimpse of my tank top as I adjust my camera strap. It’s yellow. I bite back a smile.

“What’s yours?”

“Right now,” I say, pointing to the sea along the coast where it’s the brightest aqua I’ve ever seen, “that.”

He nods in approval. “Favorite childhood memory?”

I frown involuntarily. Thinking of my childhood makes me think about my parents, which makes me think about my rapidly approaching and inescapable punishment.

“When I was ten,” I say, “Gram came to stay with us for Christmas and she taught me how to knit.”

“Like with yarn?”

“Yes, that’s what knitting is.” I laugh. “I made a scarf. Which is still really the only thing I can make.”

“Did you wear it?”

“No. I gave it to my mom Christmas morning.”

“I’m sure she loved that. My mom always valued the homemade stuff most.”

I take a seat on the low stone wall. The sun hides again behind a cloud and the muscles in my face are able to relax.

“She put it on right then, when she opened it. But I haven’t seen it since, now that I think of it. Maybe she didn’t wear it because it was hot pink.” I try to laugh, but my throat shuts tight.

Darren sits so close to me that our thighs touch. “I’m sure she put it somewhere safe.”

I’d like to think she did, but I have no idea. What happened to all the drawings and crafts I brought home from school that never made it to the fridge because magnets weren’t allowed?

“Hard telling. She doesn’t exactly have the motherly instincts most moms do.”

“She probably has more than you think.” His words float between us as I try to believe them.

“What about you?” I ask, anxious to steer the conversation away from me. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?”

He sits up a little straighter and angles toward me. “When I was around eight, we lived in Arizona. We didn’t really have any grass, so my parents buried all sorts of things in the backyard. They worked on it for weeks while Tate and I were at school or friends’ houses. We had no idea they were doing this. Then on Tate’s birthday, they gave us access to their shovels, picks, brushes, all of it. The real stuff they actually used in the field.”