Chapter 8
Matteo
WHAT THE HECK is she doing?
I sat on the bleachers, sweat dripping from my brow, waiting for my group to be called to the field for football tryouts.
The sun blazed over the metal benches, making them almost too hot to sit on.
Around me, everyone else focused on the drills the coach was running with the current group, but I couldn’t look away from what was going on under the bleachers.
The new girl had tied a length of string between two of the bench bottoms, and she was carefully balancing pebbles along it, one by one. Every three or four added, she’d step back, tilt her head, and smile as she examined her work.
It wasn’t the nutty project itself that caught me; it was the smile. Every time she did it, I felt a weird ache in my stomach—like I hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. But I’d had a big breakfast and lunch today.
Isabella.
That was her name. I knew because my sister had come home talking about her a few days ago.
She was new in school—new to Italy—and apparently the coolest girl ever.
Luciana gushed about how her new friend made jewelry out of flowers—bracelets braided from grass, daisy-chain hair crowns, and pressed flowers encased in clear resin on chains made from cord.
Isabella took a step to the right as she added more pebbles, and her face disappeared behind the bench.
I leaned down, pretending to tie my shoelaces, to get a better look.
Who even thinks of doing stuff like that?
Flower jewelry I could understand. Though I didn’t know any other girls in their first year of high school who had that kind of hobby.
But balancing pebbles on a string like they were little acrobats? That was…different.
Isabella stepped back again, smiled at her line of stones, and then turned and looked straight at me. Long, blond hair framed her pretty face.
“Do you want to help, or are you just going to stare at me all day?”
We’d been learning English since starting school, but I didn’t understand everything she said.
Seeing the confused look on my face, she tried again. “Aiuto?” she said. Help?
I pointed to myself, silently asking, Me?
She rolled her eyes. “Si. Aiuto…or stop looking.”
I glanced at the field and the guys I’d been sitting with.
Coach Marconi blew his whistle and gestured for my group.
The sun really must’ve gotten to me because I was momentarily torn between blowing off tryouts and playing with rocks with this girl.
Everyone started to run down the bleachers.
I had to go or I wasn’t going to make the team.
“Tra pochi minuti,” I yelled. In a few minutes.
She shrugged and went back to her pebbles. I ran to the field, but my mind kept wandering to the bleachers. The minute tryouts ended, I sprinted back, but Isabella was gone. The only sign she’d been there was a perfect, full line of pebbles balanced on a string.
***
A week later, I came home from football practice, still dripping sweat and smelling like I’d forgotten to put on deodorant that morning, even though I had.
I froze as I came up the driveway. There she was again—Isabella—sitting cross-legged on the front lawn next to my mother’s flower garden, across from my sister.
The two of them were braiding something, and there was a pile of daisies between them.
I tried to play it cool and lifted my chin. “Ciao.”
Isabella smiled, and I tripped over my own two feet, landing flat on my ass.
My sister cracked up and looked at her friend. “How do you say in Inglese? Smooth?”
Isabella leaned over. “Are you okay?”
I dusted myself off and tried to save face. “Leg cramps. From practicing hard today.”
Luciana rolled her eyes. “He thinks he’s the king of football because he’s da captain.”
My sister thought she was insulting me, but I stood a little taller. “Yeah. I am da captain.”
Isabella smiled again, and that weird ache in my stomach flared up. At least today I was actually hungry. I walked over for a better look at what the two of them were doing. “What you…cooking?”
“I think you mean making.”
I’d spent the last week watching English TV shows and memorizing common phrases, but apparently, I hadn’t mastered the language yet. “Si. Making.”
She held up a thick green braid made from grape tendrils—the spirally part of the vine that grasps onto other things for support. “Bracelets.”
I nodded. “Cool.”
I’d never had any trouble talking to girls before, but being near Isabella made me feel gangly and awkward.
“You want to make one?” she asked.
I wasn’t really interested in jewelry, but I would’ve made one just to sit close to her. Though I was pretty smelly. So I shrugged, trying not to show how excited I was at the prospect of spending time with her. “Maybe later.”
As soon as I got inside, I bolted up the stairs and jumped into the shower. After, I even squirted on some of my dad’s cologne.
My bedroom was at the front of the house, so as I got dressed, I peeked out the window to see if they were still working on bracelets.
The two of them were in the same spots, and Isabella was laughing.
I watched quietly, mesmerized by the sound.
It was loud and messy, nothing forced or fake about it, and she didn’t cover her mouth like other girls did.
I got the feeling she didn’t care who heard her.
Lost in that thought, I didn’t notice at first that Isabella had looked up. She’d caught me staring, same as the other day at the football field. This time, though, she didn’t call me out. Instead, she gave me a slow, subtle smile that felt like it was just for me. My stomach did another flip.
“A tavola!” my mom called from somewhere in the house. Dinner.
Isabella and my sister got up and came inside, and I finished getting dressed, hurrying down to the table.
“Matteo,” my mom said. “Why don’t you sit next to your sister, so her friend can sit across from her?”
“Okay.” I didn’t mind because that meant I got to look across at Isabella, too. Once I sat down, my sister wrinkled her nose.
“Did you take a bath in old-man cologne?”
“Shut up.”
Isabella gave me a little smile from the other side of the table, and I felt my skin flush. Seriously? I’d never blushed in my life. I was relieved when my mom started talking and took the attention off me.
“So, Isabella, Luciana said you moved here from da States?”
She nodded. “California.”
“Dat’s a big change.”
She shrugged. “It is. But so far it’s been okay. I’m kind of used to moving around a lot. My dad has his own businesses. He’s going to be giving tours here in Florence. I’ve lived in North Carolina, Massachusetts, Delaware, Alabama, Maryland, and California.”
“Wow. A lot of moving.”
She shrugged again. “I guess.”
“You have a big family?”
“Two brothers. One’s twelve years older and the other fourteen.”
“Dat’s a big age gap.”
She nodded. “The older one didn’t move with us. He lives with his girlfriend in San Diego.”
Throughout dinner, I kept sneaking glances at her as she spoke. Each time she caught me, she gave me that same private smile she’d given me at the window.
When we were done, my mom stood to clear the table. “It’s getting dark out. Matteo, why don’t you walk Isabella home?”
I blinked a few times, filled with panic. “Me?”
“Si, you.” My mom’s eyes narrowed. “Is dere a reason you can’t?”
Other than possibly making a fool of myself, I didn’t have any excuse. I cleared my throat. “No, it’s fine.” I looked over at Isabella. “You ready, Izzy?”
My sister scoffed. “Izzy? What are you? Besties?”
I wasn’t even sure where that had come from, yet when Isabella gave me one of those smiles meant just for me, I knew she’d forever be my Izzy.