38 #2
"Oh no," she says, "I remember, sweetheart." Gio laughs softly, and then walks back to the living room. He stands beside her, looking strangely sincere. "Mrs. Eden," he says, "I feel I owe you an apology." She looks up, curious. "I wasn't the easiest kid. I did things. Threw things. Said things."
"Juice box theft," I mutter from the hallway.
He glances back at me, then smiles again, more gentle this time.
"Yeah. That too. But if it means anything now…
I never really hated Rava. Not even close.
He was just…" He pauses, tongue against his cheek.
"…a bit hard to ignore. His sweetness doesn't really go unnoticed, even when you're twelve and stupid. "
My mom gives him a smile. "You were just figuring it out, both of you."
"Still am," he admits, turning back toward me. "But I know enough now to say I'm glad I get to be here."
Okay, this makes me feel a little better. We walk into my room. And I realize how freaking strange and perfect it is that this man, who once made me cry over a poem, is now in my home, staying the night.
He's my boyfriend. God, how did we get here?!
I close the door behind us and toss my bag onto the chair. It's still early, but the weight of the day already feels heavy on my shoulders. I pull off my shirt without much thought.
"Oh. We're doing that now? Like, now?!"
"Calm your dick, Fontana. It's too early for you to be horny." I step closer, lower my voice. "I just got comfortable. You'll know when I'm really undressing for you."
Before I can even finish blinking, the door swings open and Jin stands there. The judgment on his face. "MOM—RAVA IS NAKED!"
I whip around. "I'M JUST SHIRTLESS YOU LITTLE PIECE OF DOGSHIT—"
Jin's already down the hallway screaming for reinforcements. "This is so inappropriate, Ravioli! Jin is right." Gio's laughing.
Traitor.
"You're really gonna defend him?" I ask, glaring at him while I dig through my bag for a shirt. Gio, still wheezing, pats the bed, proud of himself. "I'm just saying, he has a point. You were very exposed."
"Right. That's it," I say, crossing my arms. "Back scratches are cancelled. Indefinitely."
His face drops. Dramatically. "You wouldn't."
"Watch me."
He stares at me. "You stop scratching my back, and I won't fix your bracelet."
Gasp. "You wouldn't dare." I throw a pillow at him. He just smirks. "Thought so." Jin appears again at the doorway. We both turn to look at him.
"You good?" Gio asks, narrowing his eyes. Jin takes a few steps in. His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are stiff. He sighs, dramatic as ever.
Weird.
"Don't let it get to your head," he says, eyes darting away. "This doesn't mean anything."
I squint at him. "Are you okay? What are you talking about?"
He bites the inside of his cheek like he's forcing himself to continue. "God, you're making this harder than it is—whatever. I heard what happened today. With you. And dad." He pauses. Then just…steps forward. And hugs me.
I freeze.
Completely unexpected. Completely out of nowhere. But I don't fight it. I hug him back. Gio stares, shocked. "I don't believe what I'm seeing."
"Don't get used to it," Jin mutters at me.
Gio grins. "Hey. I've had a rough day too, you know? The guy sent a whole police squad after me. I don't get a hug?"
Jin looks at him. Rolls his eyes. "Fine. But only because I'm in a good mood and because you still owe me that ride on the bike." Gio holds up his hands like he's been judged in court and found guilty. "Fair enough. You're absolutely right."
Two hours later
We're quiet. Finally. Gio's back is against the headboard. I'm lying down, my head resting between his thighs, looking up at the ceiling. His fingers lost in my hair, moving lazy, like he's tracing thoughts instead of strands.
Christ. I could fall asleep like this. I want to fall asleep like this. But of course, he can't let me have peace for more than ten seconds. He plucks my glasses off. "Hey," I mutter, turning my head up to him. "Give those back."
"Do they look good on me?" he asks, already putting them on. I stare at him. Too long. Goddamn it. This man could wear anything. Or nothing. He's unfair.
"No," I say, snatching them back. "They don't." He laughs. "I remember those blue ones you had," he says. "Back when you were tiny. Always writing in that dumb little notebook, shooting me those killer looks."
"Yeah, well. The irony is, I was probably writing something like, 'Gio accidentally touched my hand today. That was cool. Gonna tell Daisy.'"
"Liar. You're just saying that to make me feel good."
"Nope," I say, sitting up with a jolt. "Wait here."
I slide off the bed. "I still have that notebook."
"No way. There's no way you kept it."
He has no idea. I hand him the notebook.
"I never thought I'd actually do this," I admit.
"But…here. Take it." He looks at me, actually shocked.
Then I crawl back into place, settling between his legs again.
He flips open the first page. "We're living historical moments right now," he murmurs dramatically.
"Shut up," I groan, without even looking up. He opens the notebook, landing on a random page.
Monday
Today Gio threw a rock at my foot again.
He said it was an accident, but it wasn't. He was smirking.
Luigi laughed but I didn't, because it hurt.
(It wasn't that bad, but still.) Then Gio climbed the fence by the football field without using his hands.
Nobody else can do that. Not even Elio. Gio just acts like he doesn't care but it's obvious he's cool.
Like really cool. But also rude. Also he got in trouble for talking back to Mr. Romano, and he didn't even cry.
I think I would've fainted. Or actually cried.
Or both. Gio just put his feet up on the desk and said "whatever".
I hate that. But I don't. Not really. It's kind of impressive. But annoying. But cool.
Anyway, Daisy said I should write down my feelings more.
I don't know what that means. I just wish Gio would stop looking so mean all the time and maybe once, just once, say something nice to me.
Or, like, not throw things at me. That would be fine too.
I wouldn't mind. Today he was sitting next to me during lunch break.
He smells kinda nice. Something sweet. Probably pie.
He always eats some stupid pies. I don't like him. (I think.)
The end.
I can feel his chest shaking behind me. He's laughing. Of course he's freaking laughing. "'He smells kinda nice?!'" Gio reads the line out loud like it's the funniest thing he's ever seen, and then buries his face in my hair. "You were so obsessed with me. I love this."
I groan and I get up, trying to snatch the notebook back, but his arm wraps around my waist and holds me still. "Shut up," I mutter. "I was ten."
"And clearly in love," he says, kissing the side of my neck. "You just didn't know it yet. Or maybe you did. You little repressed genius."
I tilt my head back to look at him and he's grinning hard, completely unbothered. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
"You're the cutest thing I've ever read."
My face burns. I roll my eyes. "You're insufferable."
"Yeah," he says, still holding me. "But I'm yours."
I pause for a second. And then I smile. "Okay," I mumble. "Next page. Let's see how cringe I got after that."
Dear Diary,
Today Gio did that thing again where he jumps off the stairs like he's in a movie. It's so dumb. He thinks he's so cool. Everyone was watching and clapping and stuff. Come on, it's not even that hard to jump four stairs. I could do it too if I wanted. I just don't want to.
Anyway, he landed and then looked around like he was in some superhero movie.
Then he winked at someone. I think it was me.
But maybe not. But probably me. Not that I care.
His jacket was flapping in the wind. It was kind of awesome.
Like a cape. Not that I was impressed or anything.
I'm just saying that it looked scientifically dramatic. That's all.
Also, he fixed my bike chain after school because it broke.
He said "don't tell anyone, Ravioli." I didn't. He really likes bikes and motorcycles.
He said my hands were too soft to fix it myself.
Rude. He's so annoying. I think I hate him.
I definitely don't like him. Stop looking at me like that, diary.
—R
Gio's already laughing as he finishes reading. I can feel the teasing bubbling up in his throat before he even opens his mouth. "Oh? Scientifically dramatic?" he grins, nudging my leg with his knee. "Damn, Ravioli. You were practically in love with me and I didn't even know."
I roll my eyes, grabbing the pillow behind me and shoving it lightly against his chest. "I was ten. Nothing I wrote in there is valid." He holds up the notebook.
"This is the cutest, most incriminating evidence I've ever seen."
"Shut up."
"Stop looking at me like that, diary," he mimics in a terrible impression of my voice.
"Gio—" Before I can finish, he leans down and starts planting kiss after kiss after kiss all over my face.
My cheeks, my nose, my forehead, my mouth. One after the other. I'm laughing so hard I almost fall back, trying to push him away, but not really.
"Gio, stop," I wheeze between giggles, "I'm trying to be mad at you." But he just kisses me again, this time slower.
"Too late. You're mine now, science boy."
I feel so loved. So home.
Gio's already reaching for another page.
I try to stop him. "Please," he says, dragging the word out and pouting dramatically. "Just one more. I'm begging you."
I groan and bury my face in his thigh. "Only one," I mumble. "I can't take any more emotional public nudity."
He laughs. "You're literally hiding in my lap right now, that's not very private either."
I glare up at him. "Read it and shut up."
"Deal," he says. He flips to the next page gently.
I brace myself. I don't even remember what's on that one, but I know it's going to kill me either way.
Here it goes.
Today was weird. Like…really weird.
In the morning, everyone was acting strange. My mom was crying in the kitchen but told me she was "just chopping onions" even though we weren't having anything with onions. I'm not stupid. She thinks I don't notice things but I do.
Then she hugged me for way too long and said I was "so strong." I don't know why she said that. I didn't do anything strong. I just brushed my teeth.
Then Daisy came over and tried to distract me by watching cartoons. But she kept glancing at her phone like she was waiting for something bad to happen. I hate when people do that. It makes me nervous.
Later, I heard someone whispering in the hallway. I think they said Gio's leaving. Like not just leaving town, but leaving the country. Leaving Italy. For good. I don't know if it's true. Nobody told me. But if it is…I don't know what to do.
I went up to mom and asked, and she said "sweetheart, we'll talk soon," which is code for "I'm hiding something." And then I asked Daisy and she said, "I don't know the whole story." But her voice went all quiet so I think she does know the whole story and doesn't want to tell me.
Why would Gio leave? Is it something I did? Did something happen to him?
Update:
I think…someone died. I think his dad died. I don't know how. Nobody will tell me. But everyone has the same face they had when nana died. That weird, quiet face like they're walking on glass. But I also might have heard wrong.
And then, to make it even more confusing, this girl from the other class, her name is Giulia, tried to kiss me after school today. She just leaned in and I froze. I didn't move at all. I think she thought I was being polite but honestly, I didn't want to.
She's pretty. She smells like strawberries. I like strawberries. So I should have wanted to. But I didn't. And now I feel weird. I just kept thinking…I wonder if Gio's okay. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he's already gone.
And I wonder why it hurts my stomach when I think about not seeing him again. I told Daisy once that I think Gio's annoying. That he pulls my hair and calls me "nerd" and "Ravioli" because my name is Rava. But the truth is…I don't want him to go.
Even if he calls me names. Even if he acts like I'm invisible half the time. I don't want Gio to leave. I know I always act like he's annoying. Like he's just this loud, stupid guy who messes with my hair and makes fun of how I hold my pen.
But…I made something for him. Something small.
To cheer him up, since his friends don't seem to know what happened.
It's this fake motorcycle, I made it out of wires and pieces of broken pencils and some foil from the kitchen.
It doesn't move or anything, obviously. But it kinda looks like a real bike!
I was gonna paint it tomorrow. I used red and black, 'cause those are his favorite colors, and I shaped it like that Ducati he keeps talking about.
The one he says he'll ride "straight into the sunset one day." I am going to give it to him on Monday. I even have a whole sentence in my head, like a movie or something. I'm gonna say:
"Here. Now maybe you'll think I'm kinda cool too.
" Maybe then he'd stop looking at me like I'm just a boring little kid with glasses and a million books.
Maybe he'd think I'm like his friend, Luigi.
Or…maybe even Elio. But I don't think I'll get to give it to him.
Okay. Maybe he won't go. I mean…I heard them whispering something about Spain. But Spain is far, right?
Maybe he just said that to scare people. Gio does that. He likes making things dramatic. But…maybe he'll change his mind. Maybe he'll stay here. Italy's nicer, right?
Better food. Better sunsets. Better motorbikes. Better people. Me! And I bet in Spain he won't find anyone like me. No one to throw books at him when he's being stupid. No one to glare at him across the classroom.
No one to kick him under the table when he deserves it. No one who pretends to be annoyed but actually doesn't mind when he sits next to me. Or steals my snacks. Or laughs too loud.
Yeah. Maybe he'll stay. Maybe he'll remember me and think: Wait. Rava was kinda cool sometimes. Maybe I won't go. We have hope. I'm gonna believe in that.
UPDATE:
He's gone. He left. He actually left. Took his stupid bag and his stupid everything and he didn't even say goodbye. No note. No message. No joke. No dumb wink from across the room like always. He just left. And now? I hate him.
I hate him for making me think he might stay.
I hate him for making me build that stupid tiny motorcycle.
I threw it under my bed. I don't even want to see it.
Why would he leave? Why would he go to Spain of all places?
There are probably zero cool kids in Spain.
Spain sucks. Motorbikes probably don't even work there.
The roads are probably made of slime or something.
I hope he hates it. I hope he misses my face every day. And I hope he knows I'm mad. Really mad. Because I would've said goodbye.
I would've said goodbye.
Gio closes the notebook. I see it.
A tear. Just one. Slipping down his cheek.
He brushes it away quickly, almost angrily, like it betrayed him.
And suddenly I feel awful. "Gio…" I whisper, shifting closer.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to bring back all that stuff.
With your dad. That time, I know it was—" But he doesn't let me finish.
He pulls me onto him. Fast. I land on his chest, and he wraps both arms around me tightly.
He buries his face into the side of my neck.
He doesn't say anything, he just keeps running his fingers slowly through my hair, but now there's something different about the way he touches me.
Like he's holding ten-year-old me in his hands too. And he's scared of breaking him.
"The irony is…" he says, "now I'm the one who doesn't want you to leave."
I blink at him. Slowly. I know what he means. The ticking clock. The last few days. The goodbye that's looming again, and this time, it's mine to give.
I glance up at him, and I see the shift in his eyes. His throat moves like he's trying to swallow something down. "Please don't cry," I whisper, nudging his leg with my elbow. "Because if you cry, I'll cry. And then we're gonna be a mess."
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose. His hand slides down from my hair to my jaw, tilting my face up a little. "I'm not crying," he says. "I'm just blaming the dust in your room."
I smile, leaning into his touch. "You know…" he murmurs, thumb brushing the edge of my cheek, "your younger self, he was right."
I raise an eyebrow. "About what? That you're cooler than Luigi?" Gio huffs. "No. I mean, about Italy. It's better here. Way better." He pauses. "And no, I didn't find anyone to tease like I teased you. Not even close."
I smile. "And maybe…" he says, eyes meeting mine again, "maybe I missed you. Just a little bit. Maybe I thought about you. Sometimes. More than I wanted to." He lets his forehead rest against mine, and we stay like that, literally holding the same memory.
"I was annoying," I say after a while. "You don't have to lie to me." He chuckles. "You were. But you were also sweet. And smart. And apparently head-over-heels in love with me."
I groan and bury my face into his chest. He laughs harder, wrapping his arms around me. I get up without thinking.
I go to the desk, my old one, the one I've had since I was a kid, and start opening drawers. One after the other. I know exactly what I'm looking for. I just I don't know if I'm ready to hold it again.
Gio watches from the bed but doesn't say anything until I finally pull it out. "Don't tell me…" he says. I turn around, walk over, and place it gently in his hand.
It's so small in his palm.
Just a messy little red motorcycle I made out of plastic and wire and hours of overthinking.
"You kept this??"
I nod. "I don't know why. I guess I thought that maybe one day I'd give it to you. But I never thought you'd actually see it. Or take it."
He turns it over slowly.
"I was gonna give it to you that Monday," I say.
"I really thought maybe if I gave it to you, you'd think I was cool.
Like… not as boring as I looked." He smiles, but doesn't laugh.
I sit down again, between his legs, and lean my head against his chest. His arms come around me naturally, and I let them.
I let myself sink into the warmth of him, the safety.
And then it hits me. It always does, at some point in the night.
That he's mine now. That Gio Fontana, the man who used to steal my pencils and make fun of my handwriting and give me way too many butterflies, is now mine.
He's my boyfriend.
I can just say that. Out loud. Gio is my boyfriend.
If I want to kiss him, I can. If I want to tell him I love him, I can.
And even if I don't say it, he knows. How does that make sense?
How did the man I used to write about in a notebook with cartoon stickers become the person who kisses me goodnight now?
"I still can't believe it's you."
He kisses the top of my head.
"You're here," I murmur. "And you love me. And if I want to kiss you, I can just do it. I won't have to write 7 pages about me wanting to do it."
He squeezes me tighter.
I stay wrapped in him, wondering how something that once felt so impossible is suddenly the most real thing in my whole life.