Page 13 of Better Than Gelato
“Ooh, I love Tom Cruise,” Carmen says.
“Those movies are so confusing,” Valentina says. “But yeah, I’ll go.”
“Ethan Hunt is the best!” Jake says. “Count me in.”
Diego looks at me, and I realize I should’ve been thinking up something to say. I hesitate and Paolo says, “Juliet and I have plans that evening.” His smile is smug.
There’s an awkward pause, and then Jake says, “So what time does it start? Should we meet at Duomofirst?”
They get into the details of purchasing tickets, and I studiously refuse to make eye contact with anyone. My cheeks heat, and I feel embarrassed for feeling embarrassed.Is that even a thing?
The boys get into a heated discussion over who would win in a fight, Ethan Hunt or Jason Bourne.
Carmen slows down, waits until they're out of hearing range, and then says, “So, you’re going out with Paolo?” She raises an eyebrow. Valentina drops back to join our conversation.
“I am,” I say with an attempt at a casual shoulder shrug.
“So do youliiiikehim?” Carmen asks in a sing-song voice.
“I’m not answering that because we’re not in the seventh grade,” I reply. I clear my throat. “I will say that Paolo is funny and good-looking, and I’m looking forward to Friday.”
“As well you should,” Valentina says. “You’re in Italy. You should definitely go on dates with good-looking Italian men.”
“Paolo, you are good looking,” Carmen says in English with a terrible American accent.
“You have a terrible American accent,” I tell her, smiling.
“But am I good looking?” she asks in English again. She is giggling now so it sounds like “Ama goot looky?”
“You are,” I tell her, giggling myself. “Very goot looky.”
“You are both loonies,” Valentina says, shaking her head.
On the tram home, I text Maggie.
Guess who just spent a night dancing at the coolest club in the world and has a hot date with a gorgeous Italian guy on Friday? Me! I am that person!
Her reply comes as I’m climbing into bed:
You are living a dream life!
She’s not wrong.
ChapterThree
“Iwould not do that ridiculous handshake if they begged me!” Isa declares Friday afternoon. She stomps her feet on the crowded sidewalk outside her school.
I nod as though I have any idea what she’s talking about.
“They do it ALL THE TIME,” she continues. “It’s not even that cool!”
I don’t know who “they” are, but I get the feeling that’s irrelevant. I take her hand and lead her through the crowded sidewalk toward home.
“Handshakes are supposed to be cool,” I confirm.
Isa scowls at me. “What would you know about it?”
“I happen to know the greatest secret handshake ever created.”
