Cindy and the Prom King (8 page)

twenty-two

By the time the twins got home from the dance, Cindy was in bed, but no earplugs existed that could keep out their loud laughter and shrieks of glee at the fun they’d had. Cindy buried her head under the blankets but could not block out the sounds reverberating throughout the house. The whole neighborhood must have heard how they’d danced, drank, partied and played.

She wondered if Marco had spent the rest of the evening freak-dancing with them when they returned to the dance, or if the headmaster had put a stop to their fun with the Barney songs and they’d moved on to another venue like some friend’s McMansion with no parents at home. She told herself it was just as well she hadn’t gone with them. But sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she had.

The next day Marco called her on her cell phone while she was working at the spa. She was so shocked she almost dropped the pumice stone she used to scrub the clients’ feet.

“How did you get my number?” she asked, taking refuge in the supply closet so Irina wouldn’t know she was taking a personal call, a total no-no for spa employees.

“It was on the tutor list with your name. I’m sorry to bother you. You’re busy, yes?”

“Well, yes, I’m at work.”

“What about lunch? Can you meet me for lunch?”

“I… I don’t know.” Irina gave her fifteen minutes to eat a sandwich unless the place was really busy, then she worked straight through until the spa closed. “Is it something that can’t wait until school on Monday?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he asked her, “What kind of a job doesn’t let you have time for lunch? In Italy it would be a crime. Everything closes at noon. We eat, we talk, we rest. Then we go back to work.”

“But we’re not in Italy,” she said. “Unfortunately.”

“I will come there. I will bring the lunch. It’s the least I can do for you who helps me so much.”

“Here? No. Okay, I’ll meet you in the mall at the tables in front of the Oakton Grocery. Do you know where that is?”

“I will find it. I will be there at twelve.”

Cindy nodded and hung up just as Irina was banging on the closet door, demanding to know what Cindy was doing in there. Cindy left feeling guilty about leaving the customer whose feet were still soaking in a cocoa bath, her skin turning brown and wrinkled as she dozed in her massage chair. Never mind; her skin would ultimately be soft as a baby’s.

Marco was pacing back and forth in front of the upscale grocery where he’d just purchased two prosciutto and Fontina cheese sandwiches and two bottles of San Pellegrino water. He hoped Cindy wouldn’t be in trouble for taking time from her job, but really what kind of a country was this that didn’t give workers time to eat a proper meal at noon?

When he saw her she was walking quickly toward him, her copper-colored hair shining in the autumn sunlight. She was different from any other girl he’d ever met. She was hardworking, both at school and at her job. She was shy and she didn’t seem to have any idea how attractive she was, with her beautiful cheekbones like Sophia Loren’s and a wide mouth that curved up when she was amused. He liked to make her smile. He’d like to make her laugh too. Of course her clothes were terrible. She didn’t seem to know or care. That was refreshing.

He restrained himself from kissing her on both cheeks as he would have when meeting a friend in Italy. He just motioned for her to sit down and opened the plastic tray with the sandwiches.

She took a bite of her sandwich. “This is delicious,” she said.

“I’m glad you like it. I had to come and apologize,” he said.

Her eyes widened.

“For last night. I invited you to come along in the car, then I left you behind.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t leave me, I left myself.” “No, it was my fault. When I returned to the dance, you were gone. I didn’t have a chance to dance with you.”

“It’s just as well. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“But I am. I could have taught you.”

“How was it? I hope the headmaster didn’t have to stop the dance again.”

“I’m not sure. I left too. It seemed like there was no reason to stay any longer.” He’d been anxious to make things right with Cindy. When she was gone, he had looked around and hadn’t seen anyone he wanted to talk to or dance with. The room had been full of loud and immature teenagers, but it might as well have been empty.

He reached for her hand across the table. “Thank you for meeting me here today.”

“Thank you for the lunch.” She looked around. “Is this what it’s like eating slowly outside in Italy?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling at her. “But at my house, we’d be having three courses. Next time I’ll try to manage that.” He didn’t know until he said it that there would be a next time. He didn’t realize how pleasant it was to share a lunch with his tutor. He knew she was different from other girls,
piacevole,
patient and smart. He didn’t know how much he liked her until that moment.

He walked her back to the salon where she worked, then he went to Manderley for soccer practice. While he was changing into his soccer shoes he wondered what it would be like to have an American girlfriend. It probably wasn’t a good idea even though it wouldn’t be bad for his English. It would only be short-term. He had no idea where he’d be next year. Probably back in Italy, unless his grades, his soccer skill and his English were good enough to get him into an American university. A girlfriend, even one as intriguing as Cindy, would just be a distraction now. But he was tempted. And Marco wasn’t used to resisting temptation.

twenty-three

On Monday morning Cindy was in the twins’ car and she was once again a captive audience, listening to them rant about their college application essays.

“Cindy, you’re a good writer. You can write them for us.” “That would be cheating,” Cindy said primly from her usual seat behind them in the jeep.

“Flash!” Lauren said to Brie. “That’s cheating. Did you hear that, Brie?”
“Look, smart-ass, you owe us something,” Lauren said. “For what?” Cindy asked.
For letting her sleep in a closet under the stairs? For not kicking her out of the house and sending her to a foster home? For working at the spa all summer while they were at Cheer Camp?

“For everything we’ve done for you. Driving you to school, for one thing. Giving you the clothes off our backs, for another. For letting you go to our school. You’re probably wondering why anyone’s nice to you at all, being such a geek. Here’s why. Because they think you’ll put in a good word for them with us. As if.”

“I’m not writing the essays for you,” Cindy said with a newfound determination. “But I’ll look at them and make suggestions if you want.”

“Look at them?” Brie asked. “There’s nothing to look at. Just blank pages. How’re we supposed to know what to write?”

“Write about what’s important to you.”
Boys, booze, clothes, yourselves.
“What makes you special, different from everyone else.”

“Like cheerleading,” Lauren said.

“That’s good,” Cindy said. “Write about how dangerous it is, how challenging. Explain why you do it instead of something else.”
Something worthwhile like helping refugees in Darfur or taking care of sick children in Romania.

“But we both can’t write the same essay,” Lauren said, her pouty lips turned down.

“That’s a problem,” Cindy said trying to hide a smile.

“Please?” Brie said. “You’re so good at it. Just write two little essays about cheerleading for us?”

Cindy sighed. When was the last time either one of them had said the word
please
? She was too tired to argue anymore. And what good would it do?

“Okay,” she said. But she was mad at herself for giving in. This was it. The last time she’d let them push her around.

At least she gave them each an assignment to write a rough draft of their essay. They grumbled, and she realized even that was asking too much of them and they probably wouldn’t bother.
The person she really wanted to help had sent her a note canceling his session with her. Since their lunch Saturday she had been looking forward to seeing him with breathless anticipation.
Ciao, bella
, he’d written in a note he handed her on Monday. Being called beautiful in Italian gave her a funny little feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Scusi, he went on
, but I am how to say
purtroppo
.
^?
Not able to see you for the tutoring next Friday became of the soccer game which requires me. Coach tells me he likes the way I play. “Ruthless, aggressive and without mercy,” he says. I looked up these words in my Italian dictionary and I guess he’s right. That’s how we win in soccer or poker too. Do you agree? You know if l am a rebel, but am I really like this? Tu amico fedele, Marco.

Never having seen Marco play soccer or poker, Cindy had no idea if he was ruthless or without mercy when playing. Trying to hide her disappointment, she then changed her schedule to work in the dean’s office Friday after school, though her friends at Castle wanted her to do something with them. Her stepmother also demanded that she work for her, but Cindy put her off. And there was that soccer game. Victoria wanted Cindy to go with her. But Marco hadn’t even suggested that she go to it. Was that because he didn’t think the game was important or thought that she wasn’t important?

Yes, he’d bought her lunch, but that wasn’t a date. It was just because he felt guilty for leaving her out after the dance. She told herself a sandwich was just a sandwich, as much as she wished it was more than that.

twenty-four

On Friday afternoon Cindy was putting in her work-study hours. The school offices were empty since the staff members had either gone home or were at the soccer game. There was a warm breeze wafting through the quiet office on the first floor of the mansion. Cindy tried to imagine what life was like when Gertrude Manderley had lived there, entertaining her feminist bluestocking friends, smoking cigars and discussing the latest literary or political figures. Her cell phone rang.

“Cindy,” Lizzie said. “We’re going to the beach today. I’ll come by your rich snob school to pick you up.”

“I can’t. I have to work in the office.”

“Work? Nobody works after school on a Friday.”

“I know, but I owe them certain hours and since my tutoring session got canceled…”

“Is it that cute Toby you’re tutoring?”

“He’s not that cute and I’m not tutoring him. No, it’s someone else.” It wasn’t that long ago that Cindy used to tell her BFF everything. Now she was keeping Marco a secret. Why? Because she was afraid they’d tell her she was a hopeless dreamer? She already knew that. “And then there’s a soccer game I might go to. It’s the first home game of the season.”

“Soccer? You’ve never been interested in organized sports before.”

If she wanted to keep Marco a secret, Toby might make a good decoy. It was about time he was good for something.

“Well, Toby might be there.” It wasn’t a lie. He probably would be there. As long as he was somewhere across the field, she could point to him.
That’s Toby,
she’d say. And Lizzie would understand. As long as he didn’t come up close and she could see what he was really like.

“I get it,” Lizzie said. “Come with us for once. You never have time for us anymore. New school, new friends, new boyfriend. What about us?”

“I’m sorry, but… I wish I could go but I can’t,” Cindy said. Why go on about the increased workload at this school, the new point system, her stepmother’s spa and work-study. It wouldn’t do any good. Lizzie just didn’t understand.

“You can if you want to. I’m going home to get Buzz. He loves to run on the beach.”

“See, you’ve got a dog. And friends. You don’t need me.”

“Yeah, but you need us. See you in a while.”

“No, wait, Liz, I can’t go with you.” But she’d hung up. Cindy gave a frustrated sigh. Her friends just didn’t understand how quickly her free time was sucked up.

First, none of them was an orphan. Second, not one of them was here at Manderley where there were high expectations and a heavy homework load and new rules every day. And third, they didn’t tutor or have a demanding stepmother who owned a spa. Also, she didn’t want her old friends to come to the soccer game. They might guess she had a hopeless crush on Marco. Which was why she was going to use Toby if she had to.

Also, Lizzie and the BFF would instantly see how different life was on the other side of town and they’d wonder out loud how she could stand it. They’d either be envious or they’d feel sorry for her.

How was she going to reconcile her two worlds? Wasn’t it better not to even try? She was at Manderley now and there was no going back to her old life.

She tried to call Lizzie back but she didn’t answer. Cindy left her a message.

“Liz, I really can’t go anywhere today. After I work here I have to go to the spa and fold towels or Irina will hit the roof. Thanks for asking me. You know how I love the beach, but maybe some other day?”

Cindy didn’t know what day that would be. She felt terrible lying to her best friend, but wasn’t lying better than hurting someone’s feelings?

twenty-five

Cindy went back to her filing until she heard the sharp sound of a woman’s voice in the hall speaking a foreign language. After having listened in secret to several Italian language tapes, Cindy knew enough to almost understand a few words. Especially when those words were “Marco Valenti.”

The next thing she knew a tiny old woman dressed in a long black dress and black shoes with her hair pulled back from her small, wrinkled face entered the office and pounded her cane on the polished floorboards. “Marco Valenti,” she said loudly.
“Desidero vedere il mio nipote!”

Cindy dropped a folder and the papers inside it scattered.
She was so stunned she just stood and stared at her. The woman stared back and repeated the sentence more loudly this time. Her dark eyes glittered. Then she waved her cane in the air. She was obviously frustrated, but who was she and what did she want? She wanted Marco, of course.

There was only one person who knew for sure. One person who could understand her. And he was playing in a crucial soccer match today. At least that’s what the student newspaper said.

Cindy smiled encouragingly and pointed to a chair. The old woman shook her head. Cindy reached for her pocket Italian dictionary in her backpack and quickly thumbed through it.

Then she spoke clearly and slowly with what must have been a horrible accent,
“Ciao. State cercando il vostro nipote?”
Hello. Are you looking for your grandson?

“
Si,
” the woman said, then burst into a long tirade as if Cindy could understand her.

Cindy nodded. Then she grabbed her backpack and her clarinet, took the old lady’s arm and led her down the steps and across the grass toward the field. All the while Marco’s grandmother never stopped talking. Now where had she come from out of the blue? Sometimes she appeared to ask Cindy a question, which Cindy didn’t understand, of course. Cindy could only continue to smile until her face hurt. She hoped the grandmother didn’t think she was being rude by not talking. Had that one sentence convinced her that Cindy actually spoke and understood Italian?

The soccer field was on the other side of campus but the cheers and shouts from the students carried across the green lawns. Cindy felt her heart rate speed up. Soccer must be exciting after all. Or was it Marco who made it exciting? She had a feeling he could make checkers exciting.

She was surprised at how fast the old lady walked, with her cane in one hand, a handbag over one arm and her other hand on Cindy’s arm. As if she knew where they were going and why. It was as if she didn’t want to miss a minute of her grandson’s performance. Cindy understood that.

The field was clear of players, but Cindy saw her sisters performing their gymnastics in front of the stands with their team. As they jumped and twisted to the music, high-kicking and showing off their curvy streamlined bodies, she had to admit it took some talent and a lot of energy. But Marco’s grandmother’s eyes widened. She pointed at them and shook her head, her forehead creased in a frown.

“
Prostitute! Difettosi delle ragazzi,
” she said. Good thing she didn’t know those girls were semi-related to her.

Cindy found a space in the front row of the bleachers for Marco’s grandmother and herself and they sat down quickly without her scanning the stands to see if she recognized anyone she knew. If his grandmother attracted curious glances for even a moment, Cindy didn’t want to know about it. Anyway, when the game resumed, everyone’s attention went back to the players who were racing up and down the field.

Even Cindy, who’d never seen a soccer game before, caught the fever. She saw instantly that Marco was the star. He kicked the ball down the field, making his way steadily through a crowd of players who were trying with no success to stop him and take his ball away. He looked as if he’d hardly broken a sweat. Aggressive? Definitely. Ruthless? Not that she could tell.

The home crowd roared their approval as he kicked a goal. They copied the Europeans and shouted “goooooal.” There was scarcely a break before the action began once again. And once again it was Marco who got the ball and began another trip to the goal posts. He made it look so effortless. Maybe it was.

His grandmother saw him before he saw her. The old lady dropped her cane, stood without help and shouted,
“Marco, mi caro nipote piccolo!”

How Marco ever heard his grandmother’s voice with all the shouting going on, Cindy never knew. It was clear, however, that he did hear her. He’d just bounced the ball off his head to a team member when he glanced over at the stand where they were sitting, saw them, and looked as startled as if he’d been struck by lightning. Cindy wasn’t sure if it was just surprise or dismay. Whatever it was, he lost his concentration and his sense of direction. Not only that, he almost lost the ball to the other team who, sensing his distraction, rushed him.

Marco’s grandmother got to her feet and started walking toward the field. Cindy jumped to her feet and went after her. For a woman her age, she had surprising speed. Maybe that’s where Marco got it.

Cindy wondered if she’d ever seen a game before. Didn’t she know she couldn’t get any closer? Apparently not, because the old woman was one step from walking right onto the field when Cindy caught her and put one restraining hand on her frail shoulder.

Cindy never saw the ball come at her. She did hear the roar of the crowd. And she felt the vibrations in the air. The next thing she knew she’d been hit on the side of the head with a loud
smack
that sent her sprawling onto the soft ground, and everything went black.