Cindy and the Prom King (9 page)

twenty-six

When Cindy came to, she was lying on her back under a tree. Her head was pounding and when she opened her eyes in little slits, everything was bright and blurry. She thought she saw a whole group of slightly familiar faces. If they hadn’t looked so concerned and spoken in such hushed voices, she would have thought she’d died and gone to heaven. If so, they spoke Italian in heaven. Why not?

“Cio e tutto il mio difetto. Nonna, che cosa state facendo qui?”

“Marco, sono venuto vederti. Non avete risposto mai alia mia lettera.”

“Is she going to be okay?” someone asked in English.

“Who is she?”

“Did anyone call nine-one-one?”

Cindy’s eyes widened. 911? They couldn’t do that. An ambulance would come. She’d be taken off on a stretcher. Sirens would sound. It would be so embarrassing. This was bad enough. Cindy forced herself to sit up.

“I’m fine,” she said weakly. “I just got bumped on the head.”

“It was my fault,” Marco said.

So it really was him, his sweaty face looking solemn and concerned as he leaned forward and looked deep into her eyes. She felt a tremor hit her whole body. Good thing she was already on the ground, or she would have fallen.

“She’s in shock. Somebody get a jacket.”

Before anyone could offer a jacket, Marco’s grandmother had produced a warm black shawl from her handbag and wrapped it around Cindy’s shoulders.

“Really, I’m okay,” Cindy said.

“She’s okay,” Marco said. “Everybody go back to the game. Give her some air. I’m taking her home.”

Voices rose in protest.

“But, Marco, we need you.”

“Marco, we’ll lose without you.”

He looked at his watch. “Only two minutes left. You can play without me.” His voice was firm. The star had spoken.

While Cindy was waiting for Marco to bring his car to the field, she knew she really wasn’t okay. She was delirious. Also she must be hallucinating. The aggressive, play-without-mercy Marco Valenti was taking her home before the game was over? She could hear the cheers echoing in the crisp fall air. Was the two minutes up? Had they won? She hoped so.

She could imagine her sisters leaping in the air, their hair standing on end, or doing cartwheels, walkovers and back tucks while they celebrated another victory. Maybe she’d shortchanged them. Maybe they had more skill than she’d given them credit for. She sat there, wrapped in a black shawl, her back against an old tree with Marco’s grandmother standing next to her, waving people away like some ancient chaperone from another era and muttering in Italian.

“Cindy.” Cindy turned her head slowly to see Lizzie with her dog on a leash. “I’m glad I found you. I thought you had to work. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I got hit with a ball, that’s all.”

“Are you ready? Let’s go.”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. I feel a little funny.”

Lizzie sat down next to Cindy and hugged her knees to her chest. “You look funny. What are you gonna do? Do you want me to take you home?”

“Somebody already volunteered. You go on to the beach. I’ll be fine.”

Lizzie glanced up at the strange little figure standing there dressed in black. “Who’s that?” she whispered.

“She’s someone’s grandmother,” Cindy said.

“Yeah, I guessed that. But whose? And what’s she doing here?”

“I… uh … I’ll explain later. And you don’t have to whisper. She doesn’t speak English.”

“I thought you had to work.”

“I did.” Cindy sighed. “It’s a long story and my head hurts.”

Just then Marco pulled up in his Alfa Romeo and Cindy got Liz to help her stand.

“Who’s that?” Lizzie said. “Is that Toby?”

“No, but I want you to meet him. Toby, I mean. Some other time.” It was so ridiculous. Marco being mistaken for Toby. “That’s the soccer player who kicked the ball at me. He feels guilty so he thinks he has to take me home.”

“Wow. He’s just…” Lizzie trailed off. There weren’t words enough to describe Marco. Not in English anyway.

“I know.”

She and Lizzie walked slowly toward the car, with Marco’s grandmother following closely behind them, cane in hand.

When Marco opened the door for her, Cindy tried to tell him he didn’t have to do this, but he insisted. He helped Cindy into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. He brushed against her breast with his arm and she thought she was having a relapse. Her heart sped up, her skin was covered with goose bumps.

Then Marco lifted his grandmother into the tiny rumble seat behind her. Fortunately she was very small. Small but talkative. She kept up a steady stream in Italian while Marco answered her only briefly as he pulled away from the field where he should be kicking goals.

The last thing Cindy saw was Lizzie standing in the grass staring at the car, looking as stunned as if she’d been dropped into an alternate universe. Cindy knew how she felt. Manderley was a strange place. Lizzie might think being whisked off in a sports car by a dashing foreigner happened to her best friend every day.

She told herself it was no big deal riding with Marco in his car. The guy who hit her was giving her a ride home. It was as simple as that. And yet Lizzie was acting like she was Cinderella riding off in the prince’s coach to the castle. Nothing could be further from the truth. Could it?

twenty-seven

“My grandmother thinks you look too thin,” Marco explained after his grandmother had leaned forward to deliver a long speech into his ear. They were driving down El Camino with the wind blowing Cindy’s hair. She’d never been in a European sports car before, and she’d probably never be in one again, especially with the owner’s grandmother squeezed in the back seat, such as it was.

She wished she could enjoy it more, but her head hurt and she was confused. She wasn’t sure if she was confused because of her injury or if any normal girl be confused under these circumstances.

Where had his grandmother come from? If he was a prince, was she the queen? Perhaps the Queen Grandmother, if there was such a title? If so, wasn’t she more accustomed to riding in a coach than in the backseat of a small car? Why had she come? Had he expected her at the game? From the look on his face, she had to think no.

“I can’t help it, I’ve always been thin,” Cindy said.

“You look fine to me, but you know how grandmothers are.”

“Not really,” Cindy murmured. What wouldn’t she give for an overly solicitous grandmother.

“She’s worried about you. She wants to make you some pasta with marinara sauce.”

“That’s very kind, but…”

“Kind? No one’s ever called her kind before,” Marco said with a swift glance in the rearview mirror. “Strong, demanding, interfering, difficult. But then you probably have someone like that in your family. What about your grandmother?”

“I… I never knew her. My parents are both dead.”

He looked at her, his eyes warm and soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry. But who takes care of you?”

Cindy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She couldn’t say no one, or Marco would feel sorry for her. He might even tell his grandmother.

“My stepmother. So I’m not alone. I’m fine. Really.”

Marco’s grandmother stuck her head between them and seemed to be asking a lot of questions. Marco explained that she wanted to know what they were talking about.

“She hates to be left out,” he said. “Which is why she’s here. I mean here in America. She was worried about me, so she flew here from Italy by herself a few days ago. First time in an airplane. First time out of Italy. First time out of her town, actually.”

“She must really care about you,” Cindy said softly. What must it be like to have a grandmother like that?

“I guess she does. I just wish she hadn’t come to the game. I lost my concentration, which is why I kicked the ball in the wrong direction, right at you. Poor little thing.” Marco reached over to smooth Cindy’s hair.

His touch was so gentle she felt weak all over. Good thing she was strapped into her seat or she would have collapsed for the second time that day. No one had called her little since she was three years old. No one had ever made her feel so cared for in a long, long time. Marco had walked away before the end of an important match to take her home, missing a chance to be hoisted off the field to rousing cheers. He was not like any guy she’d ever known.

“I didn’t expect to see my
nonna
here. She says she took a taxi. How she found a taxi in the suburb where I live is a mystery. But my grandmother always finds a way to do what she wants. She’s called the
sporganza,
the boss of the family.”

“We’d say the matriarch,” Cindy said. “You’re lucky she cares so much.” What wouldn’t she give to have someone, anyone in her life who cared that much about her.

Marco gave her a rueful smile. “Lucky? I never thought of it that way.” Then he turned to talk to his grandmother in rapid Italian while he drove skillfully with one hand on the steering wheel. Cindy only interrupted to give directions to her house.

When he pulled up in front of the house, Cindy reached for the door, and Marco grabbed her backpack and her clarinet and came around to open the door for her. She said
“Arrivederci”
to his grandmother, then Marco carried her things up to the front door.

“Will you be all right?” he asked as Cindy took her house keys out of her backpack.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. She would be fine if her knees weren’t so weak and if her hands would stop shaking enough to get the key in the lock. Something was wrong with her. Was it her head or was it her heart?

“I’m sorry about the game. I hope they didn’t lose at the last minute because of your not being there.”

“Don’t worry. They can’t lose. The other team was terrible. Besides, it’s just a game.”

“Like poker?”

“Like poker.” He paused. “Do you play?”

“No. My father did, but it was just for fun, not for money.”

“For fun,” he said thoughtfully. “For me it has always been about the money. Cindy, I have something to ask you ..

Her heart stuttered, she felt like she might have a relapse. Then his grandmother leaned on the car horn.

He shook his head and gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.
Ciao, bella.”

twenty-eight

Alone in the house, enjoying the rare solitude, Cindy took two aspirin for her headache and crawled into bed with her British Literature book and tried to read a short story about an Italian man who was learning how to live. Why couldn’t the teacher have chosen something else? Cindy had enough trouble thinking about something besides a certain other Italian and trying to figure out how to live herself.

When her sisters came home, their conversation wafted in from their bedroom.

“Too bad Marco had to leave. We could have lost at the last minute,” Brie said.

“Nobody knows who it was that got hit,” Lauren said. “Some klutz who didn’t know enough to get out of the way. Bet she didn’t even really get hurt. I mean, nobody takes chances like we do. We put ourselves in danger with every stunt and we don’t even get a trainer.” Cindy heard a large thump as if Brie had kicked her dresser in frustration.

“It’s not easy to cheer when you have a lame cheer team like ours. We do all the work, and they stand around shaking their pom-poms thinking they’re so great.”

“Especially Lynette, she’s the worst.”

“What about Pam?”

“Second to the worst. Can hardly lift her fat leg.”

“I swear, if we don’t get elected team captains ..Cindy could just see Lauren’s lips forming her usual pout.

“We will. We have to. We’re seniors. Who else could do it? Not Sandy; she’s like borderline ugly.” Brie’s whiny voice sounded louder than ever.

“Nobody appreciates us, that’s the problem.”

“We spend more hours practicing on our own than the team does. Than any team does. Because cheering season never ends,” Brie said. “Not for us.”

“I’m sick of it. The school doesn’t appreciate us. We have no trainer, no mats and a bunch of losers to work with. We practice in the corner of the gym or in the hallway.”

“It’s not fair.”

Cindy heard the phone ring, and a moment later Brie banged on her door.

“It’s for you, nerd girl,” she said, handing Cindy the phone.

“Hello, Cindy, how are you feeling now?” Marco asked. “Fine, just fine,” she said, closing the door, getting back into bed and pulling a blanket over her head so her sisters couldn’t hear. She had the creepy feeling that Brie was standing at her door listening.

“My
nonna
is making you a minestrone soup which I will bring you on Monday.”

“That’s very … um … nice.” She knew Marco didn’t believe his grandmother was kind, but she didn’t know what else to say. She was making soup for Cindy, a stranger. She blinked back a tear.

“Will you be at school on Monday?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, trying to sound better than she felt. “I’ll be at work tomorrow. I have a job too.”

“I know you do. But again tomorrow? You Americans are so busy. Don’t you ever want to just, how to say, kick something and relax, listen to music or lay in the sun by the pool?”

“You mean kick back? Yes, of course, but not now. I have to get good grades to get into a good college. I have to make money to pay for my education. Besides, I like being busy.”

“I see. And after this good college, then what?”

“Then what? I don’t know. A job. A real job where the boss is not my stepmother.”

“Maybe you’ll be the boss someday. You’ll be good at it. You’ll be a fair boss, very …
giusto.”

“You think so? I hope so.” How he knew she’d be a fair boss, she had no idea. But Marco had a way of making her feel good about herself.

“I know. Now maybe you can hear in the distance, my
nonna
is calling me. She wants to take care of me. She can’t understand I’m too old for that. It’s unfortunately just like being home in Italy.”

She couldn’t understand why there was a note of sadness in his voice. It couldn’t be because he missed home. He had his grandmother right there. Right now she’d give anything to have a grandmother hovering over her, making soup and taking care of her. Unfortunately she only had a stepmother, with an emphasis on the
step
.
“Who was that?” Brie yelled the minute Cindy hung up. “No one,” Cindy said.

“Because it sounded like Marco the Italian exchange student.”

“Really?”

“Except why would he be calling you, loser?”

Cindy shrugged, even though Brie couldn’t see her through the closed door. Why give her the satisfaction of an answer? “Was it a wrong number?” Brie said.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Cindy said.