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secure d in a ponytail.
    “I give up .” I mouthed through the window.
     
                  An hour and three wrong metro stops later, I finally made it to the apartment door. I walked in expecting to see Emilia, but was met instead by a short brunette with the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen. She was rather plump, but wore fashionable clothes, making her look excellent. I’ve never understood people who can wear decorative scarves year round, but this girl wore hers like a champ. It was deep blue and matched both her eyes and her shirt. I was impressed by her outfit planning capacity. Her eyes widened in surprise, larger than I’d thought possible.
                  “Oh, hi!” She giggled. “I’m Kimberly, you can call me Kimmy, call me anything! So glad you’re here!”
                  “Thanks!” I muttered through a suffocating embrace. She seemed a little fake, but nice enough. After some brief small talk, I learned she was from Boston, studying Italian and fashion and dating an Italian. She asked if I’d accompany her to the club that evening.
    “Does your boyfriend have friends?” I asked.
    She winked. “Absolutely. ”
    Chapter Six
     
                  I dropped my bags on the bed and waved to Maggie who was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The wrapper from a chocolate bar littered her bed near the pillow. I raised my eyebrows in approval. At least she’s human.
    Kimberly disappeared into the other room, giggling into the phone. I could only hope she was telling her Italian boyfriend to bring cute friends. I envied the way Kimberly interspersed her English dialogue with Italian phrases. I hoped I’d be able to talk like her by the end of the semester.
                  Not sure what to do with myself until dinner, I decided to look for a phone shop. I grabbed my purse and changed into tennis shoes, leaving a note on the counter for Kimberly. As I stepped outside, I zipped my sweatshirt up to the neck. The bright sunshine was deceptive from inside my cozy apartment. My mind wandered as I let the winding street guide me in its natural direction. I stopped often, admiring the handiwork of the display windows.
                  Hardware stores were palaces filled with pots, pans and kitchen supplies. Bread shops selling Focaccia dotted the streets, the olives, onions and cheeses crafting an enticing smell in the entryways. I passed a store that sold only stationary. Another advertised only ties. I stopped at a street vendor, examining a pair of socks etched with the word Italia. I handed over a few Euros and pocketed the socks; my mom would get a kick out of these.
                  I perused the jewelry vendor next door, my nose pulling me a few steps further to a shop labeled Pane e Vita , Bread and Life. I stared at the shiny bread, slick with fresh olive oil. I went to war with myself.
    You don’t need it. I took one grudging step away, though I couldn’t remove my eyes from racks of pizzas and breads.
    How often are you in Italy? What’re a few extra calories.
                  I pushed open the door and a bell tinkled, signaling my arrival. I approached the counter and ordered, handing over a few Euros in exchange for the precious bread.
                  “Vuoi un saccheto?” the lady behind the counter asked.
                  “Um…” I shook my head. I think she asked if I wanted a bag, in which case the answer was, no, I would rather get the delicious food into my mouth as quickly as possible. I wiped a bit of imaginary drool from the corner of my lips.
                  “Delicioso.” I smiled, sinking my teeth into the cloud-like substance. Totally worth it.
                  I turned, chomping on a huge bite. I paused when I saw familiar faces sitting in the corner.
                  “Andrew,” I gurgled around my