Read Flirting in Italian for Free Online

jeans
much
tighter than I’m used to in England. I must say, I definitely like it. I gawk at one boy, about my age, in a really skinny pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt tucked into them; you can see his whole body, tall and lean, with a nice round bum, which happens to be pretty much my ideal boy’s figure. Unfortunately, when he swivels, checking out the giggling girls, I see his face, and that ruins it. Not only is he not very handsome,but he’s shaved his facial hair into a weird line that runs like a chinstrap around his jaw.
    I quickly avert my gaze and realize that not only are the two girls heading straight for us, they’re the same two I saw at the airport. The ones with the pillows. Super-smart, super-confident. Who were laughing at me and Mum at Heathrow.
    They’re
the two other girls on the course. Oh,
brilliant
.
    “It’s, like,
wobbling
like
Jell-O
!” trills the blonde, laughing as if this is the funniest joke in the world.
    “Use your core strength,” the black girl says dryly. “Like Natalie says in Pilates.”
    “Oh, jeez, I
so
hope they don’t have Pilates in Italy!” the blonde says. “I always think I’m going to fall off the ball. It’s so
unstable
.”
    “That’s kinda the
point
, Paige,” the other girl says even more dryly.
    “Oh! Yay! Villa Barbiano!” Paige exclaims, pointing at the sign that Catia is holding up. “That’s us!”
    They come to a halt in front of our little group. I see that their trolleys are heaped high with luggage; they must have brought two suitcases each, plus their carry-ons. Their pillows are stuffed into the wire baskets at the front, bulging out like big white airbags.
    “Did you think they didn’t have pillows in Italy?” Kelly asks bluntly, which makes me snort.
    Paige tosses back her blond locks.
    “American pillows are the best,” she says. “My mom says so.”
    Catia Cerboni claps her hands.
    “
Allora
,” she says, “you are all here! Good! Welcome to Italy and your course. I am Catia Cerboni.” She sweeps her hand in a big circle in the air, as if she’s blessing us. “You will all introduce yourselves as we go to the car,” she says, turning on her heel and shooting out the automatic glass doors, clearly in a hurry to make it out of the car park before she has to pay for that extra hour.
    “I’m Violet,” I say as we follow Catia out into the blinding sunshine, flicking my sunglasses down from the crown of my head. “And that’s Kelly.”
    I nod at poor Kelly, who’s busy struggling with her cases once more.
    “I’m Kendra,” says the black girl. “And that’s Paige.” She nods at her taller, whiter, bouncier companion.
    “Oh, we saw you at Heathrow!” Paige exclaims to me. “Was that your mom? She was, like, freaking out! You must have been like,
Mom, stop embarrassing me!
I’d be, like,
mortified
if my mom made a scene like that! It was like a movie or something—I thought she was going to yell
‘Don’t take my baby!’
 ” She wrinkles her forehead. “I don’t remember where I saw that.”
    “Probably a Lifetime movie,” Kendra says in what sounds like a sarcastic tone.
    “Probably! I
love
Lifetime movies,” Paige says happily.
    I fall back to keep pace with Kelly, so cross with Paige that I’m literally biting my tongue to avoid snapping at her; I don’t want a feud to start before we’re even in the car. Kelly’s got a good hold on her case now, and is bumpingit along, though it’s making an awful scraping sound and I doubt she’ll be able to use it again.
    “Right old natural blonde, that one,” Kelly says, nodding at Paige. “Not much between the ears.”
    I know she means that to console me, and I warm to her. We’re walking along a path between banks of green grass on which rounded, odd-looking bronze statues are set at intervals. Wide banners flap in the breeze, proclaiming the dates for the Puccini Festival at Torre del Lago, bright colors against the blue sky. There’s even an