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good for you,” she said finally. “It looks like you have been picked at by the birds.”
    My desire for flight suddenly million-troupled. “Birds. Ha-ha. I was just trying out something new. Well, it looks like I have to—”
    “I suggest you do not try this new thing out,” she said. “Yes, I tell you as girlfriend to girlfriend, if I were you I would go to your room and fix it before your surprise tonight.”
    If I’d still had any lingering thoughts about who Arabella was or if she was okay—which I did NOT—this reminder of Things to Come would have erased them. “How do you know about my surprise?”
    She snorted. “My job is knowing. Also, this morning afteryou go, the Sherri! came to arrange for the airport transfers. You are going to have the colossal fun, no?”
    And was clearly about to say a lot more when her phone started ringing. Muttering, “I bet this is another looking for ice,” she answered it, and I dashed to the elevator.
    As it went up, I started a to-do list in my mind:
     
    Get to room without being seen by Dadzilla.
     
    Do not do anything to antagonize-slash-upset
Dadzilla.
     
    Avoid all encounters with the insane (except Dadzilla).
     
    Practice Surprised-n-Grateful expressions for when Dadzilla announces trip.
     
    Pack clothes and presents for pals—(chocolate shaped like a salami for Roxy; pink silk Fortuny scarf and Italian hand sanitizer for Polly; Dylan Dog comic for Tom; light-up gondola for Jack).
     
    Apply pore-shrinking mask.
     
    Go to San Francisco.
     
    ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡KISSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
     
    Just thinking about getting to see my tiny pals and Jack made me all giddy, and by the time I reached my room (crossing off the first item! Only six things between me and KISSING) I was refilled with all the dolce vita I’d had before my high-speed-chase plus aerial-assault experiences.
    Of all the things I loved about the Grissini Palace, the one I loved the very most was my room. Not only did it have an ornate old-fashioned key and a door that locked—which, although I suspected he had a secret key of his own, still placed at least some barrier between Lo Zilla and myself—it was also the most beautiful room I’d ever seen anywhere. My first thought every time I walked in was that Polly would break up with Tom to date my room if she ever laid eyes on it.
    It was like a room for a princess, with two beds, both covered with a rose silk spread and a striped pink-and-white silk canopy that attached to a gold crown above each one; a white marble floor with tiny pieces of pink pearl inlaid in a swirly border around the edge; a silk carpet embroidered with bows; a tiny marble balcony; and walls painted to look like pale-green-and-cream-colored marble, except in two places, where there were tiny little dancing dogs chasing butterflies.
    For. Real.
    The only bad part of my room was that the balcony was on the back side of the hotel, overlooking a little side canalwhere gondolas were kept overnight and where, on weekends, Venetian teens came to make out. In fact, as I looked down now, even though it was broad daylight, a couple paused to kiss and run their fingers through each other’s hair. Right under my balcony. Taunting me.
    That is the kind of city Venice is. Although I was deprived of love, love was not deprived of my company. I’m sure it was there all week long, but on the weekends it really made itself felt. Which was why, although it meant at least a day and a half off from school, I usually sort of dreaded them. Because being alone in Venice, which every year is voted “most romantic city in the world,” is bad. But being here with MAKING-OUT TEENS UNDER YOUR WINDOW when your boyfriend and his incredibly kissable lips are infinity miles away, possibly meeting a girl who hiked Mt. Everest barefoot and has a sexy scar on her thigh from doing battle with a mammoth that she’d love to show him—that is just cruel.
    This afternoon, though, when I