Babi tore the pastry apart with her hands. “Papà?”
Claudio shook his head.
“Dani?”
“No, thanks.” Maybe she’d been hoping that the package contained some news about “their Vespa.”
“So much the better, I’ll eat it all myself. You have no idea what you’re missing, you guys…”
Pallina really was a sweetheart. She knew how to win your forgiveness. Now all she needed to do was find Babi’s Vespa for her by no later than eight o’clock.
Chapter 8
In front of the school, the girls were chatting cheerfully, waiting for the bell to ring. Babi and Daniela got out of the car and said goodbye to their father. The Mercedes moved off into the traffic around Piazza Euclide. A group of girls immediately surged in Babi and Daniela’s direction.
“Babi, is it really true that last night you were at the Greenhouse?”
“Is it true that you had to escape from the city traffic cops on a motorbike?”
“Is it true that traffic cop grabbed you by the hair and then Step knocked him down and you both got away on his motorcycle?”
Daniela listened in astonishment. So the loss of the Vespa hadn’t been a completely pointless sacrifice. This was true glory.
But Babi couldn’t believe her ears. How had they already managed to find out everything? Not actually everything. The story about the manure, luckily, still seemed to be a secret.
The sound of the bell saved her. As she was climbing the steps, she gave vague answers to some of the questions from her least obnoxious friends. Well, it was done. That day, she was a celebrity.
Daniela waved a fond goodbye. “Ciao, Babi. See you at recess!” Incredible. In all the years they’d been going to school together, she’d never uttered those words
She watched Daniela walk away, surrounded by all her friends. They were all walking around her, asking a thousand questions. She, too, was savoring this moment of extreme notoriety. After all, it was only fair. She’d had to sacrifice her Supergas. Babi just hoped that Daniela said nothing about the manure.
The first period was ancient Greek, and Signora Giacci was testing. She was about to put an end to the last quarter before the final exams of high school. Once the list of subjects was posted, there would be no more pop exams. Babi checked the little checkmarks on the list she kept in her notebook. There were just three missing to complete the set of exams. These would be the “lucky girls.” Babi read the names. Once again, Silvia Festa. Poor thing.
Babi called to her as the students entered the schoolroom.
Silvia heard her. “What is it?”
“Listen, Signora Giacci is going to test you in Greek today.”
“I know.” Silvia gave her a quick smile. “I’m reviewing.”
Babi smiled at her. For all the good it was likely to do her. Because, in cold hard fact, only a miracle could save her now.
“Ciao, Babi!”
“Pallina! How are you today?”
Pallina set her book bag down on Babi’s desk. “Fine, but with a quart of blood less than I started the day with!” Pallina rolled up the light blue blouse of her uniform, displaying her pale white arm. “Look here!” She pointed to a bandage that was ever so slightly stained blood red at the center. “That’s nothing. You can’t imagine, that doctor, the work he had to do to find my vein. He stabbed me all over, pinching my arm because he said that would help to bring the vein out.
“The only positive thing about all this is that, afterward, my mother took me out for breakfast at Euclide café. I had a delicious maritozzo pastry with whipped cream. By the way, did you get my package?”
“Yes, thanks!”
“Well, it’s just that your doorman has the expression of someone who always wants to know what’s in every package you drop off for him. He’s worse than an X-ray machine. So he didn’t eat the Lazzareschi pastry?”
Babi smiled. “No.”
“Have I been forgiven?”
“Almost.”
“Why almost? What, was I supposed to get you two pastries?”
“No, you need to track down my Vespa by eight o’clock.”
“Your Vespa? How am I supposed to find your Vespa? Who knows where it is. How am I supposed to know?”
“Don’t ask me. You always know everything. You’re well connected in the circuit. You’re Pollo’s woman, after all. One thing is certain, when my father gets home at eight o’clock tonight, that Vespa has to be in the garage…”
“Lombardi!” Signora Giacci was at the door. “Go to your seat, if you please.”
“Yes, excuse me, teacher.” Pallina picked up her book bag.
Babi stopped her. “I have an idea. I don’t need to find my Vespa anymore, at least not right away.”
Pallina smiled. “That’s good. It would have been impossible anyway! But how are you going to handle it? When your father returns home and doesn’t find the Vespa in the garage, what are you going to tell him?”
“But my father is going to find the Vespa in the garage.”
“How is that going to happen?”
“Simple, we’ll put yours there.”
“My Vespa?”
“Sure, as far as my father’s concerned, they’re all identical. He won’t notice a thing.”
“Okay, but how am I going to…”
“Gervasi! Come on up and let me see your signed notebook.”
Babi brought her the notebook, already open to the signed note. Signora Giacci checked it. “Well, what did your mother say about your failing grade?”
“She grounded me.” It wasn’t true, but she might as well let Giacci think she’d had a full, crushing win.
In fact, Signora Giacci swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker. “Well, good for her.” Then she spoke to the class. “It’s important that your parents appreciate the work we teachers do and that they support it wholeheartedly.” Nearly every girl in the class nodded in agreement.
She turned back to Babi. “Your mother is a very understanding woman. She knows perfectly well that, what I do, I’m doing entirely for your own well-being. Here.” She handed back her notebook.
Babi went back to her desk. A strange way of looking after my well-being, flunking me on my Latin test and sending home a disciplinary note, she thought to herself.
Signora Giacci reached into her old suede briefcase and pulled out the Greek assignments, folded in half. Those papers unfolded, reckless and rustling, on the teacher’s desk, spraying over the class the magical thought that they might all have received at least a passing grade. “Let me warn you all that it’s been a bloodbath. You should all just hope that Greek isn’t one of the subjects at the final high school exams.”
Everyone relaxed. They all knew for certain that the subjects this year were going to be Italian, Latin, mathematics, and philosophy. They all pretended not to know though. In reality, they could just as easily have been a class of consummate actresses. Dramatic roles, assigned by the situation of the moment.
“Bartoli, F. Simoni, F. Mareschi, D.” One after the other, the girls went to the teacher’s desk to retrieve their assignments in silent resignation. One of them went back to her desk with a smile. It wasn’t clear why. Maybe she was just putting on her game face.