A Tale of Two Centuries

at the large load of books in my arms, and her nose crinkles. “Is this about the workshop?”

“N-no,” I stammer, no longer feeling as though the sneak attack approach was the best course of action. “I go to school with your brother—Austin? By any chance is he home this afternoon?”

Honestly, I am unsure at this point how I wish her to answer.

“Oh, sure, come on in.” She widens the opened door, allowing me to step inside the cool entryway, and takes a few books off the top of the teetering pile. “You know, you really did great yesterday. Totally pissed off Kendal.” She closes the door behind me and sighs. “Watching her fume was totally worth all of the preparation, even if I don’t end up snagging a part. I can’t believe I used to look up to her. And I really can’t believe my stupid brother used to date her. Speaking of which, AUSTIN!”

I jump, at both the subject change and her sharp bellow up the stairs. A door closes somewhere above. Eyes on the ceiling, I swallow down my mounting apprehension. “But you were so good yesterday,” I assure her. “I am certain you will be chosen.” Then, sensing an opening, I add, “Your brother appeared quite comfortable with the material as well. Acting must run in the family.”

Jamie snorts. “Austin act? That’d take way too much time away from surfing.” She glances at the curved stairway a few feet away and then leans in conspiratorially. “But he was good, huh? He must’ve read that scene at least a hundred times helping me get ready for the audition. I knew it would be one of the pieces they’d have us do—I mean, come on. It’s the balcony scene. It’s a given, right? And I read Romeo and Juliet in school this year, so I was kinda gunning for that part. But it’s totally no biggie. I dig Ophelia, too.”

Trying to keep up with Jamie’s excited, bountiful chatter makes my head spin. I grasp the insight buried within her speech and say, “So Austin helped you prepare?”

She nods. “Yeah, he’s so good at languages and stuff like that, and the words in those plays just go right over my head. Man, people talked crazy back then, huh?”

I smile but withhold a comment in reply.

But then I think about Jamie’s words and the fact that Austin supposedly has a talent for “stuff like that,” and I find myself even more confused than I was before my arrival. Cat told me Austin rarely even makes it to class, and when he does, he does not spend that time impressing the professors with his scholastic aptitude. But the boy Jamie describes sounds intelligent and talented.

So the nagging question remains: which Austin is the real Austin?

At the sound of heavy clomping, I lift my head and see the mysterious boy himself coming down the stairs. His hands glide across the smooth banister, stretching his worn black shirt across the width of his shoulders. A wisp of a memory begins to surface, but before I can place it, Austin’s eyes cut to mine. He freezes.

“What are you doing here?”

The accusation in his tone scares any reply right out of my head, but Austin does not— doesn’t—wait for one. Instead, he continues his trek down the stairs and through the adjoining dining room to the kitchen beyond, leaving me with a heavy pile of books and a mouth still open.

Jamie winces. “Sorry about that. He’s not usually so rude!” She yells the last word, but when no reaction comes from her brother, she rolls her eyes and leads me into the kitchen.

Austin lifts his head from the open refrigerator door and takes out two bright red cans of soda, my cousin’s beverage of choice. He meets my gaze and lifts a can in question.

I place the books on the smooth, granite countertop and accept his offering with a smile of gratitude. I take a sugary gulp and nearly choke when he says, “Don’t you look nice today.”

Pleasure flows through my veins. I swallow and begin to say thanks—but then I see the taunting gleam in his eyes and realize he is mocking me.

I glance down at my outfit and suddenly feel silly.

Did I forget the Austin from class yesterday?

I rub the soft fabric of Cat’s cardigan sleeves and hear the sound of Jamie mouth something to her brother before turning on her heel and stomping from the room. As I listen to her retreating footsteps, anger replaces my fleeting embarrassment. Just because I don’t dress like my modern-day peers does not give him the right to disparage me for it.

A true gentleman, at least one from my time, would never treat a lady in such a manner.

I raise my head to tell him that very thing and am startled to find Austin’s face so close to mine. The words die on my lips.

“I can see through you, you know,” he says, his voice low, eyes flashing. “You’re not as innocent and perfect as you want us to think. No one is. I can see that you’re dying to break out of the prim and proper prison you’ve built for yourself, but you’re too scared to admit it. You want more.” He pauses. “Don’t you, Princess?”

There is that nickname again, delivered this time with such derision that I take a step back. And in the face of such blatant antagonism, my blood begins to boil with an emotion that is anything but prim and proper, although nothing I have felt since meeting this exasperating boy is.

Breathe, Alessandra. A true lady does not display fits of anger.

I glance at Austin and see red.

Even when the gentleman so greatly deserves it.

To keep from lashing out in an unladylike fashion, I turn to my stack of books, preparing to carry on with my reason for today’s visit…but then Austin laughs.

“What, no comment? No Shakespearean reply?” He compresses his lips into a thin line. “Guess I was wrong. I thought I saw some fire hidden in you the other day, but maybe you are just a sweet, spineless little angel.”

Though he does not mean to compliment, in reality I should be pleased. In my time, those are often the characteristics most sought after in a wife…the very role Mama has groomed me for since birth.

But instead, I spin around and spit, “Well, I see through you, too!”

Austin’s eyes widen, perhaps both by the content of my declaration and the vehemence in which I delivered it. To be honest, I am rather shocked myself. But I press on.

“You like to pretend you don’t care about anything, but I see you. I see how you are with your sister. How you stood up for me in class. And how you were at the audition—I was on that stage with you, Austin. I know you are a lot smarter than you want people to believe. So perhaps I am not the one who is scared! You are the one who is hiding.”

And at that, I collapse against the counter.

A flash of heat erupts under my skin, and my head begins to throb. The edges of my vision darken and the sounds of the kitchen—a slow tick, a low hum, a soft clanging—dim to a faint garble.

Oh, Signore in heaven, what did I just do?

Lifting a trembling hand to my mouth, I look to the boy who is able to bring forth such fervent reactions from me. “I cannot believe I just said that.” I swallow and push against the counter, thrusting my full weight back onto my feet. “My sincere apologies for my lack of manners. No matter how you behaved, it is no excuse for my actions.”

A squiggle appears on Austin’s forehead, and he watches me with shrewd eyes, as if I’m a puzzle to figure out. The edges of his mouth twitch, and then, wonder of wonders, he laughs. Genuinely this time, not in ridicule, and it must be said, the sound is glorious.

He lifts his chin and asks, “You really care about that stupid project?”

My mind spins at his confusing reaction and change of subject, but I nod. “About doing well on it, yes. And I need your help. I grew up in Italy and am unfamiliar with the ways of American government.”

Or even modern Italian government, but I do not say that aloud.

Austin crosses his arms against his chest, flexing the muscles in his strong arms. My mouth goes dry.

“All right, then,” he says slowly. He nods once as if making a decision. “I have a proposition for you—a challenge. When it comes to government I know way too much, but if I’m gonna pick up your slack and actually help you with this, you’re gonna have to do something for me.”

He pauses, dragging out the suspense, and I wrack my fuzzy brain for any situation in which he could possibly want or need my help. I bite my lip as Austin