Transcendence

glands, but don’t let that put you off. According to the experts, that’s the sign of a superior Italian restaurant.” She indicates the man behind her. “Have you ever met my boyfriend, Giacomo?”

He gives a smile and a little bow. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he’s Italian or what, but he seems a lot older than she is. “Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things about your musical gifts. It is not often that one meets a true prodigy.”

I look down at the worn burgundy carpet, glad that Griffon is outside. It’s always so embarrassing whenever anyone mentions cello in real life. “Thank you. And Veronique is doing really well.”

She rolls her eyes. “Nice of you to say, but I think we all know the truth.” She looks around the front of the restaurant. “Are you here by yourself?”

“No,” I say. “I’m with a … friend. He had to take a call outside.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs. “Ooh! Boyfriend material? You’ve been holding out!”

I wish. I wonder what it would be like to say that about him. To be able to introduce him to people as my boyfriend. To walk down the street holding his hand. “No. Just a friend.”

“It’s always nice to start out as friends,” she says, giving me a suggestive look.

I shrug, afraid that if I open my mouth I’ll give too much away.

“Dobbiamo affrettarci,” Giacomo says, looking pointedly at his watch.

“You’re right,” Veronique agrees. “We’re late. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep. Usual time.”

Griffon appears at the door just as they’re leaving, and Giacomo holds it open for him. I wave as they walk out into the darkness.

“Who’s that?” he asks, glancing back through the window.

“She’s one of my students,” I say. When he looks blank, I add, “One of my cello students. I teach private lessons at my house a couple of days a week. Veronique is my Thursday at four.”

He laughs. “So the prodigy is also the teacher. Nice.”

I make a face. “Not really. I just need the money.”

“Maybe I can get a couple of lessons?”

“You want to play cello?” I know I sound skeptical, but I can’t help it.

“How do you know I haven’t always had a burning desire to learn? Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right teacher.”

“I might be able to figure something out,” I say as we’re led to our table, trying to suppress the thrill I feel at the thought of seeing him again.

Five

“I think,” Rayne says, “that you are in looove.”

“I’m not in love,” I say, but there’s no way to stop the grin on my face. I can’t help but relive moments of last night over and over again during class. The only thing that would have been better is if he’d kissed me, or even held my hand as we waited for my bus. But I keep telling myself that there’s time for that. At least I hope there is. He didn’t exactly make a date or anything, but he said he’d see me soon. That’s almost the same thing, right?

“Don’t sit there telling me you’re not into him. I know exactly what that look means.”

I take a bite of my apple and look around the quad to make sure nobody else is listening. We’re sitting on our usual bench at lunch, which is too far from the tables to be overheard, as long as you keep your voice down. “I barely know him,” I say. “Besides, nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” Rayne grins. “No hands brushing as you both reach for the door? No longing glances?”

“What movies have you been watching?” I ask her. “No. We ate pasta, and then he walked me to the bus.” Not that I remembered anything about the restaurant. I could have been eating cardboard for all I’d been paying attention to the food. I look around the quad. “He’s not like the guys around here. Griffon’s different.”

“Did he at least get your number?”

“Yes,” I say, not admitting that I’d been checking my phone obsessively since last night.

“Thank God.” Rayne picks at her bean salad and eyes my lunch bag. “Are you going to eat that?”

I hand her my chocolate-chip cookie.

“Hello, ladies,” Gabi says, sliding onto the bench next to Rayne. I haven’t seen her much since we got back. “You two only look like that when you’re talking about guys.”

“Guy,” Rayne corrects. “A gorgeous one that Cole met over break.”

“Ooh, gorgeous ones are the best kind.”

“Okay, can we stop now?” I ask. The more we talk about it, the more anxious I feel. I unwrap my sandwich and try to change the subject. “How was your break?”

Gabi rummages through her backpack for her lunch. “Boring,” she says. “My cousins are in from Mumbai, and we spent the whole time doing tourist stuff in the city. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, Union Square. If I have to take one more picture in front of one more famous attraction, I’m going to be sick.”

“Better than mine,” Rayne says. “We went camping up the coast, and I spent the entire time filthy and freezing.” She shivers at the memory. “Hey Cole, what kind of sandwich is that?” Rayne’s always on the prowl for something better than the sprouted-wheat and tofu creations her mother makes her.

“Tuna. You want the other half?”

“Um, no. I was reading the other day about how they’re overfishing tuna,” she says, looking sad.

I chew slowly, getting ready to lose another favorite food. Rayne has a way of making you feel guilty for pretty much everything you put into your mouth. “It’s dolphin-safe,” I say hopefully.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “The tuna population is getting down so low that if nothing is done in five years, they’re going to disappear forever. Like the unicorns.”

Gabi and I exchange glances. “Unicorns?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Rayne replies. “You know—like how the cavemen hunted the unicorns until they went completely extinct.”

I love Rayne, which is good, because sometimes she’s so gullible it’s scary. She’s an amazing artist, but totally clueless about real life.

“Rayne,” I say softly. “You realize that there were no unicorns, right? They’re just a fairy tale.”

Rayne looks confused. “Of course there were,” she says. “They became extinct thousands of years ago. Our great-great-great-great-grandchildren will talk about how there used to be big fish called ‘tuna’ in the oceans, just like our ancestors talked about the unicorns.”

Gabi pats her on the back. “Girl, good thing you’re book-smart.”

“What?” Rayne asks. “Gram wouldn’t lie about that.” She looks so lost that despite trying desperately to keep a straight face, Gabi and I both burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking another bite. “No more tuna. I promise.”

Gabi opens up her thermos and a strong spicy smell wafts over us.

“What is that?” Rayne asks, leaning over to get a better look. “It smells amazing.”

“It’s saag,” she says, poking at it with a fork. “My cousins have been cooking nonstop since they got here. Want a bite?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Rayne says, taking a forkful. “Oh man, that’s awesome.”

I lean over to get some, and the fragrant spices overwhelm me. I take a deep breath and sit back against the concrete wall, feeling dizzy and unmoored. Rayne, Gabi, and the whole school fade until all I can see is a hot, smoky kitchen, the whitewashed walls punctuated with portraits of severe-looking old men.

My mother bends before a cooking pot suspended over a fire, stirring a fragrant stew. Her long black hair is folded into a braid that hangs down the back of her neck and is covered with a loose scarf that she’s gathered in one hand so that it won’t drag into the flames.

I look down to see my bare feet with their stubby brown toes sticking out of my loose cotton pants. I sit on a chair, far off enough so that I don’t get in the way, but close enough to feel the heat from the fire. My stomach is rumbling in anticipation of her good cooking.