‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your family’s different to mine. Better, right?’
He drops his head into his hands. ‘That’s not …Urca!Why do I keep saying the wrong things around you?’
‘It’s not that yousaythe wrong things, Leo. It’s that you think them in the first place. And you’re wrong. My family’s exactly the same as yours – well, not exactly. I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t funded. But they don’t think I’m good enough either.’
I clamp my mouth shut. I did not mean for all that to slip out.
Behind me, Fulvio slaps his desk. ‘I get it now.’ His eyes stray to my baggy cardigan. ‘You are here to make the school more inclusive so that they receive more money.’
Heat creeps up my neck, mostly because I’ve had that thought myself.
‘Ignore him,’ Leo mutters. ‘He’s just bitter his friend isn’t good enough to get in, and now he’s decided you’re the reason.’ He shrugs, like that shouldbe the end of it. ‘We need to get to work on this.’
But instead of drawing, Leo taps at his screen, checking it every few seconds.
‘Are you going to be on your phone the whole time?’
‘At least mine works,’ he says coolly. ‘Yours malfunctions every time your family calls.’
That shuts me up. I need to be more careful. Leo’s paying more attention than I realized.
Veronica ferries Leo to the mainland after school to play football with his old art school mates. For the first time in days, I have the palazzo to myself. I don’t even make it upstairs before I call Mum. No whispering. No editing every sentence in case Leo overhears. Maybe that’s why the conversation stays easy: just weather, shop gossip and Dad’s latest rant. I hang up smiling for once.
If that weren’t already a win, Rebel messaged me during the call.
@RenaissanceRebel: You’ve inspired me through some rough patches. Now it’s my turn. Watch this space.
I don’t know what he’s planning, or what he can even do, but knowing he wants to try matters. I don’t feel like hiding out any more, so I wander down to the kitchen and ask Jacopo’s mum if there’s anything I can do.
We makesarde in saor– sweet-and-sour sardines – just for ourselves. I slice onions until my eyes sting, and she bats my hand away when I try to rub them.
She watches me closely as I take my first bite.
‘Xe bon?’
‘Xe bon,’ I repeat, grinning when she claps. I think I’ve just learnt the Venetian dialect for tasty. It gives me a tiny boost, so I have a go at asking where Jacopo is.
She replies straight away, faster than before, and I lose most of it. Then she gestures towards the door and saysfora.
Fuori, maybe? Out. Makes sense.
I help her clean up, even when she waves me off, and by the time the kitchen’s tidy, she grabs hercarrello, pats my hand, and heads out to catch the vaporetto. I wonder if she notices I never use her name. I don’t remember ever being told it. And it’s too late to ask now.
Still feeling lighter, I head through to the living room and sink on to the sofa with my iPad. Well, not sink. The sofa doesn’t allow for that. I toy briefly with the idea of sketching Jacopo’s mum as a kindly brownie, then stop myself. Art and I aren’t friends right now, and I don’t want to ruin my mood. I scroll for something to stream instead, settling on acomfort rewatch.
A little later, the front door opens, and Veronica appears at the edge of the room.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘We ended up eating on the mainland. Leonardo’s gone to bed, and I’ve got some work to catch up with.’
I start gathering my things, but she raises a hand.
‘Please. Stay. Finish your programme.’ She smiles, then leaves me alone again.
The episode keeps buffering just as it gets good. I’m refreshing the page for what feels like the millionth time when a sudden crack splits the air outside, followed by cheers somewhere along the canal. Fireworks flare briefly above the rooftops, their colours flashing against the windows opposite.
I get up and press my face to the glass, waiting for another burst. Nothing. But I spot movement below.
A dark figure slips out of the palazzo. Backpack. Puffa. Leo.
