Pride bubbles up inside me. This performance …our different styles, my digital layers coming to life on the canal – there’s so much more to art than I’d realized, so much more to discover.
Our boats slow at the final point near the bridge, where the crowd is thickest. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. We did it. We actually did it.
Leo catches my eye. He’s grinning too.
And then I hear a shout to my left.
‘Evie?’
I freeze. Because I’d recognize my dad’s deep voice and strong Scottish accent anywhere.
Mum and Dad are standing on the edge of the crowd. Beside them, Griselda looks ready to murder me with nothing but eye contact.
I think about diving off the boat and swimming out into the lagoon, never to be seen again – but then Leo’s there, helping me out on to thefondamenta. His triumphant grin fades the second he sees my face. He hovers at my shoulder as Griselda flies at me.
‘We saved up,’ she says, voice low but shaking. ‘We saved up to come and support you at the science fair and you … and you … ugh!’ Her disgust is plain. ‘How do you think we felt when we got to Florence and you weren’t even there? We were worried sick!’
Remorse claws at me. They came all this way, spent money they didn’t have, and thought I’d gone missing. But Griselda’s tone – sharp, accusing, as if she has the right to stand in for Mum – makes me swallow my apology.
‘Yeah? Well maybe if you stopped acting like my second mum for five minutes, you’d get that I don’twant the same things as you! I didn’t ask you to save up, I didn’t ask you to come – you just decided for me, like always!’
Mum pastes on a smile. ‘Evie, there’s a lady asking for you.’ Thephoneyvoice, plus the way she leans onlady, tells me she means someone well-to-do – and she’s desperate not to make a scene.
It’s Silvia, her expression unreadable as she beckons to Leo and me.
‘The sponsors are waiting to speak to our young artists,’ Silvia tells Mum. ‘But I’ll be back to find somewhere more comfortable for you in a moment.’
I squeeze past the backpacks piled at their feet, Dad’s hand brushing my arm as I do. ‘Did you help make that show, Eves?’ His voice is hushed, almost awed. A tone so rarely used for me, it catches me off guard.
Mum’s polite smile barely wavers as she hisses, ‘Not now, Andy.’
Behind me, Griselda whines, ‘You’re not going to let her get away with this, are you?’
Leo’s eyes flick to the squabbling trio. ‘Are they …?’
‘Yup,’ I mutter. ‘My family.’
He looks stunned. ‘But how—?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
I’m only vaguely aware of the cluster of well-dressed adults in a cordoned-off area before MartinoBallarin storms towards us.
‘I cannot believe what I just saw out there.’ His words are thick like he’s spitting mad. ‘Your mother tells me she approved this, but—’
‘Martino Ballarin! What a surprise.’
A bearded man in a dark wool coat lays a hand on his shoulder, and Martino straightens at once.
‘Signor Santi.’ He clasps the man’s hand in both of his, in an over-eager double handshake.
I almost laugh. Martino Ballarin actually reminds me of my mum right now.
‘I must say,’ Signor Santi begins, ‘I didn’t expect your school to be involved with Carnevale, and certainly not with a multimedia art performance. And this is your son, correct? The graffiti artist?’
Martino pales, his perfect voice curdling as he stammers. ‘I— No, I can explain, look, we—’
‘Straordinario!’ Signor Santi exclaims, gesturing towards the lit-up floats. ‘Really extraordinary. Don’t get me wrong, Martino, you know I admire your work. But success can go to people’s heads. They start thinking their way is the only way. Whereas you have struck the perfect balance by gifting your expertise and allowing your students to run with it and make it their own.’
