Page 29 of One True Loves

“David! Ronni!” We turn to see two older Latinx women waving at the Lees like they know them. Next to them are their daughters, the two girls I saw at the teen mixer yesterday. I only have to look at Alex’s wide eyes to know that the older one is definitely Natalia, his ex-girlfriend.

“Oh, those are some of our... friends,” Dr. Lee says, glancing at Alex with concern. “We should go say hi. Would you excuse us for a sec?” She gives Alex a meaningful look and grabs his arm, the three of them making their way over.

“Why didn’t you and Wally come down together?” Mom is twisting her neck around, trying to spot him.

“Because he’s not coming,” I say.

“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” Dad asks, crossing his arms. He and Mom exchange a concerned look.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, trying to get a look at the Lees behind them. Dr. and Mr. Lee talk animatedly with the other couple, but Alex is a few steps back, biting his lip.

“He didn’t tell you a reason?” Mom probes.

“Jet lag, I guess? I don’t know. Y’all seemed to think that was an okay excuse in Rome.” Natalia moves closer to Alex and says something. He nods and looks past her.

“We didn’t pay to fly us all out here just for you guys to lie by the pool. You can do that at home!” Dad says. While he starts going on a rant about how we don’t appreciate the privileges we have, the Lees are hugging the other couple behind him. Alex goes to do the same with Natalia, but she takes one big step back. Whoa.

“Did he look sick? Dehydrated?” Mom continues. “Lenore, you should have told me this on the phone. I could have checked on him, but now there’s no time.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! Take it up with your golden boy.”

“Don’t start all that,” Dad huffs.

“I’m just saying.” I throw my hands up. “I’m grateful to be here. I showed up.”

The Lees rejoin us, and I’m not checking for Alex or anything. Because I repeat, I can’t stand this boy. But I also can’t help but notice how Alex’s demeanor has changed. Hisconfident—tooconfident—energy is now dejected and down. His shoulders are slumped, and he’s studying the ground like it has some complicated formula written across it. What happened with this girl? They must have been pretty serious if their families were planning on traveling together. I would ask him about it. If I cared.

We wait in line and eventually make our way down a large ramp and off the boat. The port—“Stazione Marittima,” a sign says—is even more chaotic than the deck. There are taxi drivers holding up signs and people in matching polos trying to sell tickets to one of those big red buses I thought we would be on today. Men with deeply tanned faces walk around carrying boards covered in souvenirs, calling out to the tourists and holding upGodfatherbobbleheads to entice them. It’s loud and hot. I hear more languages than I can place. But I feel peace. The ground is no longer rocking. My stomach is settled. I take a deep breath and look up to the sky, feeling the sun on my face.

“You look happy,” Alex says next to me. “Feeling better now that you’re on land?”

I quickly replace the smile on my face with a scowl. There’s no way I’m going to admit that I was seasick, especially not when he tried to mansplain a cure to me last night, like he was already a doctor. He doesn’t need any more encouragement that he’s right and perfect.

“I’m just... excited to explore all of Sicily today,” I say.

He looks confused, then grins. He covers his mouth with a fist and snorts out a laugh that he was trying to hold in.

“Lenore, you do realize that Sicily is a ten-thousand-square-mile island,” Etta says, appearing next to me. “It is an autonomous region, not a city. Today, we’re only seeing Palermo.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and feel thankful that my blush is always covert, just for me. “You know what I mean.”

This time yesterday, I was trying to get away from Alex as quickly as possible, and now, somehow, I’m pressed up against him, thigh to thigh, in the back seat of a luxury van.

I managed to avoid him for most of our time at the Palazzo dei Normanni, sticking close to Etta as she harassed our tour guide, Angelo, with questions and corrections and sneaking away to take pictures of the glittering gold mosaics and painted wood ceilings in the chapel. But when we were herded back to the van, I got distracted by these tourists feeding the pigeons like they were some rare, exciting species, and then boom, the only spot left was next to Alex. Of course.

I try to focus on the sights out the window as Angelo speeds along to our next destination—the cream, rust, and peach buildings, looking like something from another time; the courtyards lined with palm trees and manicured shrubs. I try to imagine what today would be like if Tessa’s stupid coin trick worked and I was exploring Palermo with a boy who I liked, instead of my family, a boy I’m pretty close to hating, and his family. But next to me, Alex’s leg keeps jiggling up and down, knocking me out of any flicker of a fantasy.

Does he realize his leg is practically shaking the whole car?Is he doing this just to annoy me? Probably so.

And even worse, he smells good. Not like sandalwood or a running stream or some other ridiculous smell that all the boys in Tessa’s stories have. But just normal good. Like his mom buys the expensive detergentandfabric softener. Every few shakes, his legs brush mine, the smooth dark hair tickling my bare skin. And because of the air-conditioning that Angelo has blasting, my legs are covered in goose bumps. Does he feel that? Does he think it’s because of him? Because it’s definitely not. God, he probably does. He probably thinks I’m working myself into a tizzy just being so close to someone so accomplished, afuture doctor.

“Are you okay, bro?”

His leg stills. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Sure.” I purse my lips and nod my head. “Then can you stop bouncing like you’re a toddler that has to go potty?”

“Sorry.”

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