Page 2 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
There it is. That feeling of being one with the music—with the beat.
When I see that kind of harmony, I can’t focus on anything else. Not even the voice of my best friend, whom I expect is recounting the story of his second cousin’s dice with death in the classroom, for the millionthtime this afternoon.
The pause icon fills the screen and I bite my tongue before panning my gaze to Federico.
“You didn’t hear a word of that, did you?” he says, in a monotone drawl.
I arch a brow. “You were saying that Raff was hit by a chair, but the other kid only got a half hour detention, so his papa stormed into school, threatened the kid and his family, and put the teacher out of a job.” I hold my breath and pray he agrees because, sure, I hadn’t heard a word of it.
He curls a lip and flicks the remote toward the screen sending the dancing feet in motion once again.
I pull my ankles into my butt to stop them from jiggling. This always happens. Whenever I’m sitting or standing around, if even the slightest sound of music filters through my ears, I cannot for the life of me keep still. But I’m sitting high up by the breakfast bar in Federico’s kitchen, with my legs crossed on the seat, and I’m too interested in the dancers on TV to tolerate sliding off the stool.
The sound of rustling draws my attention from the TV screen.
“Contessa! Buongiorno!”
I spin around to see Federico’s mama, Mrs. Falconi, drift into the kitchen in a vision of fur and shopping bags. She drops the bags to the floor and walks over with her arms wide open. She wraps them around me, swallowing my small frame.
“Hi Mrs. Falconi,” I squeak, as the life force is squeezed from my lungs.
“So good to see you, Tess. I didn’t know you were coming around today.” There’s a slight edge to her tone that makes me tense. Beneath the shield of her winter sweater, I feel her questioning gaze dart toward Fed.
I normally have dance class on a Thursday but Antonio, my dance teacher, has some family stuff going on, so it’s been canceled. I can’t think why it would be a problem though. Ever since my mama was murdered in the crossfire of the underworld violence that has colored my life, the Falconi’s have always let me treat this place like a second home.
Fed’s expression darkens a touch before a glint of mischief appears in his eyes. “We’ll get out from under your feet, Ma. Come on Tess, we’ll go to my room…”
I arch a brow knowing Fed’s pushing his luck.
“Ha ha.” Mrs. Falconi releases me, walks around the island and opens the refrigerator. “Nice try Federico, but you know the rules. No girls in your room.” She turns to flash me a wink. “Not even girls who are justfriends.”
I smile. Fed and me, we’ll only ever bejust friends. We’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’ve witnessed some of his most embarrassing moments, like the time he was staring too hard at Kelly Richards, the prom queen, and face-planted a post, and the time he climbed a tree in the back yard, got stuck and peed himself while waiting to be rescued.
He’s always just been ‘Fed’ to me—my best friend Fed.
Admittedly, since he turned fifteen a few months ago, gotten a little buff and developed a moody attitudethat other girls in our school seem to find attractive for some reason, my gaze on him has lingered a little longer than usual. But that’s only because he’s changing and it’s intriguing to watch, not because I’m attracted to him in like a wannabe girlfriend kinda way.
I don’t look at any boy in that way. There’s no point. None of them would want me.
I’m just the kid who dresses in black and sits at the back of class not talking to anyone, barely able to see through my overgrown bangs. I don’t remember ever having a girlfriend, not even before Mama died and everyone my age started avoiding me.
I was twelve years old when it happened. I guess it was a time when hormones were starting to do weird things and all my classmates cared about was fitting in, being ‘normal,’ being the same as everyone else. Having a mama shot dead by a member of the mafia we all pretended didn’t exist wasn’t ‘normal,’ so in their eyes, neither was I.
Still, as uncomfortable as it was to continue dragging my boots into school, it was preferable to being at home, where I was wrapped in cotton and treated like a baby who didn’t understand the world.
I’ll tell you something, there’s nothing like losing a mother to gang violence before you’ve even hit puberty to make you grow up and understand the world fast.
Trilby, our oldest sister, was in the car when Mama was shot. She needed space after that, I guess. She coped by moving almost immediately into the apartmentnext door, severing any relationship I had with her at a time when I probably needed her the most.
Aunt Allegra and my older sister Sera, however, more than made up for Trilby’s absence by insisting I must never be left alone, I must be shielded from the TV news reports, and always chaperoned whenever I left the house. It’s only in the last six months I’ve convinced them to let me go to dance class alone, and to Fed’s house down the street—which is lucky for me since he’s the only kid from school who gives me the time of day.
My gaze is drawn back to the screen when I should be thinking about making my excuses to leave. It’s clear Mrs. Falconi wasn’t expecting me, and for the first time ever, I feel as though I’m not welcome here.
“You wanna stay for some cannelloni, Tess?” I can tell from the way Mrs. Falconi rushes out the words without looking at me, she’s only being polite.
My stomach groans, but I know a hint when I hear one.
“I would love to, Mrs. Falconi, but I was just stopping by. My aunt has dinner prepared. Thanks so much though.”
