Page 44 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Thirty

T he first day of classes is rough. I’d forgotten how boring the minutiae of school is. We go over syllabi and office hours and exam schedules. I do my best not to let my mind wander to nights dancing at Calypso and kissing Jake in tree-filled parks.

My Italian class is wonderful and awful. Wonderful because it’s taught by a young TA named Giovanni that reminds me so much of Paolo I want to hug him. Awful because it fills me with homesickness for a place that is not my home.

Then it’s time for my photography class.

My hands start sweating. I wore my black pants and a gold-splattered blouse Carmen found for me at the market.

It makes me feel like a cool artist type.

I find my classroom and take a seat in the middle row, center seat.

I lay out my notebook and pencil and give the girl next to me a shy smile.

I’ve built this class up so much, I’m nervous it will fall short.

Instead, it exceeds every one of my ridiculous expectations.

Professor Melvin is brilliant and knowledgeable and talented.

But also funny and down-to-earth and relatable.

If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would turn into hearts right now.

He gives us our first assignment, a photograph that is autobiographical, but is not a photo of ourselves.

As I walk to my next class, my head is swirling with ideas, and my heart is pinging with happiness.

After English class and a chemistry lab, I head over to the Jamba Juice on campus.

I don’t know any of the people behind the counter, but the manager Mike is still there and remembers me as a hard worker.

I ask for a job, and he gives it to me, just like that.

Which is awesome, because student jobs on campus are crazy hard to get, and I did not have a Plan B.

I call Jake on the way home and tell him my great news. He tells me about his visit to the cadaver lab, which sounds disgusting but was clearly the highlight of his week. I’m just about to tell him about my photography class, but someone comes to his apartment, and he has to go.

I tell Maggie instead. She’s sitting on our faded, lumpy couch eating canned peaches straight from the jar.

“Where are Petey and the Pirate?” I ask. Our two other roommates are both named Jessica. Petey’s last name is Peterson and Pirate’s last name is Roberts, like the Dread Pirate Roberts from The Princess Bride.

“Library,” she says. “Pirate’s studying, and Petey’s trying to get a kid who works there to ask her out.”

I grab one of her peach slices and head to our room to work on my photography assignment. I take a dozen photos of various things in various settings, but nothing feels right. An hour later, I’m muttering Italian swear words and questioning what autobiographical even means.

I take a break and finish unpacking. I hang up a photo of me and Isa from my first week in Milan.

Then I hang up one of me and the gang at our last dinner together.

Side by side, the difference is remarkable.

In the second one, my shoulders are relaxed, my face is fuller, and my smile is huge.

I think of all the ways this last year has changed me.

I fell in love. I lost a friend. I learned a language.

I gained twenty pounds. I escaped my fate and got to live my dream instead.

I pull out a pair of jeans and a UC San Diego T-shirt and my Nikes. I lay them down on the floor of my room. There’s not a lot of space between our twin beds, but it’s enough. Then I get out my black pants and one of my runway blouses and lay them out above my pointy-toed stiletto boots.

As a visual, it’s not bad. A nice contrast. I’d like to show a transition from one to the other. I pull out the giant Italian flag from my suitcase and lay it between the two outfits. Then I fold the edges down in front so it forms an arrow, from the American outfit to the Italian one.

After it’s all laid out, I start photographing. It takes a while. The first few have one of Maggie’s socks in the corner. But I tweak and adjust and finally get there.

Two days later when I walk into my photography class, I’m greeted by glossy eight-by-tens hanging from each wall.

“I was delighted to see the creativity we have in this group,” Professor Melvin says. “Since we’re going to be working together for the next few months, I thought we’d better get to know each other. I find the best way to get to know someone is to understand the way they see themselves.”

We go around, one by one, and talk about our photos. There are twenty of us, so it takes some time, but it’s interesting. There’s a superb photo of a guitar. One of a dog. Someone photographed their friends.

When it’s my turn to explain my photo, I’m not sure what to say.

“Well,” I start, and then stop. “I was trying to capture a transformation. I spent the last year in Italy. The people I met there and the experiences I had shaped me into who I am at this moment.”

Professor Melvin nods, and we move on to the next person. After we’ve gone through everyone, we settle in for the lecture. It’s so good I’m still scribbling notes when class ends, and I’m the last one to collect my photo.

“I really enjoyed your take on this assignment,” Professor Melvin says. I jump a little. I didn’t notice he'd come up behind me.

“Thank you.”

“So many people choose to focus on one aspect of who they are, and you chose to capture the recent circumstances that shaped you into who you are.”

“I wasn’t sure I explained that very well,” I say.

“Yes, well that’s why we have photography, isn’t it? So we can express those things we don’t have words for.”

When I leave the classroom, I look at the back of my photo. One hundred percent with a little handwritten note that says, “Looking forward to getting to know you and your work.” I walk to my apartment grinning like an idiot.

Before I know it, I’m deep in the routine of things.

Classes in the morning, studying in the afternoon, and serving the students of UC San Diego delicious smoothies in the evening.

I make up nicknames for some of the regulars that come in every day and order the same thing.

Caribbean Passion Polo, cause he’s on the water polo team, Watermelon Breeze Brunette, because she has shiny brown hair like a Disney princess, and Orange Dreamy Dream, an attractive preppy type.

Jake and I talk in the morning before my first class, and in the afternoon after his last class. Sometimes we talk for an hour, other times we barely squeeze in two minutes.

Considering how I bawled my eyes out all the way home from Italy, I feel surprisingly good in my life here.

I’d forgotten how gorgeous the campus is.

How fun it is living with roommates. How great it feels to work hard on an assignment and get an A.

Even though I’m in the same apartment with the same job and roommates, it doesn’t feel like I’ve fallen back into my old life.

I feel like a new person, creating a new life for myself.

And the fact that I’m taking photography classes instead of business classes makes me feel like the luckiest girl alive.

Professor Melvin has stolen my brain. It’s like when someone steals your heart, but intellectual instead of romantic.

I give my roomies summaries of every lecture.

I can feel myself driving everyone crazy, like the time my Aunt Marla went vegan and worked it into every conversation, but I can’t stop myself.

Last week, it occurred to me that the new nanny must have arrived at the Rossi house. I sent a welcome text to my old phone number and ordered the next Harry Potter book in Italian for them to read.

I’m excited for her and the year she has in front of her, and I’m also excited to be right where I am.

* * *

“And then I cut right through the chest cavity. It took longer than you’d think, even with the surgical saw. And then we pried up the breast bone and took out the heart. It was slippery. Lucas almost dropped it.”

I put my PB&J back into its Ziploc bag and adjust my phone against my ear.

“Wow, that’s really interesting.”

I listen to Jake as I walk the hilly path home from campus.

I’m exhausted. I worked a double shift at Jamba Juice yesterday because someone called in sick, then just as I was going to bed I remembered an English assignment that was due.

It took me until nearly midnight to finish it.

And then I woke up at 6 a.m. to talk to Jake.

“The surgical resident is super cool,” Jake says. “He says he thinks I would be a good fit for surgery.”

“That reminds me of my photography lecture today,” I say as I push the door to my apartment open with my shoulder and throw my backpack on the couch. Maggie is eating cereal at the table and gives me a wave.

“It was about fitting your subject into the right frame.” I’m about to launch into a description of the lecture, when I hear a thumping sound on Jake’s end.

“I want to hear all about it,” Jake says. “But can I call you back later? I told Gilbert I’d help him prep for clinicals tomorrow.”

“Of course. No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

“What’s Jake up to?” Maggie asks.

“You’re eating, so I’ll spare you.”

“Appreciate that.” She swallows a big bite. “Do you ever tell him about your classes, or do you just play cheerleader to all his stuff?”

“I tell him about my stuff,” I say.

She shakes her head. “Your last three conversations have just been you saying ‘Wow, that’s really interesting,’ like a thousand times.”

“Why don’t you get your own life and stop hovering in mine?” I say.

I grab a snack and head to my room. Things with Jake are…

fine. I mean, long distance is hard, right?

Everyone knows that. And yes, Jake is a little different than he was in Italy.

More stressed out. Doesn’t joke like he used to but that’s to be expected.

Med school is hard. We just need some time together.

Two more days, and I’m flying out to visit him. And then everything will feel better.