Sofia smirks, and pats the bed next to her, and Antonia sits down. “He took me to dinner and he couldn’t think of anything to say. And I felt sorry for him, at first, because you know, he has his shirt tucked in too tightly and you can just tell his mother did his hair for him and his father gave him a lecture about behaving like a gentleman, but he didn’t ask me one question and he ordered plain noodles with butter and we just sat there in silence for half the meal!” Antonia is grinning now, picturing luminous Sofia trying to fit into a wooden bench on a trattoria patio, ordering Coca-Cola with a straw. Sofia and Lucas Fellini: the most boring boy in school. Sofia covers Antonia’s hand with her own. She leans forward conspiratorially. “And then after? It was like he thought it had gone really well—or something—and he walked me the long way back—you know, past the park outside school”—and here Antonia gasps, because the park outside the high school is notorious for being a spot where couples meet, and because at least two girls had ended up pregnant after trysts there last year—“I know,” continues Sofia, “and he sort of looked at me like alright, here we go, and I could only look back and think here you go by yourself, maybe”—at which Antonia says, “Sofia, honestly,” and Sofia waves a hand—“I know, but tell me you don’t think he did when he got home! Anyway, he couldn’t even bring himself to lean toward me or ask for a kiss and finally he just turned and walked me home!” Sofia stops to catch her breath. “Oh, Tonia, you should have seen him. Standing there looking at me like a kicked dog. As if that would get me going!” The two of them look at each other for a second and a half of held breath and then collapse laughing on the bed. “He was so boring!” wailed Sofia. “I thought it might be contagious!”

“Imagine catching Fellini’s dullness!” cries Antonia. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes and her stomach hurts. “D’you think you could get it just from kissing him or would you have to . . . ?”