Free Lucky Break by J. Minter Page B

cover-up, and the biggest straw hat I’d ever seen. She actually had to lift it up with both hands to make eye contact with me.
    â€œOh, hi Mom,” I said sleepily.
    â€œâ€˜Oh, hi Mom’?” she repeated. “What are you doing lazing around like this all alone? Come laze around with me—on the beach. I just had the most marvelous facial at Donatella’s. I’ll tell you all about it once we’re spread out in the warm sun. And you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to!”
    I yawned and settled back into my lounge chair. “You’re looking at it,” I said, reaching for another pastry. “There isn’t really much more to tell.”
    â€œThen let’s get out there and make some memories!” She grinned. “I know how you love the feel of the rushing waves at your back. I’ll be your photographer—like the paparazzi. You can pretend you want your privacy, and I’ll just snap away!”
    â€œEh, I’m pretty comfortable here.” I shrugged. “Hey, do you know of any good pizza places that deliver? I was thinking of ordering in.”
    My mom cocked her head at me and reached over to read the title of my book. Her eyes narrowed into a squint.
    â€œOh, no, you don’t,” she said, shaking her finger at me.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI read that book. That woman gained thirty-five pounds when she was in Italy.”
    â€œBut—I just—Alex—”
    â€œI’m not saying don’t enjoy the local cuisine to the fullest, but drowning yourself in delivery pizza because you’re sad about a boy is no way to experience Italy. I won’t let you wallow on a balcony all day. Put that book down and get your bathing suit on. Pronto!”
    I wasn’t used to my mom being such a drill sergeant. I kind of liked it. As much as I’d gotten used to the idea of daylong balcony wallowing, she did have a point. I put down the book and stood up.
    â€œThat’s more like it,” Mom said, giving me a quick shove toward my bedroom.
    When we were comfortably seated on a giant terry cloth blanket under a huge green umbrella on the beach, my mom reached into her bag and pulled out a copy of just about every trashy magazine that existed, both in the States and in Italy.
    â€œI know we can’t really
read
the Italian tabloids,” she said, shrugging, “But surely we can still enjoy the photos. Look at those pecs!”
    I leaned in to check out the glossy centerfold of the Italian movie star, Giuseppe Gianni. I didn’t recognize his face. I guessed he hadn’t yet broken out onto the American silver screen—but if muscle mass meant anything in Hollywood, I imagined he was on his way.
    Then, something just above the pages of the magazine caught my mom’s eye.
    â€œLook at that guy,” she said, pointing at a real-live attractive bronzed muscleman walking along the beach in front of us. “I think he and Giuseppe must be on the same workout regimen.”
    I tried to laugh, but I didn’t really feel like scoping out guys with my mom at the moment. Still, she was determined. She flipped up her sunglasses androtated my chin back toward the Italian stallion, just as he dove into the water.
    â€œWhat?” I said. “I see him.” I was fully aware that I sounded sort of whiny, but I couldn’t really help it.
    â€œI’m trying to prove to you how many other gorgeous fish there are in the sea,” my mom insisted.
    â€œI guess I’m just not interested.” I sighed and reached for my book again.
    My mom sighed too and reached for her magazine.
    For a moment we read in silence, but both of us could totally feel the tension. Finally, Mom threw down her magazine.
    â€œThis isn’t working,” she said, sounding upset. “I thought a little R and R with M and D would help, but clearly Italy just isn’t the remedy.”
    â€œI’m sorry,