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Kelly plunked down a hefty sum for a detailed Vatican guide, thanked Luigi for the umpteenth time, and trotted off toward the bus stop. She had always enjoyed making art more than looking at it. Museums were exhausting; there was always more information than she could process. But today, if only to please Andrea, she was determined to soak up as much culture as possible.
Kelly was lucky in one respect; thanks to Luigiâs VIP treatment, she made it to the special entrance and got through security with just over an hour remaining. The first gallery alone made Kellyâs head spin; the popes lived like royalty, and every inch of this place seemed to be covered in intricate gilding, lush tapestries, and marble. The other visitors milled around at a snailâs pace, plugged into their audio guides, shuffling from one masterpiece to the next. Kelly weaved through them like a Vespa in traffic, trying not to mow down any innocent obstacles in her path.
By twelve-thirty, she had made her way through a labyrinth of salons, and knew the difference between a fresco and a relief. It seemed that every famous episode in the Bible had been illustrated for the Catholic Church by one Renaissance luminary after another. Raphael, check. Caravaggio, check. Michelangelo, all over the place. Her head sweeping from side to side, Kelly made mental notes that she planned to write down as soon as she had the opportunity.
The rest of her group finally came into view as she puffed her way into the Sistine Chapel. Andrea was whispering animatedly, sweeping her arms skyward to point out details in each of the elaborate panels that lined the ceiling. In the center, Kelly could see the renowned image of God creating Adam, their hands outstretched and fingers touching. Other visitors to the chapel casually circled Andrea, trying to overhear her commentary on the frescoes, some peering up at the ceiling through binoculars. When Andrea saw Kelly, she gave her an approving nod. âGlad you made it back.â
Kelly tipped her head back until she got dizzy, listening to Andreaâs story of how the pope had asked Michelangelo, who considered himself a sculptor, to paint the chapel ceiling. Michelangelo worked day and night for four years, under constant pressure to finish the work, until his eyes went bad. She told them how, after the frescoes were completed, Pope Paul III had brought in another artist to paint clothing on some of the naked figures. It wasnât until the 1990s, when the frescoes were cleaned and restored, that those clothes were removed, revealing Michelangeloâs work just as he created it.
As they stepped out of the museum into the bright sunlight, Kelly could see how energized Andrea was. She beamed at the class, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed.
Steve met the group in front of the galleries to take over from Andrea for the rest of the day. âOkay, crew,â he said. âLetâs go explore an even more important Italian art formâlunch!â
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When she returned to her room after dinner, Kelly got busy studying the book she had bought from Luigi. She was lying on the lumpy couch, browsing through its pages, when Sheela came stomping in.
âGet your feet off the sofa. Itâs not yours.â
Kelly sat up quickly, brushing at the fabric with her book. âWhat bee flew up your butt? Are you pissed off that I missed the museums today? I caught up, and Iâm gonna read this book from cover to cover. Andrea will hardly be able to tell that I wasnât there with you guys. And what do you care, anyway?â
âAre you serious?â Sheela threw her bag over the back of her desk chair and began emptying it noisily. Despite her friendâs foul mood, Kelly had to suppress a smile; Sheela crammed more junk into her bag than could fit into the average one-bedroom apartment.
Sheela put her face up close to Kellyâs, her dark eyes throwing off sparks. âDr.