At breakfast the next morning, there were still Carabinieri in the hotel. Some of them were hanging round and a couple were having breakfast like they'd moved in. The hotel guests were louder than usual. I really wished I could eavesdrop. Mom said everyone was probably still talking about the fire alarm. But it was more than that ... I could feel it in my gut.
Mom stared at me and said, "You're quiet. Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm good."
Really I wasn't too good. I couldn't stop thinking. What could I do if Mr. Mafia wanted me to join the business? In video games, I was pretty good at shooting people, but real life was another thing. If you killed someone, I reckon in the next life you'd be a homeless, hungry orphan with only one leg.
I needed an excuse so I wouldn't have to join the business. Having a rare disease could be good, but I didn't know the name of any. Or what if I was on my way to being a soccer superstar and my country couldn't do without me? That might work until old Franco saw me play soccer. What about saying I was adopted? That might work for Charlie, but since I looked like Mom it wouldn't work for me. I couldn't finish my breakfast, I was so sick from worrying.
When we went to leave the hotel after breakfast, we couldn't. The entrance was blocked with police tape and no one was allowed to leave or come in. Two Carabinieri with machine guns were on guard out the front.
We sat in the hotel foyer for almost an hour. Matteo, the guy from the front desk, apologised three times, but he'd only say: There has been an incident and the matter is being investigated. I could tell someone important told him to say that.
Lots of people were waiting to leave. No one got angry, even though no one knew what the problem was. I reckoned that was because of the Carabinieri hanging round with their smart black uniforms and their big black machine guns.
Charlie and me swapped iPods because we were sick of listening to the same songs. Not that I liked rap music.
Franco and his bodyguards never appeared. That was a bit weird.
Finally, we were allowed to leave. Matteo opened the door of the hotel for us and said goodbye to each of us. I told him we were going skiing and he replied, "May the goddess of good luck go with you."
"Fortuna," Charlie said.
Matteo's face lit up. "Si. Fortuna is the goddess of good luck."
Charlie was such a smarty-pants.
It took ages to drive to the top of Mount Etna. I played a game on Dad's phone and Charlie read a book about Italy. He was so boring.
We must've been halfway up to Mount Etna when Charlie said, "I bet I can name more Roman gods than you can name Italian soccer players."
I paused my game. I hated not taking Charlie on. The thing was that he only bet me when he was pretty sure he'd win. But there must be more Italian soccer players than Roman gods. The problem was, he could rattle off a bunch of Greek gods as well and I wouldn't know. I counted on my fingers how many Italian soccer players I knew. "Do you mean players born in Italy or ones playing for Italian clubs?"
"Anyone who plays for an Italian club will do."
That sort of made it easier. I had to know at least ten, maybe twelve. Surely there couldn't be that many Roman gods. How many did they need? They had to have a god of war because they were always at war with someone. And they'd have gods for the animals, the sea, thunder and lightning, and there was always a god of love. Surely, there couldn't be more than nine.
"Okay," I said, "you first."
Charlie smiled his sly smile. Then real fast he said, "Jupiter, king of the gods; Mars, god of war; Apollo, the sun god; Dis, god of the underworld; Neptune, god of the sea; Bacchus, god of wine; Ceres, god of crops; Mercury, god of trade; Saturn, god of farming; Vulcan, god of blacksmiths; and Cupid, god of love."
"That's eleven; I can beat that."
"I haven't said the goddesses yet."
"What?"
"Fortuna, goddess of good luck," he said with that sly smile. "Juno, queen of the gods; Venus, goddess of love and beauty; Diana, goddess of the moon; Flora, goddess of spring; Minerva, goddess of science and wisdom; Roma, goddess of Rome; Janus, goddess of doorways and bridges; and Vesta, goddess of the hearth." He took a breath. "That's twenty."
"Twenty! Who needs twenty gods?"
He shrugged. "They liked gods. There isn't a limit on the number of gods you can have."
Could I argue that goddesses aren't actually gods because gods are male and goddesses are female? That'd make me look real lame. I sighed. "You win." I wasn't going to tell him that I only knew twelve Italian soccer players.
I stared out the window. The mountain looked strange where rivers of lava had flowed down and hardened. It was like we were on another planet. But then we hit the snow. As soon as Charlie and me got out of the car, we had a massive snowball fight. I got Charlie in the head five times. That paid him back for being such a smarty-pants.
Then we hired skis and ski gear and took the cable car up the mountain. Up the top it was like a fashion parade with lots of people standing round, like show offs, so everyone else could see how good they looked in their bright-colored ski gear. Besides that, it was sort of the same as skiing at home. Mom and Dad, who were as slow as, went on the easy runs, while Charlie and me hit the black runs and raced each other the whole time. It was unreal racing down the mountain while looking over the ocean.
Sometimes at the bottom or top of the slope, someone would start to speak to us in Italian and I'd say in Italian, I can't speak Italian. Do you speak English? "Non parlo italiano. Parla inglese?" They always understood and sometimes they'd answer in perfect English. Ordinary Italians were nice; it was the black-suited ones who wore black sunglasses that I wasn't thrilled about.
Late in the afternoon, we finished skiing and returned our hire gear. Charlie and me went to sleep in the car on the way back down the mountain. At least we did until a loud rumbling woke us. At first I thought the noise was fighter aeroplanes invading my dream, but the rumble vibrated through my whole body. Real quick, I sat up straight, wide awake. "What was that?"
Mom turned round. Her face was white. I'd never seen her look like that, even when she was sick. She said very softly, "The volcano is rumbling. It'll be okay; we aren't that far from the bottom."
Two things hit me. Mom was lying to keep me calm and Dad's knuckles were white because he was holding the steering wheel so tight. I wanted to scream, Mount Etna is an active volcano! The thing was that I knew that. But what were the chances of it waking up cranky today?
"Look at the smoke." Charlie, who'd just woken up too, was gawking out the back window. He sounded excited.
The smoke was dark. It looked angry. "Charlie, we could all die!" I felt like punching him.
Suddenly it seemed to hit him that we were in serious trouble. "I know. Etna is one of the most active volcanoes in the world. It erupts all the time."
"What? When did it last erupt?"
"Last year."
"Great." I heard Mom suck in her breath.
Dad interrupted, "Everything is going to be fine. In less than an hour we'll be off the mountain and this will be merely a good story to tell your friends."
Just then our car went round a bend and Mom screamed. Ahead of us, a massive tree blocked the road. There was no way to go round the tree because old lava flows covered most of the ground either side of the road.
Far out! I was too young to die!