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Among
all
the
nominees
on
my
Potential
New
Italian
Friends
List
,
I
am
most
intrigued
to
meet
a
fellow
named
…
brace
yourself
…
Luca
Spaghetti
.
Luca
Spaghetti
is
a
good
friend
of
my
buddy
Patrick
McDevitt
,
whom
I
know
from
my
college
days
.
And
that
is
honestly
his
name
,
I
swear
to
God
,
I
’
m
not
making
it
up
.
It
’
s
too
crazy
.
I
mean
-
just
think
of
it
.
Imagine
going
through
life
with
a
name
like
Patrick
McDevitt
?
Anyhow
,
I
plan
to
get
in
touch
with
Luca
Spaghetti
just
as
soon
as
possible
.
First
,
though
,
I
must
get
settled
into
school
.
My
classes
begin
today
at
the
Leonardo
da
Vinci
Academy
of
Language
Studies
,
where
I
will
be
studying
Italian
five
days
a
week
,
four
hours
a
day
.
I
’
m
so
excited
about
school
.
I
’
m
such
a
shameless
student
.
I
laid
my
clothes
out
last
night
,
just
like
I
did
before
my
first
day
of
first
grade
,
with
my
patent
leather
shoes
and
my
new
lunch
box
.
I
hope
the
teacher
will
like
me
.
We
all
have
to
take
a
test
on
the
first
day
at
Leonardo
da
Vinci
,
in
order
to
be
placed
in
the
proper
level
of
Italian
class
for
our
abilities
.
When
I
hear
this
,
I
immediately
start
hoping
I
don
’
t
place
into
a
Level
One
class
,
because
that
would
be
humiliating
,
given
that
I
already
took
a
whole
entire
semester
of
Italian
at
my
Night
School
for
Divorced
Ladies
in
New
York
,
and
that
I
spent
the
summer
memorizing
flash
cards
,
and
that
I
’
ve
already
been
in
Rome
a
week
,
and
have
been
practicing
the
language
in
person
,
even
conversing
with
old
grandmothers
about
divorce
.
The
thing
is
,
I
don
’
t
even
know
how
many
levels
this
school
has
,
but
as
soon
as
I
heard
the
word
level
,
I
decided
that
I
must
test
into
Level
Two
-
at
least
.
So
it
’
s
hammering
down
rain
today
,
and
I
show
up
to
school
early
(
like
I
always
have
-
geek
!
)
and
I
take
the
test
.
It
’
s
such
a
hard
test
!
I
can
’
t
get
through
even
a
tenth
of
it
!
I
know
so
much
Italian
,
I
know
dozens
of
words
in
Italian
,
but
they
don
’
t
ask
me
anything
that
I
know
.
Then
there
’
s
an
oral
exam
,
which
is
even
worse
There
’
s
this
skinny
Italian
teacher
interviewing
me
and
speaking
way
too
fast
,
in
my
opinion
,
and
I
should
be
doing
so
much
better
than
this
but
I
’
m
nervous
and
making
mistakes
with
stuff
I
already
know
(
like
,
why
did
I
say
Vado
a
scuola
instead
of
Sono
andata
a
scuola
?
I
know
that
!
)
.
In
the
end
,
it
’
s
OK
,
though
.
The
skinny
Italian
teacher
looks
over
my
exam
and
selects
my
class
level
:
Level
TWO
!
Classes
begin
in
the
afternoon
.
So
I
go
eat
lunch
(
roasted
endive
)
then
saunter
back
to
the
school
and
smugly
walk
past
all
those
Level
One
students
(
who
must
be
molto
stupido
,
really
)
and
enter
my
first
class
.
With
my
peers
.
Except
that
it
becomes
swiftly
evident
that
these
are
not
my
peers
and
that
I
have
no
business
being
here
because
Level
Two
is
really
impossibly
hard
.
I
feel
like
I
’
m
swimming
,
but
barely
.
Like
I
’
m
taking
in
water
with
every
breath
.
The
teacher
,
a
skinny
guy
(
why
are
the
teachers
so
skinny
here
?
I
don
’
t
trust
skinny
Italians
)
,
is
going
way
too
fast
,
skipping
over
whole
chapters
of
the
textbook
,
saying
,
"
You
already
know
this
,
you
already
know
that
…
"
and
keeping
up
a
rapid
-
fire
conversation
with
my
apparently
fluent
classmates
.
My
stomach
is
gripped
in
horror
and
I
’
m
gasping
for
air
and
praying
he
won
’
t
call
on
me
.
Just
as
soon
as
the
break
comes
,
I
run
out
of
that
classroom
on
wobbling
legs
and
I
scurry
all
the
way
over
to
the
administrative
office
almost
in
tears
,
where
I
beg
in
very
clear
English
if
they
could
please
move
me
down
to
a
Level
One
class
.
And
so
they
do
.
And
now
I
am
here
.
This
teacher
is
plump
and
speaks
slowly
.
This
is
much
better
.
The
interesting
thing
about
my
Italian
class
is
that
nobody
really
needs
to
be
there
.
There
are
twelve
of
us
studying
together
,
of
all
ages
,
from
all
over
the
world
,
and
everybody
has
come
to
Rome
for
the
same
reason
-
to
study
Italian
just
because
they
feel
like
it
.
Not
one
of
us
can
identify
a
single
practical
reason
for
being
here
.
Nobody
’
s
boss
has
said
to
anyone
,
"
It
is
vital
that
you
learn
to
speak
Italian
in
order
for
us
to
conduct
our
business
overseas
.
"
Everybody
,
even
the
uptight
German
engineer
,
shares
what
I
thought
was
my
own
personal
motive
:
we
all
want
to
speak
Italian
because
we
love
the
way
it
makes
us
feel
.
A
sad
-
faced
Russian
woman
tells
us
she
’
s
treating
herself
to
Italian
lessons
because
"
I
think
I
deserve
something
beautiful
.
"
The
German
engineer
says
,
"
I
want
Italian
because
I
love
the
dolce
vita
"
-
the
sweet
life
.
(
Only
,
in
his
stiff
Germanic
accent
,
it
ends
up
sounding
like
he
said
he
loved
"
the
deutsche
vita
"
-
the
German
life
-
which
I
’
m
afraid
he
’
s
already
had
plenty
of
.
)
