White Shadows

Chapter 1 - Get The Party Started

***LUCA***

I've spent the last few days - three, I think - being unusually lethargic and depressive. I guess watching your best friend's twin brother die, and then later witnessing the most heartbreaking memorial service since the day my aunt tearfully eulogized her mom in San Francisco, will do that to a guy.

This Friday afternoon, though, my brothers have a good idea for how to cure me of this melancholic state of mine. In all honesty, I can never resist a good game of basketball in Sangster Park. Shirts vs. tanks, the way we'd play if the rest of our squad were here. Not skins - I'd love to do that, but if someone (I'm looking at you, Courtney Skerritt! And you, Alicia Kim!) were to get a picture of us (especially me, because I'm sure the glitterazzi - or, in this case, glitterazze, since they're girls - consider me a more choice cut of beef than my brothers, if you know what I mean) playing that way and post it on the internet, I'm sure my 'rents would have a few words to say about that. And not the kind you can say on TV.

The game idea works pretty well, too. I get my first decent bit of exercise in a while, so there's that. I totally own Marco, whose b-ball skills are still sorely lacking after all these years, and once again learn just how much Giovanni's become a force to be reckoned with. And coming back home, I get to say hi to a girl who's a million times more awesomer than either of those two crazy ladies I mentioned before. Anjali Thiara has always been a hella chill next-door neighbor, even if we don't get to see each other too much anymore.

But then, after I get out of the shower and watch as Marco jumps in ("About friggin' time," he whispers, darting into the bathroom and shutting the door), I find myself staring at the ceiling as I lie on my bed. There are three beds in this room - Marco has the one by the window, and Gio and I have the bottom and top bunk, respectively, on the opposite side. I think if a psychic were to look at this room, he or she would say that the space around my bed, in particular, was contaminated with a black aura or something.

Maybe it's because when I'm in my room, especially when I'm alone with fewer distractions, my mind wanders to more unhappy subjects that I really shouldn't be dwelling on. Namely, the way the man upstairs has spent months pissing on Alex, taking away people he loves. However sad I feel about it, though, Alex must be a million times worse. I've tried to get into contact with him a few times since Tuesday's memorial - by text, by email, even by voicemail. At this point, I'm even considering sending smoke signals. Not that he'd be any more likely to respond to those.

Eventually, I make myself go down the hall just long enough to get a glass of water. When I get to the kitchen, though, Mom's in there, busily baking cookies. Chocolate pizzelle - her favorite, and Nonna's. I'm mystified at first, but then I remember that this weekend is our annual family reunion.

"I know what you're thinking," Mom says with a laugh as she ties up another Saran-wrapped stack of pizzelle. "It's a little hot for baking today, isn't it? Well, it's tradition, and I'm not gonna be the first to break it." She laughs out loud for a second, then hands me a half-moon-shaped cookie - one of the factory rejects, of course. As I eat it, she adds, "Still feeling down, Luca?"

"How'd you guess?" I ask, turning away from her so I can get my water out of the fridge. And so she doesn't see me roll my eyes.

"Being sad always makes you cold, for some reason," says Mom. "Why else would you wear a hoodie on a nice day like this?" She tugs on the hood to make her point, almost making me choke on my water.

"Never noticed that before," I say. I don't look at Mom as I drink my water. Instead, I look at the TV. She's got a classical-music channel playing - her favorite baking soundtrack.

"Maybe you should invite the Snows along tomorrow," Mom says as the on-screen song changes from something by Bach to something by Haydn. I only know because the display changes to reflect it - otherwise, my brain, trained as it is on zone music, can't tell the difference between the two pieces. "Or have you already invited them and not told me?"