Read Online Defending Irene by Kristin Wolden; Nitz - Free Book Online

report card.
    â€œI recommend that you buy a dictionary and a grammar book to help you. Do not worry yourself. Since you already speak two languages, you may learn the third quickly. It would be easier for you down in Italy. Students start with English in elementary school instead of German.”
    â€œDown in Italy?” I repeated.
    The professoressa smiled. “People say that here. The Alto Adige is in Italy; but it is not Italy. It belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire until the end of World War I. You have seen the architecture. It is more like Innsbruck and Salzburg than Verona or Venice. In the city, half the people speak German at home and the other half speak Italian. We have German schools and Italian schools. I could spend an hour telling you why. But your friends are waiting for you, true?”
    â€œ Sí , at the paper shop.”
    The woman closed her eyes and shivered theatrically. “By good luck, I need not go there today. Come to me with any problems or questions, Irene. Until tomorrow.”
    â€œCiao,” I said.
    â€œArrivederci, professoressa,” she corrected me.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œThis will take time. It will be hard and frustrating. But you will learn.”
    I smiled, nodded, and stood up. My muscles, which felt fine as long as I wasn’t moving, had tightened. My first steps would have made Giulia’s grandma look lively.
    â€œIrene, have you hurt yourself?” Professoressa Trevisani asked.
    â€œNo. It’s nothing,” I told her. “The mister made us run at soccer yesterday.”
    â€œYou play soccer? With the boys?” For the first time that morning, my teacher showed surprise. Her eyes traveled from my sandals to my ponytail.
    â€œSí.”
    â€œThis is normal in the United States?”
    â€œNo. I had my own team there. All female.”
    The left corner of her mouth lifted. “Maybe school will not be so difficult and frustrating for you as I thought. Good luck, Irene.”
    â€œThank you. Arrivederci, professoressa. ”
    â€œ Brava , Irene.”
    I escaped.
    I walked the two blocks to the nearest paper shop, squeezed through the door and pushed my way past the people already making a line in front of the counter. As I made my way to the back of the store, I met Giulia and Barbara struggling to the front with their arms full of notebooks, pencils, and drawing pads. They had an extra stack of things for me: a pencil case, a pair of scissors, a protractor, a compass, and a box of watercolor paints.
    Giulia grinned at me. “See. We arrived in time. There are not too many people yet.”
    As we stood in line and other kids from the middle school pushed past us, I heard my name and nationality repeated in soft voices. That’s why it didn’t surprise me that, by the end of the first full day of school, everyone knew my name. I was Irene, the Americana Who Played Soccer.
    â€œDoes she really play soccer with you?” I overheard a boy ask Matteo the next day.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBut I heard—”
    Matteo sniffed. “Oh, she comes to soccer. I do not call what she does playing.”
    After lunch on Thursday, when the fifth person asked me the same question, I finally snapped. “ Sí. I do it. Shall I demonstrate it to you?”
    The boy blinked in surprise. Then his lips pulled back in a Matteo-like smile. “That would please me—please us.” He waved his hand at the two boys who stood behind him.
    I turned to Giulia beside me. “Ready, Giulia?”
    Her eyes asked a silent question: Do you really want to do this, Irene?
    I gave a tiny nod.
    She grinned. “Oh, sí . Barbara?”
    â€œNo!” Barbara answered. “I will watch.”
    I scanned the courtyard for another recruit and saw a familiar form bounce down the gray stone steps. “Luigi, come here!” I said. It was not a request.
    A small, calm corner of my brain noted that I should have