Read Online Viola in Reel Life by Adriana Trigiani - Free Book Online

instructions.”
    Dad laughs. Mom comes back into the frame. “I didn’t listen to a word of that,” she lies. “So, how are your roommates? How’s Soledad?”
    “Marisol,” I correct her.
    “Right, right. I loved her blog.”
    “I like Marisol a lot. We have a lot of classes together. Suzanne is, like, totally pretty and nice. Romy talks nonstop.”
    “Maybe she’s nervous,” Mom says.
    “No, she just likes to talk,” I say.
    “It’s good to be around upbeat people.”
    “I guess.”
    “Have you been working on your video diary?”
    “Oh yeah. The Viola Reels. It’s going great. I’m kind of known for my camera now. That’s how I’ve been dragged into working on Founder’s Day.”
    “Oh, you’ll love it. The girls dress up in costumes that are the uniforms from every era in the school’s history,” Mom says.
    “I know all about it. I’m helping with the play. I’mdoing computerized scenery.”
    “How wonderful!” Mom actually claps her hands.
    “How are the classes?” Dad asks.
    “The teachers are totally Midwestern.”
    “You’re in the Midwest, Viola,” he reminds me.
    “That’s the problem. South Bend, Indiana, will never be Brooklyn, New York. Indiana has its charms. I like twilight. The girls are growing on me. The hash browns are most excellent. But I miss home. I miss stuff. Like, I miss our house. I miss our stoop where people leave cards for emergency locksmith service and stacks of flyers for Indian food to go and discount coupons for Tel Aviv airport rides. I miss Andrew. I miss Caitlin, even though her mother is way too strict and annoying. I miss LaGuardia. I miss Ray’s Pizza and the Manhattan skyline at night from the overlook at Dumbo. I miss gummi worms in Ziplocs from our bodega. I miss the garden on Clark Street where they planted sunflowers that got as tall as the second-story windows. I miss taxi cabs and gyros and frozen hot chocolate from Serendipity on Saturdays. I miss the fountain at Lincoln Center in December and the ballerinas in their leg warmers on their way to a Nutcracker matinee. I miss Mr. Sandovitch in his tuxedo when the car service comes to pick him up with his ginormous bass fiddle to play a classical concertat the Steinway Hall. I miss New York. I miss Brooklyn. I miss the subway. I miss you.”
    “We miss you too, honey,” Dad says.
    “With all our hearts,” Mom adds.
    “Then fly me over there. I can be very quiet in Afghanistan. I can do some amazing handheld camera work. You know I can do it!”
    “Viola, someday you’ll be able to travel with us.” Dad looks at Mom and then back into the eye of the computer camera. “And even make movies with us. But right now, it’s best for you to have an experience like boarding school. I promise that it will open you up in ways you never imagined.”
    “It was so good for me, Viola. I know it will be good for you.” Mom nods slowly.
    “Okay, okay.” The notion of what might be good for me makes tears come to my eyes. I wipe them on my sleeve. Dad and Mom reach out and touch the camera on their end, and I do the same on mine. For just a moment I can feel their hands on mine, and a rush of warmth and security and love washes over me like autumn rain. As the screen goes to black, I remember that a year is just a year, even though it seems like so much more, like a forever and always more.
     
    I took a risk before I came to PA and had my bangs cut—and the results were more Pippi Longstocking (bad) than Hayden Panettiere (perfect) so I’m using this time wisely by growing them out, and practicing my dance skills in gym—just in case I will actually dance at a thing called a dance.
    I think my bangs will have time to grow before the dance if I don’t get tempted to cut them short when they start to get in my eyes. That is the problem with bangs—there’s a lot of upkeep involved. Growing hair out is a lesson in patience. Scientists have confirmed that human hair grows on an average of half