Instructions for a Broken Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

amici!” Their tour guide, Francesca, blinked out at them with bright eyes much like the frog’s she was toting on the stick they were supposed to follow. Standing outside on the shallow steps of the Pantheon, dwarfed by a massive column behind her, she assembled the group. Jessa studied Francesca’s wide, cropped linen trousers and the charcoal cape that seemed a nod to the togas on so many of the statues that dotted the city landscape like secret service agents. Her outfit had no right angles, all sweeps and folds. Her hair seemed its own creature, something wild and reddish brown and curly; its tendrils down her back, draping her shoulders, swept back away from her wide O of a face. Her looks were exaggerated and windswept, strikingly beautiful.
    The two men from the other group had noticed immediately.
    The taller man quickly positioned himself close to her, watching her, her every word the key to something he couldn’t quite open. He was six feet tall but shorter somehow, as if the world’s hands constantly pressed his shoulders into downward slopes. Close-cut hair, not blond or brown, a travel shirt with flaps and pockets and on the sleeve some sort of buckle. Probably a history teacher, or earth science.
    Francesca surveyed the group. “Are we missing some?”
    “Um, Francesca?” The man with sloping shoulders laughed nervously. “My wife and a couple of our students went to do a bit of shopping. Hope that’s OK. Not holding us up?” He had a mustache that Jessa hadn’t noticed at first, a mess of straw beneath his nose that looked like something Carissa might feed Jumper for a snack.
    Francesca frowned, adjusted her cape. “Certainly, certainly.” She checked some papers she had fastened to a clipboard with a large jeweled clip. “Actually, no. You must fetch them. We have to meet the bus.”
    The shoulders slouched off in the direction of the boutique shops across the way.
    A low murmur arose from the group, side whispers that were suddenly allowed to grow and shift. Jessa spotted the blonde girl with the BlackBerry snapping her gum. The redhead snapped a picture of her snapping her gum and got a manicured middle finger as a reply.
    Francesca spoke suddenly into a cell phone in fast Italian. Mr. Campbell and Ms. Jackson pulled the Williams Peak group over to a nearby fountain to wait for the wayward members of the other school.
    Tyler sat on the ground next to Mr. Campbell, reading a packet of what looked like stapled-together index cards. As Jessa crouched down next to him, he shoved them into the inside pocket of his jacket.
    “What was that?”
    “Nothing. Travel stuff.” Tyler cleared his throat and nudged Mr. Campbell. “OK, so this is dubious.” Tyler’s new favorite word—lately, everything mildly annoying or suspicious was dubious.
    Mr. Campbell slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
    Tyler flipped his hood off. “Correction. It wasn’t that bad until the whole cast of The Hills showed up.”
    “Be nice.” But Mr. Campbell was smiling.
    Jessa longed to go park herself at one of the small café tables lining the plaza, sip an espresso, and read a book. But instead, they waited. Tim attempted handstands and Devon tried to knock him over without stepping on the pigeons. Jade sang quietly, strumming her travel guitar.
    “How do you say ‘bored’ in Italian?” Tyler asked.
    Jessa brushed some hair from her eyes.
    Mr. Campbell motioned to the inside of her left wrist, the long iridescent skinny trail of a scar. “Where’d you get that?”
    Jessa laughed, pulled her cuff up. “Didn’t you know? I’m Harry Potter’s crazy half sister.”
    Chuckling, Mr. Campbell pushed on the nose of his sunglasses as if they didn’t quite fit and went back to studying the whole group. Jessa used the tiny pocket of time to fish her iPod out of her sweatshirt pocket and plug herself in. She found Les Mis and started from the beginning.
    Tyler peeked at her screen,