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computer. I couldn’t believe someone who’d lived through the attempted–destruction of his entire race could produce works of such playfulness and beauty.
    “His work gave hope to many generations,” said Sir Walter, “But especially, I think, to those who had survived the Holocaust. Such bright colors, such elegant representations of angels, men, and beasts, of the joy of an ordinary life.”
    After that, Sir Walter did some checking on his list of properties Helmann had acquired.
    “I like this not,” he said. “Geneses owns a building quite close to the Musée Chagall . What can he be up to, my cousin? What evil does he now devise?”
    Whatever it was, we were on our way to Rome to find out.
    From Roma Termini , the Eternal City’s massive train station, we taxied to yet another luxury apartment Sir Walter rented with cash. On our way, we’d driven right past the Coliseum and the Forum Romanum, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it just about killed me to stay in the taxi. But then I thought of Sam, of how the sooner we wiped Helmann’s ugly face off the planet, the sooner Sam and I could be together. It helped some.
    We ate dinner at a restaurant called a Trattoria . Mick stuck with pizza, but I took Sir Walter’s advice and ordered this potato dumpling— gnocchi— that was absolutely the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Like a combo of tater–tots and cheese ravioli only a hundred times better. And the velvet–y white sauce? I’m not ashamed to say I shined my plate clean using a hunk of crusty bread.
    “I’m never leaving Rome,” I said as the waiter took my plate away.
    Mickie smiled and coughed a single word into her napkin. “ Girlfriend. ”
    Which kind of took me down a few notches. Mick must’ve felt bad, ‘cause next thing you know she’s offering to buy us all Italian ice cream. But gelato cioccolato didn’t taste anywhere near as good as Sam’s lips crushed against mine. I let Mick finish my ice cream.
    Sir Walter and I dropped my sister off back in the apartment and then rippled so we could check out Geneses’ Roman headquarters. Sir Walter said things slowed down at night in Helmann’s other offices, so you could maybe have a shot at coming solid if anything interesting was lying around that needed to be borrowed for an indefinite period.
    The headquarters building itself was plain, hardly even marked. A tiny brass sign by the front door said Geneses Internationale . Sir Walter and I slipped through the warm bubble of a solid–glass door.
    Glass rules , I wrote.
    I heard Sir Walter’s soft chuckle, which I figured meant roughly, Fist–bump, dude!
    What are we looking for first? I wrote.
    Anything useful , came the answer.
    Which, honestly, was not a useful answer at all if you ask me. I wished I had eyes to roll for times like this. I let Sir Walter take the lead. He found an office marked Signore Pepe, Vice Presidente , and we passed through the door. It was this dark old wood, all polished like Bridget Li’s counters back in Las Abs. I tried to smell it or taste it, but I wasn’t Sam, and to me it pretty much seemed like wood.
    Sir Walter aimed us for a set of file drawers; there was no computer on the desk. Rippling solid, he flicked a key card in front of the lock, and the file drawer swung open.
    Coming solid myself, I murmured, “Nice.”
    Sir Walter turned to me with his forefinger pressed to his lips. Universal sign for shut up, already . I looked over my friend’s shoulder. Everything was in Italian, which I couldn’t read, so after awhile I started getting bored and also sleepy from being solid at night. I fumbled around in my pockets for something to write on. Finding a flattened empty gum pack, I grabbed a pen off the desk and wrote:
    I’m rippling. I’ll stick to yr right side, close.
    Sir Walter looked up and nodded.
    I felt a lot more alert once I rippled out of my tired body. Seriously, I needed to get back to running just so I could get back some