JOSEPHINE

Dr. Bradford was watering his plants when I reentered the room after our short break. He smiled, and I sat down in one of the armchairs, watching him. I noticed that he wasn't watering all of them. "How do you know which ones need water and which ones don't?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, that's easy," he replied, putting the watering can on the windowsill. He seemed to have finished watering. "My husband tells me in the morning which pots need it. Do you see the different colors? The plants in the white pots need a lot of water, the ones in the wicker baskets need a medium amount, and the ones in the glass pots, for example, don't seem to need any and still thrive. To be honest, they are my favorites. But that's all I know; he can tell you more than I can."

"And how much do the other colors need?"

Dr. Bradford sighed as he sat down next to me. "Josephine, I have a PhD in psychology, not botany. But if you're really interested, I'll pass the question on and give you an answer next time." To my own surprise, I had to admit that I was really interested. Dr. Bradford seemed to notice and started to laugh. "My husband will be delighted. So it's a deal: I'll ask him if you tell me about your week in return. Your homeschooling started a while ago, and yet you're avoiding the topic. How is it going?"

"It's okay." School was definitely not my favorite subject. He didn't say anything, just leaned back and crossed his legs. He always did that when he noticed I didn't want to talk about something, which, in his defense, was often. I reminded myself that it was me who wanted his help, not the other way around, and sighed. "The teacher is really nice and always tries new ways to explain things to me, but I just don't understand it." 'Because I'm stupid. Because I'm so incredibly stupid.'

"Can there be any other explanation than what your thoughts are telling you?" He leaned forward again, and I avoided his gaze to stare out the window.

"Not if there is no other explanation. I'm just too stupid!" I said simply. Dr. Bradford wasn't there; he couldn't have known how dumb I was.

He nodded briefly, as if confirming something to himself—or rather as if I was confirming something. "Intelligence comes in many forms. According to Gardner's theory, there are eight different intelligences: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic. Each of these intelligences represents a unique way of processing information and solving problems. And even for those, he believed that there must be more forms of intelligence. What I mean by that is: just because you find academic things difficult doesn't say anything about how intelligent you are. I would even go so far as to say that you are very intelligent. So what could be a realistic reason for why you are finding learning difficult right now?"

'That's easy to say when you are so smart yourself,' I thought bitterly. I looked at him again, knowing full well what he wanted to hear. "Because I didn't go to school, and therefore I don't know the content."

"I'm delighted you anticipate what I might want to hear," he replied with an ironic undertone. "Let me rephrase my question: why does it stress you out?"

And I actually started to think. Maybe I was smarter in other areas, but what mattered was school and the grades I would get. I couldn't afford to be bad. If I was bad, Vito would see how bad I was, and then he would be disappointed, and then he would— "my mind keeps spiraling."

Dr. Bradford immediately understood what I meant and watched me as I stood up and went to the window to distract myself. The activity of the people below helped to ground me a little. For the fact that people scared me so much, they also gave me a strange sense of security, at least from a safe distance. "Why does this keep happening?" I asked.

He came over to me and sat on the windowsill. "There are many different reasons for this, but they are your thoughts; they reflect what you see in yourself. It's a kind of cycle. Something negative, however banal it may be, happens to you, which confirms your attitude towards yourself, and in order to confirm yourself, your head tells you these things. It goes so far that it cannot deal with positive experiences, and unfortunately, in everything good, you can also find something bad if you just think about it long enough." He paused for a second. "I apologize; my question was very poorly worded."

I nodded absently, then sat down next to him on the windowsill. "Can I ask you for something? I don't feel like I'm making any progress. Will there ever be one?"

"Such a difficult question at the end of our session. In short: yes. In my eyes, and I can only speak from what I notice objectively in you, you have already made progress. But it may take a while until you can notice it for yourself." He looked at the clock and smiled suddenly. "I want you to think about how much progress you have made before next time. And no, I won't give you any tips. That would be too easy."

'Great. Thank you.' "Okay, I will. See you next week?"

"Yes, till next week, Josephine," he replied, and I left the office. I took out my phone to ask Riccardo where I should go, but he had already written to me.

Riccardo [02:03 pm] I'm late. I'll take the usual.

I looked at my phone with a sigh and put it back in my pocket as I walked down the stairs. No explanation, no approximate time when he would arrive. Even without his name in the contact, I would have known who had written to me. Everyone else used more words—except Domenico, who usually never wrote and when he did, only used two emojis (thumbs up or down). The message presented me with a new challenge, however, because up until now, I had only ever gone to the café opposite Dr. Bradford with someone else. And not only did I have to go alone, I also had to order alone. 'This is not good. What if I say the wrong thing? Or worse, they send me out the second I enter the shop?' I shook my head vigorously and took a deep breath as I pulled the hood of my sweater over my head against the cold air. What was so difficult about it? I could speak, I knew what Riccardo wanted, I knew what I would like, and I had money with me. 'And I have to talk to a stranger who was probably stressed and didn't want to do his job but had to in order to pay his rent.' Especially not to someone like me.

'Hello, I would like to order a yogurt milkshake and an iced coffee with chocolate ice cream and caramel syrup to go.' While I was waiting for the traffic light, I repeated the sentence over and over and planned my order meticulously. First, I would go in and queue. I would order at the first counter, then go on to pay. Oh God, did I have enough money with me? 'Of course I have enough money with me,' I scolded myself and checked again. I had enough. Vito had given me $50 a month ago for just such cases, and I still had $52 because Valentino had lost against me at cards. Okay, depending on how busy it was, I would get a number from the cashier. Then I would turn around, look for a free place to wait until my number was called. Then I just had to take the things and wait outside until Riccardo came. 'What could possibly go wrong?' I tried to encourage myself and recited the order again and again to calm myself down.

At the door, I rechecked whether I really had enough money with me, took a deep breath, and went in. The first thing I noticed was how crowded it was. All the tables were occupied by other teenagers who were talking loudly and laughing. I started counting them involuntarily. There were three tables where only girls were sitting, four where couples seemed to have met, and two tables pushed together to make one large one. At it sat boys who were loud and a few girls who were laughing but didn't seem to find it funny. The mood was good, but I was still worried about the boys. To be on the safe side, I pulled my hood a little further over my face and was annoyed because my posture automatically changed. I didn't change it but hurried to the counter to order. This time, there was a woman behind it who smiled at me in a friendly way. Encouraged, I started to say my choreographed sentence and flinched when loud laughter broke out behind me. I quickly looked at them, but their attention was on someone else. Reassured, I turned around and went on to pay.

It felt strange to have so much money in my hand, but I tried to ignore the feeling that came over me as I gave the money to the cashier. He didn't seem to notice the slight trembling in my hands. Rather, he seemed to be imagining a hundred places he would rather be than here. 'That makes two of us,' I thought and counted the change in my hand again. Without a word, he handed me the receipt with the number and asked the next person to pay. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, but before I could get it out, I bumped into something. Rather, it was someone, and that person must have grabbed something hot, because suddenly it was very hot on my upper body, and I quickly pulled the wet fabric forward to avoid scalding myself further. Silently cursing, I looked at the brown stain.

"Oh shit, is everything okay, mate? Sorry, I didn't see you," asked a male voice. Two hands appeared in my field of vision, but the voice was already enough to make me back off. "Hey, it's okay. I just wanted to see if I could help in any way. Oh man, you better take that off." I looked up in horror. Was it all just a trick? In terms of size and age, I would have guessed he was around Riccardo's or Matteo's age. Only he had blond hair and a broader upper body, which didn't make him any less intimidating. 'Why should I take off my clothes?' What was he planning? He seemed to notice my growing fear and took a step back with his hands raised. "So you don't get burned. That's why you should take it off. That was misleading. Don't you have a jacket with you?"

He looked at my empty hands. In hindsight, it would have been wise to take a jacket with me, but when Valentino had brought me to my appointment, he was in a hurry because of some presentation he still had to give, and I didn't want to hold him up any longer. The boy was right, though: I should take the sweater off. At least until the coffee had completely cooled down. I looked down at myself again skeptically. Hopefully, the stains would come out again; after all, the sweater belonged to Matteo.

"Wait, you can put mine on. I have a jacket with me," said the boy, taking off his sweater without waiting for a response. He smiled while I stared at him blankly and held it even closer to my face. "Really. It's too warm in here anyway."

Hesitantly, and for lack of alternatives, I took the sweater. "Thanks. I—I'm just going to change," I whispered rather than spoke, but I didn't care. Hurriedly and with a bright red face, I walked past him to the ladies' room.

"Dude, the men's toilets are on the right!" the unknown boy called after me, followed by an insightful "Oh!"

While I was changing, I prayed he would be gone when I came back, but I wasn't that lucky. As soon as I had left the bathroom, he was standing in front of me again. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know you were a girl. You looked like a—whatever. The blue definitely suits you."

"I have to go; my number was called." I tried to escape this awkward situation, but Smiling Face had other plans.

"Hey, I'm Luke," he said, holding out his hand while smiling at me.

I hesitantly took his hand. It felt warm. "Josephine." 'And in a hurry.'

"What school do you go to? I've never seen you here before," he asked, simply following me as I went to the counter to get my order.

"I'm homeschooled," I replied simply. I wasn't good at conversations, but in my defense, I didn't want to have a conversation either. What I wanted was to get out of here as quickly as possible and hope that Riccardo didn't notice my change of outfit.

"Oh, cool—Marini, what do you want? I'm in the middle of a conversation." Luke's voice suddenly sounded noticeably colder, and his smile faded. 'Too bad,' I thought. The dimples looked somehow good on him.

Riccardo, whom I tried to ignore as diligently as I had tried to ignore Luke, came to my side and looked me over briefly. 'Great, just great.' "Why are you wearing Hastings' sweater?" he asked urgently, and I didn't miss the threatening tone. I remained quiet.

"What's it got to do with you? Is she your girlfriend?" If I hadn't been busy looking closely at the floor, I might have noticed that the café had become noticeably quieter. What I noticed instead was my pulse, which was slowly but surely getting faster, and the feeling of oppression that was gradually spreading.

"I don't know what that has to do with you and her, but if you get any closer to my sister-" The air slowly became tighter. I quickly grabbed Riccardo's sleeve and pulled three times. Suddenly his posture changed from threatening to cautious. "We're leaving."

He took the holder from me, turned me around with him, and kept his hand on my back to guide me through the café. I pulled the sleeves over my hands and then remembered that this wasn't my top. "I still have to return the sweater!"

"Don't you worry; we can still burn it in the backyard," Riccardo murmured.

I turned back to Luke, who was standing there confused. When he saw me looking at him, he smiled again and winked. "Keep it; I've got plenty more."



[*] Explore Psychology - Howard Gardners Multiple Intelligence

[°] @kittykat0211 This reminded me of you while I was writing. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you on Thursday.