One year in Signor Flavio's Italian classes was quite enough, grazie mille. A love of Italy did not change the fact that Kacey still pronounced bruschetta with an sh instead of an sk, and had barely managed to nail down a few regular verbs or what her book called Useful Italian Phrases. Then the phone call came: "What do you mean, you will not continue in my Italian class?" her teacher demanded. You are . . . come si dice? . . . last minute. You are too last minute! And your verbs, signora? Do you think they will follow you around like the stray cats in Rome if you throw them some leftover linguini once in a while? Impossibile! You must care and feed i tuoi verbi or they will be dead, morti," Signor Flavio warned. "I have already spoken to the other students. No one is leaving this class. Nessuno!" Since Kacey had always felt intimidated by Signor Flavio, she was incapable of suggesting what else he might do with his leftover linguini. And since her verbi were already on life support, well, really, what choice did she have? Soon after, the class has an unexpected opportunity to travel to Rome as a bona fide group with a bona fide group rate. It was the group part that concerned Kacey the most. Signor Flavio's ninety minute classes once a week were already testing the limits of her tolerance. This would be all of them . . . together . . . tutti insieme for nine full days. Oh, but she'd be in Rome. Bella Roma! How bad could it be?