The poisonous smoke that filled her lungs made the fifteen year old girl close her eyes, taking in the joyful feeling it gave her. Why keep your lungs clean if you planned on dying young anyway?

Eyes fluttering open, the girl with dark eyes and blood red lipstick painted on her mouth looked around at the tourists who passed her. They were all the same; older men and women who easily resembled her parents if they were to wear capri shorts and sun visors to the weekly dinners. They hauled their children around from attraction to attraction and forced them to smile as they took their pictures.

Emily huffed.

She never understood why people came to visit Rome. It had the beautiful buildings and the ruins that drew everyone in, but what about the men who go and drink at night and tried to take advantage; the pick pocketing and drug dealing on every corner when the tourists were back in their historic hotels for the evening; the drunks who would steal the vespas that were never locked up and crash them into fire hydrants? That's all Emily ever saw.

Although she did favor the streets that others feared to go down. Maybe that's why she had such a dark view of the city.

Pushing herself off the fountain she leaned on with her elbows, the fifteen year old took one last puff of her cigarette before flicking it into the crystal clear water. She saw a mother of two with her hands on a ten year old's shoulders look to her with wide eyes, and the ambassador's daughter gave a wink before slipping her sunglasses on and falling in with the rest of the crowd.

"Cazzo," she cursed. The fifteen year old fixed the sleeve of her leather jacket and cut around a couple making out on the stairs before the Trevi Fountain to get back to the main street and meet the boys she had promised to have lunch with.

"Miss," a voice called, "can I give you a ride?"

Emily gave the old man the finger, averting from the main road and walking down an ally she knew his van was too big to fit down. She fiddled in her jacket pocket before finding another cigarette and placing it between her lips.

Emerging from one of the dark doorways the sunlight couldn't hit, another man made eyes at the beautiful brunette walking down the cobblestone. Picking a pack of matches from his pocket, the greasy haired stranger lit the match and offered it to the teen. "Light?"

Emily grinned, leaning forward and letting the older man fire up the cigarette that never fell from her lips. "Thanks," she smiled, the cigarette ending up between her fingers so she could blow the puff of smoke out.

"Come in."

She watched the older man open up the broken down door to what was most likely his home, and the teen shrugged. "Maybe next time," she winked, turning on her heel to continue down the road.

Flipping her newly cut curls over her shoulder, the teen walked back into the sunlight and made her way through the lines that were around the block for the most popular bakeries ad creameries that had opened only a few minutes before.

"Em! Cagna," the boy calling to her laughed when Emily flipped him off. "Get over here, you're late!"

Emily slipped her sunglasses up to the crown of her head and grinned at her friends, letting the boy who had called her a bitch take her into a hug. "Don't start with me, Mattie," she warned, sitting down between the two boys. "It's barely morning."

Matthew frowned. "It's two in the afternoon."

The ambassador's daughter, about to make a face at the boy she considered her best friend, felt herself jump at the warm kiss pressed just beside her ear. "Hey," the brunette nodded, letting John take her against his side as their waiter came.

"Wine, signorina?"

"Si," Emily smiled, feeling John's hand cup her hip. "Grazie."

Matthew kept his smile dormant until the waiter was gone. "You didn't even have to flash your fake this time."

"I turn sixteen in a month," the brunette girl argued, flashing a grin to the waiter when he came back to pour her glass. "Then I won't even need my fake."

"Unless you go back to the states."

Emily groaned. She had been in Italy for almost an entire year, and no matter her views on the city she was living in, nowhere in the states she'd ever been to could compare. "I'd kill myself before my mother made me move again," the teenager almost growled, swishing the wine around in the expensive glass before taking a sip.

Leaning into the beautiful girl, John nuzzled his nose underneath Emily's ear. "You ready for tonight?"

The ambassador's daughter kept her eye roll to herself as she sat up, untangling John's arm from around her waist and leaning into the table. "Yeah," she nodded, looking directly at the other boy. "It's supposed to be a good party."

"Just be careful," Matthew warned, knowing exactly the kind of trouble his friends had gotten into last time.

Emily was quick to nod her head. "No drugs," she agreed, taking a bite of her shrimp salad and pointing her fork to her best friend. "Got it."

Finishing up their lunch, the ambassador's daughter paid for the meal and let the boys go and get them a cab. As she slipped a few dollars under her napkin for the waiter as a tip, the fifteen year old looked up, her hair blowing before her eyes, and she saw a dark skinned boy walking out of the creamery across the cobblestone street. She could almost feel her jaw dropping.

She'd never seen a boy so gorgeous.

He looked around her age, and she watched with darkening eyes as he licked the dripping ice cream off of the cone in his hand.

"Em? Are you coming?"

The ambassador's daughter got herself up and slipped her glasses back over her eyes. "Calm down," she groused, her heels clicking against the cobblestone as she made her way to the cab.

Matthew looked out the door and tried to find whoever had caught Emily eye.

"Get in," she laughed, pushing her friend into the car before she slid herself in. Slamming the door, the brunette girl looked out the window to try and find the boy she'd seen in front of the creamery, cursing herself as her eyes failed to find him. She let John's hand make its way to her thigh as she leaned back, the cab taking off down the street.