“For the sake of brevity, let’s say so,” I waved him on, anxious for him to make his argument.
“Well, I went to junior high in New York. Your kind hung far from my kind—what, with your tight jeans, perfect blowouts, and cigarettes,” he snickered.
“That is amusing, my friend, because I grew up in New Jersey, was rather chubby from eating a school lunch and a home-cooked one, on account of the fact that my parents insisted on interpreting the word ‘lunch’ as ‘light snack,’ and was friends with my guidance counselor…like, actual friends. I didn’t have a ‘kind,’” I countered, careful to display just the appropriate amount of “bitter” and/or “self-deprecating.” “And, I didn’t smoke until college, and only briefly even then, too. I literally could not afford it.”
“Where did you go?”
“American. You?”
“New England Conservatory.”
“Ah,” I nodded, recognizing the name. Andrew had applied there, I remembered. “Do you play anything else, then?”
“I do,” he nodded. “Piano and violin.”
I played the triangle in my elementary school music class, I suddenly recalled, wisely opting to keep this information to myself.
“Is it true that the surest way to go to college for free is to play the French horn?” I asked, instead.
“So I hear.”
“I should probably ask Megan.”
“Presumably because she plays the French horn?”
“Indeed she does.”
I watched Jamie reach out his right hand to try to touch my left but change its mind midair. He did this slowly, as if afraid to disturb whatever it was that was beginning to take shape. I sympathized.
“Well, I still wish we’d met earlier,” I said after having allowed the levity of the moment to pass and the dread to reclaim its seemingly permanent spot deep within my flat (albeit hopelessly soft) stomach. “When we were both properly single—”
Before I could formulate and finish my thought, I felt Jamie’s fingers touch my cheek. Gradually, inch-by-inch, he scooted over, closer to me, all the while gently tilting my face toward his. My eyes were open, as were his, when our lips inevitably touched. Of its own volition, my mouth opened much too quickly to allow him in, hungry for contact. On the third melting thrust of our tongues, in instant rhythm, just as I felt the heat of his body begin to infect mine, I pulled away, immediately regretting doing so.
“I can’t,” I muttered. “You’re married, I’m barely out of an engagement, Paz went home for making up stories about you, and Veronika is pining over you like the school girl that she actually is,” I explained before I could allow him to even consider asking why. I listened as his breaths grew less shallow.
He sighed, as if weighing my words, considering the heft of my argument before stopping suddenly short.
“Veronika?”
“Yeah! Never mind your wife and your baby, and my ex-fiancé, and whatever else. Even if all of that other stuff didn’t exist, I’d be betraying my best stu—”
“Helen, Veronika is gay,” he said, as if this were the most public piece of information in the world. “She likes to ‘jam,’ as she insists on calling it, with me, and I certainly hope I’ve taught her something, but it isn’t me that girl has a crush on, Ms. Levit. It’s you!”
I furrowed my brow while Jamie laughed. When he was done, he brushed his hair out of his eyes and scratched his stubble.
“True story, Ms. Levit,” he nodded, earnestly.
“But…. She told you this?”
“She didn’t need to. We’ve spent enough time together since September for me to just know.”
And I’ve known the girl for over three years! George was right—I was clueless.
“But she was so appalled by Paz’s boobs all over you!”
Jamie shrugged, stifling a chuckle. “What can I say, she’s a very empathetic girl. That’s why she’s such a great musician. She very perceptive, let’s put it that way.”
He paused between “very” and “perceptive,” causing me to wonder what he meant.
“Veronika knows? Fuck, does everyone know I’m not engaged?” Suddenly hot, I shook off my cardigan, struggling to take out my arms swiftly enough without exposing my stubbly armpits. “So, when exactly did Abbott tell you this, again?”
“The day we left. Earlier that morning.”
“And Paz says he told her before we left, too. Not sure why,” I fumed.
Jamie shrugged.
“So Ver knows—”
“Well, I’m not sure, to be honest, but she might. Aren’t Ver and Paz best friends…inexplicably? She could’ve told her. But so what if she knows? What does it matter?” he asked, carefully, his arm making another hesitant move in my direction. “If it’s true—”
My room phone let out a piercing ring before I could clear my rapidly tightening throat to try to explain that, given that this was not my first attempt at breaking my engagement, I didn’t feel like publicizing my latest stab at it all that widely. I did not deem it necessary to give my students an update every time I felt brave enough to stand on my own two feet. Should I crack and come back to George, after all, I wouldn’t be able to stomach making a fool of myself in front of all these children I was paid to make respect me as a poor-man’s stand-in for an authority figure.
Of course, I also wanted to mention that, were he not married, were there no infant waiting for him at home, I wouldn’t want to hold on to this façade of an engagement one second longer. There was nothing I would rather be doing in all of London, Paris, or New York, than to sit there on this lumpy bed and trace the curves of rose petals on his arm with my finger. I would’ve loved to admit that, right in that moment, I would’ve gladly chosen to stay locked in that kiss with him for hours, days even, were the circumstances more fitting.
“Ms. Levit, I’m sorry, I know it’s late. Veronika didn’t want to disturb you, but I think you should come by.”
That was Riley on the phone. She was one of the few students at Talents who somehow managed to avoid having me for anything during her entire tenure there. But, a bespectacled girl sporting a short-cropped, burgundy mohawk, she was hard to miss, even at Talents.
“Are you okay, Riley? It’s past midnight, what’s wrong?” I asked into the receiver, shrugging in Jamie’s direction to answer his questioning eyes.
The girl sniffled.
“Ummm, the boys—Ofir and Andrew—they’re kind of pretty sick….”
Chapter Twenty-Four: As You Wish
It was hard not to slouch with the mind-numbing headache as I sat in the last row of our bus for the day and dumbly stared outside. Having put up some semblance of a fight the entire first half hour out of London, I eventually caved and curved my back. I tried to focus on the foggy landscape whizzing by our windows, though that only worsened the nausea that accompanied the pain. Fluffy sheep nibbled on grass the hue of green so saturated it did not seem natural, but even their charm did little to soothe the thumping in my temples. I needed a nap.
Over the groan of the bus underneath my seat, I could still hear Veronika arguing with Abbott that morning.
“It’s not fair, Mr. Abbott! Paz goes home for going up to the top of the damn Eiffel Tower, or so goes the official story, and these two don’t even get their parents informed when they buy some cheap-ass pot and drink the entire contents of their minibar?!”
“There are two days left of the trip, Veronika, don’t be hysterical. They get to miss the excursion today, that’s punishment enough. And, since this aforementioned pot was acquired on Mr. Sola’s watch, he’ll stay behind, too,” Abbott had replied with a condescending calm before he winked in Jamie’s direction.
“Well, then I’ll stay, too,” Veronika had announced as she folded her arms and threw herself down on the half-made bed where the boys lay in a semi-wakeful state. I’d wanted to shoot Jamie a look loaded with doubt as to the revelation he’d shared with me about the girl’s sexuality, but I knew he�
�d only roll his eyes in response.
With a shrug and a nod of the head of knowing nature, Abbott had muttered, “As you wish,” and, unflustered, left the room. “Levit, you’re coming though. That’s an order! I can’t lose any more chaperones,” he’d called, almost urgently, from the hallway.
Dark circles under his eyes, Jamie furrowed his brow. We’d walked away from the kids, huddling conspiratorially in the doorway.
“I have no idea when they could’ve done this. This is totally my fault. I clearly suck at babysitting—”
“Ah, but didn’t we already have this ‘what does and doesn’t make you a bad teacher’ conversation? Is it really your failure that your students are potheads?” I’d attempted a giggle as I looked up at him; still wearing nothing but socks on my feet, our height deferential was significant. We had spent the night changing buckets and washing faces (the girls, kind enough to lend a good chunk of their own sleep to helping us nurse the boys to health), but there was enough of that sleep-deprived energy still in me. “But seriously, couldn’t you have at least helped them find some good stuff?”
I groaned at the memory of my attempt at flirtation as I pressed my head against the glass of the bus window, the cool temperature of it only soothing at the moment of contact, warming too quickly. I knew that, now that the road signs promised to deposit us in Salisbury in less than twenty kilometers, there was no real use in trying to nap anymore. Still, my tiredness winning over, I closed my eyes one last time to at least physically rest them.
“Sweet Levit, we’re here!” I heard Abbott announce as I came to with a start. I must’ve dozed off after all, if only for a few minutes. “This is what happens when you spend the night with your boyfriend—you fall asleep on the job!”
We were alone aboard our bus, his voice booming, projected professionally. He threw his head back to let out his roar of a laugh while I rubbed my eyes.
“Abbott, stop calling him that! And why are you telling everyone I’m not engaged anymore?” I cleared my throat to demand, unconvincingly. Still seated in my empty back row, Abbott, who wasn’t of a particularly intimidating height, seemed to tower over me. Behind him, outside the window, I could see Nicole rushing about, distributing clear raincoats to our sleepy charges. It wasn’t raining yet, but the skies above threatened it.
“Oh, spring chicken, take it easy. Whom did I tell?” he eventually calmed down to ask. His hands were deep in his pockets and his head was resting pensively on his shoulder.
“Umm, let me see, you told your girlfriend! And Jamie! And Paz! And Paz may have told Veronika, for all I know. God knows who else.”
Abbott removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together, saying nothing. I couldn’t tell if my stomach burned because I had no time for hotel breakfast or because I was angry at Abbott’s (apparently bottomless) well of arrogance.
“But sweet Levit, you aren’t engaged. It’s the truth.”
He was backing his way up the aisle, but somehow I was still able to smell the peppermint of his gum above me when I finally forced my soft legs to support my weight and follow him.
~ ~ ~
The chunky heels of my boots sounded hollow as I stomped my way toward the mystical circle of stones, lagging behind our group. From my position, judging from their postures alone, I could tell that my kids were in awe. That should’ve been enough for me, but the sound of my own shoes unnerved me, sending my mind reeling back to the hotel…and further. I tried to stop and stay in the moment (even if the moment had me tired and confused), but I kept drifting. That’s all George claimed to ever want out of me—effort.
Nicole’s gentrified London accent blended perfectly with the picturesque landscape in front of us. The sky beyond the ring of upright stones that (despite having been long ago explained by facts and logic) still had the world in reverence and wonder was perfectly blue, but directly above it, there was a gray thundercloud the color of soot. A lone plane glided into it, determinedly; when I didn’t see it emerge back into the light fast enough, I held my breath. The only thing this scene was missing was some ominous new age music.
“Archeologists believe that this…structure, if you will, was erected anywhere between 3000 and 2000 B.C. You see, one theory suggests that some of the stones may have been installed here closer to 3000 B.C., but studies involving radiocarbon dating, conducted in 2008, on the other hand, insist that they may have been raised between 2400 and 2000 B.C. So, as you can tell, some disagreement in this area, yes?”
Nicole squinted in the light drizzle and gripped the straps of her purse. Her delivery, though rehearsed, was shaky and unsure; she was, as usual, easy to tune out.
One by one, my students asked one another to take their picture against the backdrop of the infamous Stonehenge. The fact that they respected the thin chain fence erected around the complex was endearing and impressive. Abbott and I smiled sideways to each other, silently congratulating ourselves, taking our arguably fair share of credit for such respectful children. Careful so as not to interrupt our already shaky guide, I agreed to take Liam and Jordan’s photo. And then Sage and Wisdom’s. And then Riley’s. And then Sophie’s.
It was only when I fished out my phone from my purse to document my own presence there that I realized that last night I’d shut it off mid-obscene text message from George.
Within seconds, it chirped three more synonymous messages, each one sending a hearty dose of adrenaline directly to my heart, leaving it to beat violently, as if it were a trapped animal. My stomach dropped when my already convulsing phone began to ring in my hands.
“Alla?”
“Am I catching you at a bad time?”
My brother’s wife rarely called me; our disdain for each other being mutual, we never had much to discuss, and neither one of us cared enough to feign a friendship solely for Vlad’s benefit.
“Everything okay? Where’s Vlad?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. Your brother is at work. Where else can he ever possibly be, other than your mother’s house, of course? No, that’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling because I wanted to let you know that your father finally picked up everything you had stashed over here.”
Her voice was as I remembered it—equal parts sugar and sarcasm.
“Great. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Alla sighed deeply then, which, of course, prompted my eyes to shoot open wide enough for my students to look over with worry.
“This may not be any of my business, but I think you are making a mistake here. George is perfect for you. Maybe he isn’t perfect, but neither are you. Together, however, you make sense. He isn’t a drinker or a gambler, and his family provides you with a life that’s more than comfortable. You know, I’d kill for such sweet setup!”
I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure I could hear her clicking and unclicking her pen; perhaps she was mid-shopping list or progress report. Slowly, as if crawling into battle, I inched away from the group.
“Alla, you’re an occupational therapist with a degree from a college that holds classes in a strip mall. Your background being such, I find it doubtful that you are qualified to psychoanalyze me or give me advice. We aren’t even friends.”
Saying this was supposed to feel good, like it always appeared to in movies. It was supposed to fly out from as deep as my soul with ease, certainly without any effort worthy of note. Instead, I delivered all this through my teeth, turning further away from the kids who’d already pretty much abandoned Nicole in favor of studying my hissing form.
“As you wish,” Alla snapped. As if wish were all I had to do to get rid of her. “You never seemed to want to take advice from any of us, even though you really should listen to your elders. I hope you were taught this growing up. Give it a try—you might learn something,” she plowed on, clearly regardless of my wishes. “In
any case, now you must start anew, trust me. To feel at all better about yourself, you have to start over. You need to start a new chapter in your life—get your shit together, you know? Get your own place, go back to school, get a pet rat…. Something!”
Following some brightly clad group of tourists into the visitor’s center, I gripped my phone as hard as I could. Alla, three years my senior, always did have a lot of nerve. Dumbfounded, I tripped over a pile of wool blankets at the entrance of the gift shop.
“Alla, I am paying for this call.” This, too, failed to come out smoothly—I stammered between “am” and “paying.”
“Ah, see, were your in-laws still covering the bill—”
Wiggling out of my plastic raincoat, shedding the wet piece of cellophane on the floor, I ended the call.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Yearbook
“Ms. Levit, tell us something about the City of Bath,” Sage begged as our bus moaned.
“What do you want to know? It was first established as a spa. Jane Austen lived here….”
I was not well-traveled. Still not. Excluding vacations to the carefully manicured beachfront resorts in the Caribbean (courtesy of the Kasun family), the only place abroad where I’d ever spent any real time was Seville. And staying there the entire summer semester almost resulted in my mother having another heart attack (or so she’d tell me during our daily phone check-ins). Other than marginally improving my Spanish and meeting Javier, I’d wasted most of that time eating lots of tapas with my fellow Americans, failing to grow or evolve nearly as much as the semester-abroad brochure had promised I would.
“Hey, what do you call a person who comes from the City of Bath?” Jordan called from the front of the bus.
Likely seeing me sweat, Nicole came to my rescue, screaming, “Bathonian!” into her mic with enthusiasm.
It was a charming town. City, apparently. The greenery of its picturesque landscape flipped my stomach repeatedly while we drove through its streets, Nicole’s voice garbled by the bus’ sound system as she mentioned something about the Georgian era and the Royal Crescent.
Effortless Page 17