by R.S. Grey
Undecided, I take a bowl of risotto over to the couch and eat while I check my calendar.
Let’s see, in July, I have my dad’s birthday on the 6th and a routine dental cleaning on the 13th. There’s also an event on the 20th titled Beach Weekend with Jeff, but Jeff and I broke up a year ago, so I’m not sure what that’s doing there.
I delete it and my month clears up even more.
Some people would find this deeply depressing.
I only find it mildly depressing.
Look at all the days with no obligations. I could literally fall through an open manhole and no one would report me missing for weeks!
I don’t even need to consult my friends or family to know what their advice would be.
My mom would tell me, Do it! Shake things up! Get out of your comfort zone!
My friends would say, Think of all the hot Italian men! You could find your soulmate!
My dad would say, Rome?! I just watched a History Channel docuseries on Mount Vesuvius and it’s bound to blow any minute. You’re better off staying in the States. Don’t want to end up like those poor people in Pompeii.
With a defeated sigh, I close my laptop.
It’s decided then. I’ll go to Principal O’Malley’s office first thing in the morning.
Apparently, I’m going to Rome.
Chapter Two
If you’re wondering why there’s tension between Noah and me, it’s simple. We’re oil and water. We don’t mix. Oil and water should just leave each other alone, but in this case, oil likes to needle water. Water is completely innocent of any wrongdoing. Water is a good teacher who minds her own business. Oil is the villain here, not water.
We’ve worked together for three years and I’ve lost track of all our antics.
It’s hard to know who threw the first punch.
I remember Noah crafting an elaborate Halloween prank so that when I opened my classroom door, fake spiders rained down from the ceiling. I screamed so loud the school security guard came shuffling down the hall as fast as he could.
Take cover!
To be fair, later that year, I forged Noah’s signature on a fateful sign-up form.
“And I see Mr. Peterson volunteered to lead our sex-ed assembly for the eighth graders. Let’s give a round of applause for Mr. Peterson,” announced Principal O’Malley in that week’s all-staff meeting.
Noah’s withering gaze found me instantaneously.
His You’ve Gone Too Far stare was worth every spider.
Even though we both adhere to the unspoken rule Never tattle, word of our antics still travels around the school.
Once, early on, Principal O’Malley called us into his office for a “friendly conversation”.
“What seems to be the problem?” I asked, a picture of civility with my gentle smile and kind eyes. I was wearing a pale pink dress and I’d added soft curls to my long hair that morning. I looked as harmless as a kitten.
“Word on the street is the two of you can’t seem to get along.”
Noah and I didn’t collaborate and get our story straight beforehand, but we didn’t need to. We both knew Principal O’Malley stood no chance of brokering peace between us, but more importantly, we weren’t looking for trouble with the administration. To rat each other out would be akin to folding, forfeiting, calling time on a game neither one of us was done playing.
“Us?” Noah asked, waving his thumb back and forth between our chairs. “Us?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said with a laugh. “Noah’s like a brother to me.”
Noah bristled at this, but I don’t think Principal O’Malley noticed.
“Yeah, Audrey’s like my kid sister. Just look at her.”
He reached out and ruffled my hair, ruining my curls in the process.
I wanted to pop him in the chin, but I resisted the urge, both because it would hurt—his chin is chiseled and strong, like a superhero action figure’s—and because we were still sitting in front of Principal O’Malley.
Our boss looked at us with discerning eyes, and all the while, we smiled like psychos.
Finally, anxious to get back to his half-eaten donut and coffee, he waved us out.
“All right. Maybe it’s just silly school gossip. Go on, you two.”
We rose from our chairs at the same time and walked to the door, stride for stride. At the threshold, Noah stood back, hand swept out in a charming gesture of chivalry as he allowed me to leave first.
“What a gentleman!” I gushed, my sugary tone belying the look of hatred I was directing at Noah.
I think of that morning now, as I stand outside Principal O’Malley’s office door, waiting for him to arrive.
The school is quiet since the students aren’t due to arrive for another hour. I have plenty of time to chat with Principal O’Malley before I head to my classroom and check my email, drink my coffee, maybe do a little online shopping for my big summer trip.
I hear someone approach, and, anticipating seeing our principal, I look up with a winning smile only to immediately let my mouth go slack once I realize it’s Noah.
He smiles at Liz, Principal O’Malley’s secretary, who melts in his presence.
What a waste of a perfectly good face.
Noah is handsome in a way that’s not subjective; it’s a matter of fact. Starting from the top, he has thick, slightly wavy brown hair. Hairdressers must swoon when he takes a seat in their chair. His face is…
A shiver racks down my spine.
Fine. It’s fine.
His features are altogether pleasing, I suppose. I’ve heard other teachers talk about him like he’s the second coming of Christ, and please can we get some new blood around here? He’s good-looking, sure, but you know what? So was Ted Bundy!
I click my tongue and look away once he spots me. The office across the hall is still dark, and I catch my reflection in the rectangular window on the door. I’m tallish at 5’8”. I have black hair that I’m incredibly vain about. It’s glossy and pin straight and goes halfway down my back. Today, I have half of it twisted up into a cute bun. My eyes are big and almond-shaped and a shade darker than Noah’s. On my worst, most childish days, I hope Noah finds me unbelievably attractive. I want to be his exact type down to the shape of my Cupid’s bow lips because I love the karmic retribution in that.
“Come to put in your resignation?” I ask as he steps close to me, his shoulder brushing mine.
There are miles of hallway on either side of us; he doesn’t have to be this close. I know he’s doing it to annoy me.
I can see him in the window across the hall now too. Well, part of him. His size can’t be reduced to that little rectangle the way mine can.
I stare at his reflection as he says, point-blank, “We can’t both go to Rome.”
I stand a little taller. “Exactly, so leave. I was here first.”
“Who says Principal O’Malley will pick you? You have no experience teaching history.”
“Neither do you.”
I’m an English teacher. Noah’s algebra. Neither one of us has any business taking a group of kids to Rome.
“In college, I minored in history with a focus on Ancient Rome.”
My eyes widen in panic. “Did you really?”
Without breaking face, he replies, “No, but Principal O’Malley doesn’t need to know that.”
Classic Noah.
I inspect my nails, bored. “Right, well, I’ve already been talking to Mrs. Lee. Did you know she speaks Italian? And her July is wide open. She’s already agreed to co-chaperone with me.”
“Has she really?”
My gaze flits coolly back to his. “No, but Principal O’Malley doesn’t need to know that.”
The look on Noah’s face in the window is feral. He either wants to kiss me or kill me.
“Why do you need the bonus anyway?” I ask. “I assume you make plenty of money bartering souls.”
He leans back against the wall, cr
osses his ankles, slips his hands into his pockets, and shrugs.
“It’s been a slow spring what with Lent and Easter. Besides, my check engine light came on this morning. The extra cash wouldn’t hurt.”
I think back on my doodles from yesterday.
I’m a witch!
“Why do you look like that?” His eyebrows furrow with suspicion. “Did you tamper with my car?”
I puff out an exasperated sigh. “Like I have the technical prowess…”
“You could have had someone do it for you.” His gaze intentionally runs down the length of my body. “Plenty of guys would jump at the chance.”
“You look positively lecherous. Rest assured, I didn’t touch your car. Though, off topic, I wouldn’t go to the zoo anytime soon if I were you.”
Principal O’Malley appears down the hall whistling a happy little tune while he polishes off the last of his hash brown. Before he can reach us, I step forward and call out, waving big and offering a hearty “Good morning!”
Before Noah can beat me to it, I announce, “I’m here to volunteer for the Rome trip!”
“Excellent!” Principal O’Malley grins from ear to ear. “I was hoping that bonus would tempt one or two of you.”
More than that, apparently. Hot on his heels is a teacher I recognize from the sixth grade floor. Sarah or Serena or who cares. She’s an eager beaver with a look of determination. I see my opening and I go for it.
“There you are, Sarah!” I call out with a friendly smile. “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!”
Her smile falls. “Oh…sorry, you have me confused with someone else. My name is Sadie.”
Damn, not even close.
I thunk my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Sorry. Duh! I still need my morning cup of Joe.” Then I step up beside her and bump our shoulders together, hopefully conveying that we’re a package deal. Sadie and Audrey, best friends for life. “Principal O’Malley, your problem is solved. Sadie and I will co-chaperone in Rome—”
Her eyes turn to two round saucers as she distances herself from me. “Oh…I’m not here for that. I can’t go on that trip—my little sister is getting married in July. I’m here to talk to Principal O’Malley about switching my morning carpool duty to afternoons.”
Who invited you anyway, Sadie!?
Noah looks rather smug standing behind Principal O’Malley.
Later that morning, as I sit behind my desk in my classroom, watching my students take a quiz, I wonder how exactly I found myself in this position: going to Rome with Noah.
Pah.
Yesterday, I would have said it was unbelievable.
Today, well…
It all happened so fast. Principal O’Malley called Noah and me into his office together while Sadie waited her turn outside. He asked us if we both wanted to volunteer, and in a game of chicken, each of us looking at the other out of the corners of our eyes, waiting for the inevitable tap out, we both quickly agreed. Principal O’Malley, still skeptical of our friendship, asked if we would feel comfortable chaperoning together, and since neither one of us wanted to be the problem, we had no choice but to agree. “I would love to go to Rome with Noah” is what came out of my mouth when what I meant to say was, ANYONE BUT HIM.
Then the ball kept rolling. “We’ll get the paperwork sorted, get your flights booked, everything. Mr. and Mrs. Mann will forward over the information packet. The itinerary is set. It should be a cakewalk.”
Principal O’Malley phoned Mr. and Mrs. Mann right away.
“We have our chaperones!” he announced.
“You know it’s not too late for you to back out,” Noah said as we walked out of Principal O’Malley’s office, dismissed to our respective classrooms.
“Are you practicing what you’ll tell yourself in front of the mirror later tonight?”
“There’s no way you’re going to go through with it, so save us both the trouble, rush back in there, and say you’ve had a change of heart.”
“I’ve never seen you carry out a bluff this far.”
“I’m not backing down,” he said emphatically.
I stopped and turned, blocking his path. With my head tilted up to afford me a view straight into his eyes, I enunciated every word.
“Noah, I’m going to Rome.”
Chapter Three
The last few weeks of school are a blur of tests, projects, grades, end-of-year class parties, and preparations for Italy. All’s quiet on the Noah front, but I know better than to get comfortable. Though we cross paths in the hall and shoot silent insults across the teachers’ lounge, his absence is unnerving. I’m on edge, constantly waiting for his next round of psychological warfare.
I can only assume he’s using his time the same way I am: strategizing and preparing. After school one night, I’m perusing the self-help aisles, an area of the bookstore I don’t normally frequent. I grab a copy of 10 Ways to Deal with Difficult People, then, after skimming it and finding its advice deeply lacking, I place it back on the shelf. Noah is not your average supervillain. “Radiating kindness” and “using clear and concise communication” will not help me here. I need to know how to set trip wires with dental floss, how to whittle my lip liner down to a shank in fifteen seconds flat, how to survive on a diet of spite for twenty-one days straight.
Opting for a different approach, I try therapy.
After listening to my rant about Noah, the nice woman in khakis sighs.
“Ma’am, this is a Bed Bath & Beyond.”
“And every time he takes a sip of his coffee, he lets out a self-satisfied Ahhh. After every swallow, it’s the same. Sip—ahhh. Sip—ahhh. I swear I can hear it when I close my eyes at night.”
“We’re really not supposed to let people lie down on the display beds.”
I count down the days leading up to the trip like a soldier preparing to go to war. I kiss my loved ones goodbye. I promise to buy my dad a souvenir coffee cup. I give my neighbor my succulent to tend while I’m away and worry that she’ll forget. I’ve kept it alive for three years, I tell her, and she swears she’ll do her best.
When my Uber pulls up to the airport on the day of the trip, Noah is already waiting outside on the curb with a sturdy black suitcase and a medium-sized backpack. I immediately curse myself for overpacking.
“We’re only going for a few weeks,” he admonishes when he sees me dragging my two suitcases and overstuffed carry-on out of the trunk of the Uber. “And there’s a laundry service at the school.”
“Good afternoon, Noah. I am doing well, thank you. What a glorious day for flying!”
“I like your fanny pack.”
“It’s a money belt. For security purposes.”
“Where did you find it? Looks top of the line.”
I know exactly where I found it, but he doesn’t need to know I ordered it from the Brookstone catalog weeks ago. I actually ordered two designs that were slightly different so I could compare the features and pick the best one.
“Some place in the mall.” I make it sound like it just fell into my lap. This old thing?
A seventy-year-old man walks past, wearing the same money belt. He nods at me like we’re in the same club.
Noah smiles like a devil.
Taking my suitcases from me without asking, he wheels them to the curbside check-in and dutifully sets them up on the scale. The first one makes the cutoff at exactly fifty pounds. I don’t get so lucky with the second.
“Aw. One pound over,” Noah tells me, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “What do you want to toss?”
“I need everything in there!” I say defensively as he wheels my overladen luggage out of the way of the other flyers. “Hold on, let me open it and rearrange some things.”
I do just that, unzipping my suitcase on the sidewalk for everyone to see, having forgotten that I placed the clear plastic packing cube with my panties and bras at the very top. Frilly black lace nearly tumbles out onto the concrete, and Noah whistles under h
is breath.
“Oh right, I forgot you’ve never seen ladies’ underwear before.”
“None that fancy,” he taunts. “Who’re you planning to entertain in Rome?”
I shoot him daggers. “As many Italian men as I can get my hands on. Now open your suitcase and let me shove some stuff inside of it.”
“I have it all organized. Can’t you just throw that thing away?”
He’s pointing to the blue bunny whose floppy ears are barely poking out from underneath some clothes. I’ve had the stuffed animal since I was a baby, and though I don’t normally sleep with it anymore, I tossed it into my suitcase, knowing I might need to bring something of home with me to Europe, some sort of tiny comfort. I realize now I should have taken more care in hiding it from Noah.
“The bunny is off limits,” I say harshly.
“I think it’s cute.”
“Right, well, why don’t you open up your suitcase so I can see all the weird little things you packed too? With how perverse you are, there’s no telling what you’re hiding. I bet your toothbrush is just out…loose. Dry bristles brushing up against your ancient yellowed tighty-whities.”
“Boxer briefs,” he corrects.
I plug my ears. “Ugh. More things I don’t want to know. I don’t care where you keep your skid marks.”
A laugh bubbles up inside of us, and we both turn away to compose ourselves. This conversation has gone off the rails.
“Just hand me something already. The students will be here any minute.”
I grab a dress and a pair of flip-flops. That should do it.
He looks toward a nearby trashcan, as if half-tempted to toss my things into it and be done. My gaze dares him to do it. Finally, with a sigh, he loads everything into his suitcase and wheels our luggage back to the check-in counter.
“You owe me.”
“Fine. I’ll buy you an airport snack.”
Let’s get one thing straight: this is not how I saw myself leaving the country for the first time. Given the choice, I would have traveled overseas on a study abroad trip in college, young and full of academic zeal. Or maybe I would have made the trek solo, after graduation, immersing myself in the culture and digging deep into everything Italy has to offer. Antipasto and wine, art and antiquities all at my fingertips. I would have done my own version of Eat, Pray, Love, only just Eat, Eat, Eat.