Enemies Abroad(3)

Then I remember how Danny in my third period farted yesterday and the smell was so nauseating I was forced to evacuate my entire classroom until a custodian could come open the windows and air it out. I bet the scent will still be there today.

My heart turns cold as ice. If the trip is canceled, we’ll just wheel in an old TV on a cart and have the students watch a grainy documentary about Rome. They’ll be fine.

After the meeting, I stand and gather my things, neatly tearing off the top sheet of my notepad so I can trash it. Sensing early on that I wouldn’t need to take notes during the meeting, I doodled in the margins instead. Just idyllic little scenes of Noah getting struck by lightning. Falling into the lion enclosure at the zoo. Crying as his check engine light comes on.

All the teachers filter out, joking and talking with each other. I look up as Noah passes by on the opposite side of the conference table. He makes like he’s going to keep walking, then he suddenly stops midstride, rocks back on his heels, and looks over at me.

“Y’know, I’m surprised you didn’t volunteer to go to Rome,” he tells me. “So unlike you.”

“I’m busy this summer.”

Not wanting to encourage him, I head over to the refreshment table so I can start to pack up my extra cookies. He rounds the table and meets me there.

“I’ll bet you are. Already planned your room decor for next year? I heard there’s a shortage on construction paper across the city.”

I go about my business as if I’m not the least bit bothered by him. It’s not as easy as it seems given his size. He’s six foot something. He should be gangly and awkward, but he’s not. He’s broad-shouldered and in my way.

I bat my eyelashes at him like I’m playing coy. “And what about you? What will you do all summer without children to terrorize?”

“My students love me.”

It’s true.

Noah is only one class over and we share a wall. I hear every time he makes his class laugh.

Still, for good show, I grunt in disbelief and tilt my head so I can look into his breathtakingly hideous brown eyes.

“They only laugh at your jokes because they feel bad for you.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You mispronounced annoying.”

He doesn’t want to smile, but he almost does. I lean forward, wanting it. Then, realizing how close he is to giving me that pleasure, he restores his face to its factory setting.

After the meeting, I don’t expect to hear anything more about Rome.

I put it out of my head completely until I get an email about it later that night. I’m in my apartment, alone, making enough dinner for five and calculating how many days I can get away with eating leftover mushroom risotto without feeling physically ill at the thought. My phone pings and my heart leaps.

I want it to be a text from someone, anyone.

At twenty-seven, my single friends are starting to drop like flies. I can’t go to a family function without a well-meaning relative feeling sorry for me.

“Your time will come too, sweetie…”

Uh, thanks Aunt Marge, but I’m sort of just trying to eat my pumpkin pie in peace if that’s all right with you?

My friends are not only getting married, they’re starting to reproduce.

Fun boozy brunches have been replaced with playdates at the park and baby yoga classes. I participate as much as I can. I throw myself into being the best “auntie” ever, but at the end of the day, my friends’ lives are moving in a new direction and mine isn’t.

When I see the notification on my phone is just an email from work, I almost don’t read it. I already have a murder mystery cued up and a stack of assignments to grade, but the subject line catches my eye.

Bonus for Rome Chaperones!

Bonus!?

I open the email and groan at how long it is. There are details about the trip: dates, expectations, guidelines. Yada yada. I only care about one thing, and I find it way at the bottom.

Having conducted the trip every summer for the last fifteen years, Mr. and Mrs. Mann are very anxious to carry on the tradition and find two eager chaperones to fill their spots. Hearing that there was no initial interest, they have decided to generously establish an incentive fund. Each chaperone will be granted a $2,500 bonus on top of having their travel expenses covered.

If interested, please stop by Principal O’Malley’s office before May 20th.

Well now…that changes things.

I set down my phone and mull it over.

$2,500 is nothing to scoff at. That amount of money doesn’t regularly fall into my lap. My teacher salary affords me a one-bedroom apartment, meager living expenses, and a spare $100 a month to sock away into savings. I’m not exactly rolling in it.

At the same time, I’m not sure $2,500 is enough to convince me to spend three weeks abroad with a tagalong troop of middle schoolers.

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.