Enemies Abroad(41)

Subject: Beach Trip Planning - Rome

Per our discussion, we can nail down the itinerary here, over email.





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From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Audrey…

Are you trying to get us fired? Don’t use our work emails for this.





“My email sounded professional!” I shout, knowing he hasn’t left his post outside my door.

“It would have devolved quickly and you know it.”

I’m not even going to ask how he has my personal email. He probably knows every detail about me. Bank accounts. Social security number. Starbucks order. Information is power after all.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Great idea

I think you should stay back and book a flight home to the US and I’ll take the kids to the beach. Win-win.





* * *



From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Are you going to hole yourself up in there all night?

I wasn’t finished explaining myself in the dining hall.





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From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: BEACH PLANS

Ahem, let’s stay on topic. Tomorrow is the beach day. No class. All day fun in the sun. Sea, sand, adventure. Whoopie. Sperlonga is a two-hour trip from Rome. From what I’ve heard, we’re caravanning there in two vans that Lorenzo has arranged. We’ll obviously split up and ride separately. Keep our distance. Pretend the other doesn’t exist. Deal?





I send my email and then pace, waiting for his reply. I chew my thumbnail and refresh my inbox, and still, nothing.

What is he doing? Writing a dissertation?

I wish my door had a little peephole. I want to know if he’s still out there, but I don’t want to embarrass myself by poking my head out.

I decide to give it a few minutes, and when those few minutes pass, a few more.

I change into my pajamas and start to get ready for bed. All the while, I eagerly check my phone. I turn it off silent—a rarity these days—and nearly have a heart attack when my email pings. Leaping for my phone, I unlock it, and then…I see it’s just a junk email from LinkedIn. Audrey, please add to your LinkedIn network.

No! Go away!

When my bladder has had enough of this hostage situation, I eventually do leave my room. I crack my door gently, gently now, but then I feel like a doof when I find the hallway is empty. Noah’s door is closed. I don’t think another email is coming.

Huh.

Normally, in a situation like this, I would feel like I won something. I got the last word. HaHA!

Oddly though, that’s not the case. I just really want Noah to email me back.

That realization freaks me out.

WHAT IS GOING ON?

Everything is turning into a jumbled mess. I’ve lost my grip on the situation.

Up until last night, Noah and I were oil and water. Forever at odds. I knew where I stood with him. It’s why I assumed his kiss was a form of torture, emotional manipulation, a cruel joke, what have you, but now…things are getting messy. What he said at dinner contradicts everything. And the stuff about Lorenzo? About him not being good enough for me? That’s really throwing me for a damn loop. There’s no way to put a negative spin on that. It’s a bald-faced compliment through and through.

HOLY CRAP. My brain can’t compute the implications of all this.

Every little cog in my head is whirling around at full speed. Steam should be shooting out of my ears.

Where a moment ago, I wanted Noah to be waiting for me outside my door, now I’m relieved that he’s not. I race to the restroom, pee, brush my teeth, run back to my room, and lock my door once I’m inside. I feel better now. I can relax.

I think I’ll feel normal again in the morning. I’ll have a better handle on the situation then. It might seem weird and confusing now, but I’m just tired. In the light of day, Noah will be my enemy again. Just like always.





Chapter Fourteen





I have a lot on my mind in the morning, and Noah’s not even at the top of the list. That spot is reserved for this question: What kind of swimsuit is appropriate to wear around middle school boys that I’m chaperoning? Obviously, it’s a trick question. The right answer is to not wear a swimsuit at all, but instead, a giant fleece Snuggie that will cover me from head to toe. Since silly ol’ me didn’t pack one of those, my options are: a decently revealing black bikini and a decently revealing red one-piece. I never planned on wearing either of them around the Lindale kids. I only packed them on the off chance I found an opportunity to swim on my own, but here we are. Yippee. I pull both options out of my drawer and dangle them at eye level. I find the material on both to be…lacking.

The only solution is to wear the one-piece with a cover-up over it the whole day. God forbid these pubescent boys see the outline of my butt or breasts. If the overzealous PTA moms caught wind of that…oof. I’d never hear the end of it. I’m a middle school teacher and should therefore be shaped like a cardboard cutout of a woman, not a real human being with organs that take up space!