Enemies Abroad(58)
Ten minutes later, I’m out on the sidewalk holding that tiny dress in a tiny bag.
We stop for a lunch that goes on forever. The waiter takes a liking to us and keeps bringing out delicious plates of food the chef wants us to try. We barely make it back to the school in time before the planned afternoon excursion. Everyone’s already in the courtyard when we hustle through the gate.
“Sorry! Sorry!”
We rush to drop off our purchases in our rooms and then it’s off to explore the Villa Borghese.
Though it might sound shocking, Noah and I don’t get the chance to talk, not once, that whole afternoon. We’re in full chaperone mode. When we leave St. Cecilia’s, Lorenzo takes pity on us and directs us toward the metro station instead of having us walk all the way to the villa, but that unlocks a whole new nightmare I hadn’t even considered: trying to make sure nineteen middle school kids stay together and survive on public transportation in a foreign country.
You’d think it’d be relatively easy, but no. While being goofy and trying to make his friends laugh, Isaiah trips on the subway platform and nearly careens off the edge onto the track. Chris gets lost for ten minutes trying to find a bathroom because he didn’t listen to Noah when he told everyone to go before they left the school. Zach thinks it’s funny to stick his hand through the sliding train doors and pretend they’re going to chop off his limb. I tell him not to—he ignores me—and then the doors start to close and a blaring alarm sounds; he screams and jumps a mile in the air. Kylie leaves her wallet on a bench back on the platform but doesn’t realize it until we’re getting off the train, so once we arrive at the Villa Borghese, Noah has to get right back on the metro and go hunting for it. Alice wore these ridiculous lace-up gladiator sandals even though she knew we’d be walking all afternoon and, shocking to no one, immediately gets blisters on her heels that she won’t stop complaining about. I just wanted to look Roman! While a tour guide starts to lead our group through the main gallery, I break off and try to find some Band-Aids for her. I’m led on a wild goose chase that takes me forty-five minutes. The security guard I talk to tells me they might have some at guest services. Guest services tells me they keep the Band-Aids at the first-floor welcome desk. The first-floor welcome desk is closed because of ongoing renovations and holy hell, when I finally hand Alice those Band-Aids and she just shrugs and tells me, “Oh, Millie had some in her bag she gave me a while ago,” I think my head might explode.
By the time I’m ready to actually enjoy the gallery, it’s time for us to leave, and this time, we’re walking back because Lorenzo has a dinner planned for us at a “special restaurant”.
It ends up being Hard Rock Cafe, rock ’n’ roll-themed burger chain serving up all the food I can eat back home while blasting music so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts. The kids are beside themselves, of course. Having sampled enough foreign fare to last them a lifetime, they all scarf down burgers and fries and milkshakes without a single complaint.
“Italy has the best food!” Chris says, meaning it. With a huge earnest smile, he slurps up the last dregs of his milkshake then proceeds to noisily suck air through his straw for a full minute before I tell him to stop. Please.
Brandon gets my attention. “Look Ms. Cohen, Elvis signed that framed tablecloth!”
Another student chimes in, “Who’s Elvis?”
To make matters worse, Noah and I are seated at different tables because the restaurant couldn’t accommodate our entire group. Each chaperone is on their own, assigned to a table full of kids who had to mind their manners at the Villa Borghese and are now hopped up on milkshakes. Noah’s table is catty-corner to mine and I find myself glancing over at him constantly, missing him in a way that feels childish and silly. He’s right there, I tell myself. Focus on your cheeseburger.
He glances back and sees me staring.
My gut reaction is to look away immediately. Don’t let him know you were ogling him! That’s what I’d do in the past. Either that or antagonize him somehow. It goes against my instincts to smile at him, and it feels like the absolute best part of my day when he smiles back.
Any chance of hanging out with Noah later is squashed when Lorenzo invites him to play soccer with some of his friends at an indoor club near the school. I hear Noah try to get out of it, but Lorenzo insists: “We need you. We’re down a guy and can’t play unless we find someone. You’d be perfect. The best one on the team!”
I try my hardest to stay awake waiting for him. I prop my door open and set up my laptop so I can watch shows from my bed, but sleep is too hard to resist. In the morning, I wake up and find my door closed, my blankets tucked up around me, and a little note Noah left for me on my desk.
Looking forward to Saturday.
Reading his note, I feel legitimate glee. I’m a jittery fool. If you cut into me, my insides would look like one of those surprise cakes filled with rainbow sprinkles and glitter.
On Thursday, I rush through getting ready, tug on a dress and sneakers, and leave my hair like it wants to be: wild. Noah’s sitting in the dining hall, eating cereal by himself and looking at his phone when I arrive. I half-run, half-walk to the food line, bouncing up and down with impatience as the cook takes his sweet time slathering my pancakes with syrup. Usually, I’d be like, Thank you for your attention to detail, sir. You’re a man after my own heart. At the moment, I’m thinking, Does every single square inch need to be covered?! Come on, man!