Enemies Abroad(9)

I don’t even have the energy to pick a fight with Noah. He’s actually being helpful.

Sensing every time I’m about to lose it, he’s the one to lead the group, take another suitcase from a student to lighten their load, encourage us all to keep moving.

When we’re almost to our destination, I turn to give the group a big We Can Do It smile, and in that precise moment, I lose my footing and trip over a suitcase, going down with my limbs flailing. I mostly land on my suitcase—thank goodness—but my right knee scrapes on the sidewalk enough that it starts to bleed.

Noah’s there immediately. “Sit down and let me take a look.”

I shoo him away. “No. It’s all right. We’re almost there—let’s not stop now. It’s really not that bad.”

I chance a quick glance down and blanch as I see the blood dribbling down my shin. It’s slightly worse than I originally thought, but my leg would have to be falling off before I let it deter me from my end goal. According to my phone’s directions, of which I understand very little, we should be at the school at any moment. In fact, there’s a chance we passed it and didn’t notice. Oh Jesus. What if we’ve led a group of middle schoolers on a wild goose chase around Rome? What if I’m not cut out for this chaperoning gig?

“There! That’s the school!” Lizzy shouts, and I whip around to see where she’s pointing. Sure enough, there’s a small placard half hidden behind overgrown purple bougainvillea that reads: St. Cecilia’s International School.

I could weep.

The small boarding school is straight out of a Renaissance painting. When we pass through a small gate off the street, we enter a square cobblestone courtyard. On three sides, the three-story marble building surrounds us with all the hallmarks of classic Roman architecture: symmetrical design, arches, columns, and ornamental details carved right into the stone. On the second story, a deep balcony runs along the length of the courtyard with potted trees and flowering vines, and already I’m imagining myself sipping coffee and reading there in the mornings before the heat creeps into the city. I might be able to trick myself into thinking I’m in Rome on a fancy holiday. Noah, meanwhile, is imprisoned for some heinous crime.

St. Cecilia’s International School is in the historic center of Rome, and though I imagine it’s normally packed to the gills with faculty and students, now that it’s summer time, the school has emptied and opened its doors for small study abroad programs like ours.

We’ll have free use of the school’s facilities along with one other school, and from the looks of it, they’ve beat us here.

At my age, I like to think I’ve cultivated a healthy amount of confidence, but when I look over at the students from Trinity Prep who’ve gathered near the fountain in the courtyard, I have a weird guttural fear that I’m about to get shoved into a locker.

Damn they’re cool.

They can’t be older than fourteen, yet they could all easily pass for the cast of Gossip Girl. They’re wearing their school’s uniform—Trinity’s logo embroidered on their breast pockets—but they’ve adapted it, of course. A few undone buttons, a pair of chunky boots, and is that…a cigarette?! No. Just a pen.

My students are in awe of them as we pass by.

I hear Isaiah whisper to Zach, “That girl is so hot.”

The Trinity girls see Noah and immediately perk up. One nudges her friend to get her attention so she doesn’t miss him.

He’s none the wiser. His arms are so overloaded with luggage. Sweat has his shirt sticking to his chest. I want to be repulsed, but I can’t quite force the feeling.

I can feel when the Trinity students turn their attention to me. I’m their worst nightmare come to life: a boring adult. It must be terrifying to see me in my non-designer shorts and white t-shirt. My sneakers—though trendy—were picked because of their arch support. I’m still wearing my lanyard with my itinerary. And oh yeah, I’m bleeding.

We make it to the entrance of the school, and Noah ushers the students inside.

They don’t fight to stay out in the courtyard with the cool kids because the lobby is a wonderfully cold refrigerator compared to the streets of Rome. Every student sighs in relief as they shuffle past me, wiping sweat from their brows.

Unlike the students outside who seem extremely wealthy and privileged and probably bored by everything, my students are in awe of this place.

It’s fancy with a capital F. Nothing like schools in America.

The front foyer is made up entirely of black and white marble, and in the center of the room, there’s a cluster of three statues that I suspect are copies of Greek originals. They’re amazingly detailed.

“This place is like a museum,” Lizzy says, stepping closer to the statues.

“That’s because it used to be one,” I tell her, explaining how the school was originally home to a cardinal before being turned into a museum for a few years in the early ’90s.

“Cardinals…like the baseball team?” Zach asks, frowning in confusion.

“No, like the bird, you idiot,” Brandon says with a Get a Load of This Kid eyeroll. “Yes, of course the baseball team. How do you think the guy could afford this place?”

I grin.

“Actually, neither. A cardinal is the most senior member of the clergy of the Catholic Church, second only to the pope. After the cardinal passed away, this building was used as a museum for a brief period, then it was gifted to the school, and now, here we stand, a part of Roman history.”