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“It’s nice to meet you, Audrey,” they tell me with big genuine smiles.
We’re waiting on a few more stragglers from Trinity before our two groups can set out for lunch led by Lorenzo. It affords me just enough time to get to know our other chaperones better. Apparently, Trinity is a private school in New York City. Ashley and Gabriella teach Latin and history, respectively, and they both hold master’s degrees from prestigious universities. Ashley is engaged, but Gabriella is single, which is a fact pointed heavily in Noah’s direction.
“And have you both been to Rome before?” I ask.
Gabriella puffs out a breath. “Oh, sheesh. This is maybe my tenth or eleventh time here? What about you, Ash?”
“Oh, who knows? My family and I always fly into Rome when we summer in Italy.”
Well la-dee-da.
“And you?” Gabriella asks Noah.
He slips his hands into his pockets and gives her a tiny smile. “First time.”
I swear she licks her chops. “Well we’ll have to take you around!” Gabriella says, edging toward him.
“Ground rules,” I whisper under my breath.
Noah covers up his laugh by clearing his throat.
The two last stragglers enter the courtyard. They’re Trinity students, but they look like adults Hollywood cast to play middle schoolers. Jesus, does that one kid have a beard?
Our Lindale boys look like pipsqueaks in comparison, and to no one’s surprise, Lizzy, Kylie, Millie, and Alice make a beeline for the Trinity boys as Lorenzo claps his hands and starts to lead us out onto the streets of Rome.
The trek from the airport is long forgotten, washed down the drain with my blood and sweat.
Now, we’ve arrived, and I take in the Eternal City with fresh eyes. Not even Noah can ruin my buzz.
All my preteen screenings of Roman Holiday didn’t prepare me for the beauty of this place. In the middle of the afternoon, the city is a sunset. Stucco walls are painted in yellows and pale pinks and dark rusts and oranges, their roofs a hodgepodge of terra-cotta tiles. Plants grow up from nothing, covering whole swaths of buildings with thirsty vines.
Lorenzo leads our large group along Via in Arcione and we pass clothing stores and restaurants, and from there, we continue onto Via del Lavatore.
The streets are narrow and the black cobblestones under our feet have been worn smooth over time. We pass a gelato shop and the kids beg us to stop, but Lorenzo waves us on with a look of pure joy in his eyes. I realize what he’s done when, a moment later, Via del Lavatore curves slightly right and we’re spit out right onto Piazza di Trevi. Just like that, we stand in front of one of the world’s most famous landmarks.
The Trevi Fountain is blinding white in the afternoon sun. The crowds are dense and loud, impatient for their chance to get close enough to throw a coin in the water to ensure a return trip to Rome. It’s pure superstition but definitely worth the wasted quarter on the off chance the wish comes true.
Lorenzo corrals our students to a spot in the center of the piazza, in the middle of the crowds.
“The center sculpture you see there in the Trevi Fountain is the Greek sea god Oceanus,” he begins to tell the students. “Unlike Neptune who carries a trifork and is often depicted with a dolphin, Oceanus is accompanied by seahorses and Tritons who are half men, half mermen. The fountain is filled with symbolism. See how Oceanus is on a shell-shaped chariot pulled by two horses, each guided by a Triton? One horse is calm while the other is unruly, and they each represent the different moods of the sea.”
After we learn about the fountain’s architect (Nicola Salvi), its architectural style (Baroque), and how many coins are thrown into it each day (upwards of 3,000 euros), we cluster the Lindale kids together in front of the fountain for photos.
I send the best picture—meaning six out of our nine kids have their eyes open—to the group text we have going with their parents, and replies start pinging in right away.
How fun!
What a great group!
Why is Kylie in the back? I can barely see her.
“Okay,” Lorenzo says, gathering everyone’s attention again. “Who’s hungry?”
We have reservations at a little café just around the corner from the fountain.
With the size of our group, they were only able to accommodate us outside, and we stretch out over several tables. The students cluster in cliques, Lindale boys and Lindale girls, Trinity boys and Trinity girls.
I’m the first to take a seat at the chaperones’ table. I choose a spot at the end, and then, to my chagrin, Noah pulls out the chair on my left.
I make a point to glare at the open chair at the far end of the table, the spot where he should be sitting, but he just picks up his menu, unbothered by my passive aggressiveness.
