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The power balance is off, and I want it back as it should be.
I step right to him, press my chest against his, and tilt my head back so I can look right into his eyes. I can smell his sweat, and I try my hardest to hate it. “Is that why you went for a run while I was gone? Had to burn off all that jealous rage?” I skate my finger down the center of his chest, pretending not to notice the hard muscle. “How sad.”
He catches my arm in a viselike grip to still my movement. I gulp. I’d forgotten about our size difference. His hand engulfs my wrist. I’m a twig he could snap right in two.
“Careful,” he warns.
Or what?
There’s commotion behind the closed door. Chairs screeching, backpacks zipping, students laughing and talking over one another. Latin is officially over and in a second, that door will fling open and students will flood out into the hall.
Still, Noah doesn’t release his grasp.
He’s doing this on purpose. Making me sweat.
I try to wrench my arm free, but he doesn’t let me.
He wants me to surrender, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Instead, I let my hand go limp.
There. Happy?
Noah squeezes my wrist gently and then drops it just as the door’s yanked open. We didn’t have a second to spare.
“Ms. Cohen, I know Latin!” Brandon proclaims. “Veni, vidi, vici!”
“I already forgot what that means,” Lee says, following after him. “Is that ‘seize the day’?”
“I came, I saw, I conquered,” Noah corrects, looking straight at me.
In the afternoon, we head out on another excursion. This time we go to the Pantheon.
The crowds at the Trevi Fountain were child’s play compared to this. Out in the piazza, it’s nearly shoulder-to-shoulder room only. We might as well be trying to get front row to see Beyoncé at Coachella. Vendors shout in English and Italian, trying to sell little miniatures of the Pantheon, art prints, and t-shirts. Tourists hold up their iPhones, trying in vain to get an unobstructed photo of the church. A slow-moving line curves around the building.
The chaperones are spread out around the group to ensure we all stay together. Lorenzo leads at the front, waving us into the church and past the line since we have a reservation for our tour. Thank god.
The students follow tightly behind him. Noah and Gabriella take up the rear, watching for any stragglers, and I keep my distance from them, opting to hang near the front with some of the Lindale students.
Kylie and Millie edge closer to me with clear intent.
“So, Ms. Cohen, we were wondering…do you think Lorenzo is cute?” Kylie asks.
“You mean Mr. Ricci. And that’s an inappropriate question.”
Millie waves away my correction. “Yeah, yeah. Him—Mr. Ricci. He’s good-looking, no?”
They exchange a conspiratorial glance.
“You’re supposed to be paying attention.”
Lorenzo has already begun his lecture about the church. We stand in the center of the huge domed building. It looks like it’s been rendered by CGI. I look up at the oculus, marveling at the architectural feat ancient Romans were able to pull off. How did they—
“Well it’s too noisy in here, and besides, I already know all about the Pantheon,” Millie says before continuing on to prove her point. “I read about it in my Rome guidebook before we left the States. It was a former Roman temple that was converted to a Catholic Church sometime around the year 600. It’s one of the best-preserved buildings from Ancient Rome in large part because it’s been in continuous use throughout its history.”
“Yeah. A lot of the other pagan temples were ransacked,” Kylie says, picking up where Millie left off. “The building materials were used to construct new Christian churches. Now, do you find him attractive or do you prefer someone like Mr. Peterson?”
Before I can reply, Millie cuts in. “Objectively, Mr. Peterson is better looking. We’ve taken a class poll and it came out in his favor, which is no surprise. He has Mr. Ricci in both height and muscle definition.”
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the paper she’s reading off of.
“Oh this? It’s a scoring system you can use to compare teachers. See, here’s a t-chart with a list of pros and cons for each of them.”
“You’re kidding me. Why do you have that?”
“Well first of all…there’s no good TV over here.”
Kylie nods. “Yeah, and we know Mr. Ricci asked you out. So anyway, we got to talking about if you should pick him or Mr. Peterson to be your husband. We’re not opposed to hosting a Bachelorette-style competition for you if you want. I do a pretty good Chris Harrison impersonation.”
I hold up my hand. “Okay, stop there. That’s enough.”
“Though to be honest, we were all surprised about Mr. Ricci asking you out because we thought you and Mr. Peterson were—”
