AllFreeNovel
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It’s a two-seater with barely enough room to store our bags in the trunk.
When I take a seat and buckle what apparently passes for a seatbelt, I quickly realize the car comes with a few quirks. There’s nothing on the dashboard but an ashtray and some weird-looking switches. No clock, no radio, and—devastatingly—no air conditioning.
Even with the windows down, it’s a sauna.
Gabriella sits patiently while I stall out twice.
“Sorry, I swear I’m good at driving stick, but this one is a little…” I clench my teeth as I lurch into first gear with a shudder. “Finicky.”
“No worries. Take your time. I’ll pull up a playlist on my phone.”
Finally—after killing the engine twice and grinding the gears to nubs—my left leg becomes one with the clutch and away we go. We’re cruising behind the second van, down historic Roman streets, and listening to Italian pop music.
I realize almost immediately that driving through Rome is not for the faint of heart. The tourists walk wherever and whenever they want (Traffic signals? What are those?), the roads are uneven and bumpy, and drivers are either crawling by at 5 mph or careening along at 100 mph; there is no in between. I have a hard time staying behind the vans. I feel like I’m twelve again, playing Crazy Taxi in an arcade. We do a slight right onto Via del Viminale then a left onto Via Principe Amedeo. A truck lays on its horn, shouting at me about something, but I’m too naïve to realize how I’ve offended them. We turn right at the second cross street onto Via Cavour and a group of nuns takes an eternity crossing from one side to the other. A few Lindale students in the back of the second van press their faces against the glass, teasing us.
Once we get out of the city, things ease up. The four-lane highway reminds me of driving in the States, and once we pick up some speed, it doesn’t feel quite as hot. I mean, I’m still melting onto my seat, but at least there’s some airflow. I’ll take it.
The only hiccup is when Lorenzo takes the wrong exit off the highway and we end up on a road that was built to accommodate horses and carriages. It’s narrow and winding and snakes through the terrain. A picturesque ten-minute detour involves three hairpin turns and one very close call with a cliff that has me cobbling together snippets of prayers from three different religions.
Finally, we make it back onto the main highway. We pass a city named Terracina, and then for the next twenty minutes, our drive is on a two-lane road right on the water. Little beaches pop in and out of view, disappearing behind crops of trees and waterfront houses.
The vans slow and then turn off into a small parking lot that’s about a quarter mile from the beach.
“We can’t get any closer. Not in high season,” Lorenzo tells me once we start to unpack the gear from the back of the van.
“No worries. This is great. It’s only a short walk.”
The kids are more excited than I’ve seen them the whole trip. They race out of the vans and gather around us, offering to help with bags and coolers.
Noah’s on the other side of the group—I know because it’s impossible to not constantly track his whereabouts. It’s habit at this point.
He’s laughing with Zach and then he just up and lifts a huge cooler like it’s filled with cotton balls. Underneath his t-shirt, his muscles bulge, and it feels R-rated. I should look away. I will. Then I walk straight into Gabriella and that does the trick. The spell is broken.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Sperlonga technically has two beaches, I find out from Lorenzo. Levante Beach has a more natural setting below hillsides with sand dunes and smaller coves that can only be reached by foot. Sounds romantic, but not something I’d sign up for with this many kids. Lorenzo takes us instead to Ponente Beach, which lies directly beneath the town. It’s backed by hotels and restaurants, and once we make it onto the sand, there are rows and rows of umbrellas and loungers neatly arranged in perfect lines. My OCD tendencies are having a field day.
We have a reserved space a few yards down the beach beneath a cluster of white umbrellas. Lorenzo fist-bumps the guy in charge of them and then we all fan out, claiming our spots for the day.
“Put on sunscreen! Drink water! Wear a hat!”
My motherly advice falls on deaf ears as the kids yank off their t-shirts, kick off their flip-flops, and run straight for the water. I can’t really blame them. The trek from the vans to the beach was enough to cover my entire body in a nice sheen of sweat. It’s just so hot and sunny and bright. All I can do is drop my stuff on a lounger before I follow the kids into the water, leaving my cover-up on.
