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I bristle at his cavalier tone.
“So you think he did the right thing, just letting her go like that?”
He’s busy tearing open a foil-wrapped chocolate, barely taking this seriously. “It’s the only way.”
I yank the chocolate out of his hand and drop it back into the bag with the others. Already, I’m scooting off the bed.
“I see how it is. Have a fling in Rome, make the girl fall in love, and then send her on her merry way.”
“What?”
I search about for my shorts. “It’s all fun and games, right? Bag the princess, check it off your list, head home to America. Easy-peasy.”
“Ohhh…this was a test. I get it. I’m Gregory Peck?”
He’s grinning now. He finds my lunacy so damn amusing.
“No!” I find my shorts and start to yank them on. It’s not easy, of course, because I don’t want to let go of the chocolates.
Noah’s up and off the bed now, taking my shorts and tossing them clear across the room. They land on top of his laptop. Then he takes my hips in his hands and pushes me slowly back toward the door of his closet, pinning me in place. “You think I’m going to up and leave you at the airport when we fly back to the States? Check you off my list? Nice knowin’ ya?”
I look away. “I…hadn’t considered that as a possibility until today.”
This is what I get for listening to a bunch of teenagers with raging hormones. I wasn’t worried about the future of my relationship with Noah until we watched that damn movie.
“You’re right,” he says, nuzzling my neck with his nose, trying to get me to lift my chin so he can press a kiss to the sensitive skin just below my ear. “Gregory Peck is an idiot. Should have fought for Ann until his dying breath. I’ll contact Paramount and see about changing the ending of the film.”
I’m smiling now, despite my annoyance. I want to hang on to my anger. With him, it used to be so easy, but now it seems to melt away with a simple kiss.
His hands tighten on my hips.
“I’ll make it all official for us. I’ll buy you flowers and write a note and slip it underneath your classroom door. Will you be my girlfriend, Audrey Cohen? Please say yes.”
His lips are teasing mine now. He can taste my smile. He knows how I feel about him.
We can’t keep our hands off each other.
We’re like this the entire last week in Rome.
Of course, with the kids, during the day, out on excursions, we’re professional. We wear our teacher hats and keep our distance. I spritz children with sunscreen, hand sanitizer, bug spray. I remind them to wash their hands, to use the bathroom, to use good manners. I make sure they’re fed and on time for Latin and tucked into their beds at night. When we tour the Colosseum, and Santa Maria Maggiore, and the Castel Sant'Angelo National Museum, I encourage them to pay attention to the tour guides, to soak up the last few sites in Rome because we’ll be leaving soon. There’s an awareness that creeps in toward the end of the week. A countdown begins. This is one of the last meals we’ll have in the dining hall. This is our last excursion. This is my last chance to take a walk in the morning, by myself, and enjoy my favorite café, my favorite bookstore.
The kids have finally found a footing here. Their homesickness has subsided and they’ve gotten the lay of the land just in time to realize what a rare and wonderful opportunity they’ve had to be in Rome these last few weeks.
“I wish we could stay forever,” Millie tells me on Thursday as we stroll through the city streets after dinner. Noah and I are out with all the Lindale students. Our goal is to find a gelato shop, but we walk slowly as the sun sets, taking our time, looking in store windows, people-watching, taking pictures.
“I don’t want to go back on Saturday,” Alice laments. “I love it here.”
Kylie agrees. “This week has flown by, and when we get back, school’s going to start so soon. Summer is practically over.”
“You can always come back and study abroad here in college,” I tell them. “You could spend a whole semester here, not just a few weeks.”
On Friday, for our last night in Rome, Lorenzo surprises us all with a scenic sunset boat tour along the Tiber River. He points out landmarks we cruise past as a waiter passes around sparkling Italian sodas in plastic champagne flutes accompanied by light bites. The students are dressed in their nicest clothes for the occasion, and as expected, the Trinity kids might as well be going to the Met Gala with their designer labels and cool accessories. The Lindale kids, meanwhile, are all true to classic middle school form: khakis that are slightly too short paired with wrinkled button-downs, overly gelled hair, rhinestone bedazzled dresses, ringlet curls turned crunchy from hairspray, heavy eyeliner, and drugstore lipstick a shade too bright. The boys angrily tug at their shirt collars and the girls wince in their uncomfortable heels. I love it all.
