Tonight, I was kissed, and it was real-life fairytale magic. Pixie dust included.
Then, I realized it was actually nothing. A farce.
A harsh reminder of how lonely and alone I am.
Back at St. Cecilia’s, I stand in the hallway outside Noah’s door with my hand clenched in a fist. Knocking would be so easy. Taking us back to baseline would take no effort at all.
Hey, let’s forget about the bar. In the morning, you can tease me and I’ll act annoyed and everything will be right in the world. How ’bout it?
But my fist won’t move.
I can’t do it.
My feelings were really hurt tonight.
Noah kissing me like that, making me feel like he could…maybe…it doesn’t matter. It took our antics to a level we’ve never ventured to before. It was cruel, and I can’t yet forgive him for it. Maybe also, deep down, I’m not ready to forgive myself either.
I let my hand fall back limp by my side and turn for my room, closing my door softly behind me. I strip out of my dress and put on the comfiest clothes I can find. I consider texting Kristen and Melissa about everything, but I know they’d have no patience for me. At this point, they’ve heard me complain about Noah far too much.
You provoked a snake, and the snake bit you.
It’s not even been a full week here in Rome and everything has gone to shit.
I knew something like this would happen if Noah and I co-chaperoned this trip. We can’t be left alone. We’re like two children who need constant minding. Put us in a room together and you’ll return to find the place on fire.
It seems like for once, there’s no clear path forward.
I suppose I could bail on this whole thing, call Principal O’Malley, tell him I can’t do it after all and I need to come home. But where would that leave the students and Noah? I can’t just up and abandon them. Today was rough at the Roman Forum, but I know the kids are having such a good time here. There’s also the issue of the bonus money, which isn’t all that important, but it’s something. One more reason to stay.
I’m being a coward, really. I’m only thinking about leaving because I don’t want to face Noah in the morning. I wish I could slink away into the night, but I can’t just up and flee back to the States, holing myself away on a cargo ship. I have more than two weeks left here in Rome and I need to make the most of them. I’m in Europe! Surrounded by culture and good food and fine wine! Weird situation with Noah and failing love match with Lorenzo aside, I’ve enjoyed my time exploring the city on my own, and I feel like I have so much left to see and do here. That’s where I need to focus my attention.
Noah doesn’t matter, I tell myself, like I’m practicing a new mantra. He shouldn’t have this much control over my mood and emotions. He’s my coworker. The teacher next door. A person I see at staff meetings and in the lunchroom and that’s it.
I go to sleep repeating all of that, feeling hopeful that it’ll stick.
I really think I’ve cured myself of this sickness, and then I walk into the dining hall the next morning and there’s Noah, sitting at a table by himself, nursing a coffee, looking like shit.
There’re faint circles under his eyes and his mouth is a flat line. His thick brows look like they’ve accidentally become stuck in that furrowed position permanently. He hasn’t seen me yet. His attention is down on his cup as he brushes his thumb up and down the length of it. It looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. I wonder if that’s his first cup of coffee or his third?
Complicated feelings tug me in opposite directions. I feel bad that I might have inadvertently hurt Noah somehow. I should not have teased him like that. Maybe he feels bad that he took things as far as he did. Strange as it may seem, I do think he’s capable of feeling remorse. I guess we’re both dogs with our tails between our legs this morning.
For a moment, I consider going over to him, saying all the things I would have said had I had the courage to knock on his door last night, but then I think of my new mantra. The only way forward, the only way to get out of this crazy loop with Noah is to break the cycle. I cannot keep doing this with him, pretending that poking him and teasing him and focusing my full attention on him will get me anywhere. If I’m not careful, my love-to-hate relationship with him will suck me dry, and where will that leave me a month from now? A year? Two years? Right where I am in this moment. Alone.
I mean look at what happened last night. I kissed Noah while I was on a date with another guy! Lorenzo and I were hitting it off pretty well. I liked him! And then my complicated relationship with Noah sabotaged my night with Lorenzo. Whatever we could have had is gone now, up in smoke.
So I make a conscious effort to pivot away from Noah and take careful measured steps toward the dining hall line. I feel like I’m an actor walking across stage for an audience. Am I doing it right? Do I look natural?
If Noah looks up and spots me, I don’t notice. I’m purposely ignoring him. I go through the food line and pick up a banana and a bagel. I fill my coffee to the tippity top of my cup, and then I take my tray to the side of the room Noah isn’t occupying and sit with my back to him.
There. That wasn’t so hard.
I stare down at the food I should be eagerly tucking into, and then like an impulsive addict, I glance furtively over my shoulder in time to see Noah stand up. It’s early and most of the kids aren’t awake yet. There’s only a handful of people in here, and there’s no way Noah hasn’t seen me.
I hold my breath and watch him walk, anticipating something. My spine straightens and my hand instinctively goes to my hair to tug some of it behind my ear. I haven’t breathed since he took his first step. I’m a balloon filling with helium, growing, growing, growing, and then I POP when he turns toward the exit and disappears around the corner without even glancing in my direction.
Right.
Well my back was to him. There’s a chance he mistook me for someone else.
With sagging shoulders, I turn to my breakfast and everything looks so…blah. I force myself to eat three bites of my bagel, and I chew and chew and chew and only swallow when it seems like I’m supposed to. My banana gets saved for later and I only sip half my coffee, worried any more than that will make me anxious.
Today, since it’s Sunday, the children have options. The schedule isn’t the same as it is throughout the week. They get a break from their Latin lessons and planned excursions. They have the choice to either go with Lorenzo and Noah to a sports field for a game of pick-up soccer, join Gabriella and Ashley for a trip to a nearby farmer’s market, or stay back at St. Cecilia’s with me. We picked posts earlier in the week. I wanted to go to the farmer’s market, but it was clear no one was excited about hanging back at the school, and to be done with the awkwardness, I volunteered.
Now more than ever, I’m regretting my decision to be a team player. I could use a good distraction from the dark cloud looming over my head.
After breakfast, I go up to the balcony on the second floor and watch the groups starting to take shape. Noah and Lorenzo gather ten rowdy kids who are already kicking a soccer ball back and forth to each other, talking smack, and promising a good game. I can’t help but inspect every inch of Noah, looking for battle wounds. He seems better now than he did in the dining hall, almost back to normal. He’s changed clothes and tamed his hair. One of the kids goads him into showing off and he does this impressive little move where he takes the ball back behind him with his foot, tosses it into the air, and then catches it in front with his other foot.