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.
“We’re going to use the restroom really quick,” Gabriella tells us before she and Ashley head off.
Lorenzo needs to have a word with the waiter about how we’ll split the check, which means I’m stuck alone with Noah. How’s that for a terrible turn of events.
“There are plenty of seats down there,” I say, waving my hand toward the opposite end of the table. “You and I wouldn’t even have to look at each other. You could pretend I don’t exist.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing that from right here. And besides, the chairs down there are in the sun.”
Right, which means I’m not moving either. In the shade, the weather’s not half bad. And by not half bad, I mean my butt crack has finally stopped sweating.
We both turn our attention to our menus, going back to ignoring each other.
He’s better at it than I am.
I think he could sit in silence for an entire day. His willpower outmatches mine. Meanwhile, I’m drumming my fingers on the table, looking around for the other chaperones, taking a sip of my water. Slowly losing it.
The silence becomes unbearable. I have to poke him.
“I’ve realized something,” I say, keeping my attention down on my menu.
He manages a half-interested hum.
“Not even you can ruin Rome for me. This place is beautiful.”
He doesn’t take my bait, so I try again.
“So what do you think of Gabriella?”
“Is she the single one?”
“Yes. She seems interested in you.”
He finally sets down his menu and looks over at me. “She’s pretty.”
What?!
What does that mean?
I’ve never heard Noah talk about a woman before. I know he’s dated. I’ve Facebook-stalked him before. A year ago, there was a picture of him with a pretty blonde, her cheek squashed against his in his profile picture. Her eyes were shiny with love.
Before I can ask Noah to elaborate on “She’s pretty”, Lorenzo returns and claims the seat beside me, across from Noah.
“If you’ll allow me, I’d love to order for the table,” he says, looking at me. “This is one of my favorite restaurants in Rome. It’s where all the locals go for lunch.”
I slide my menu away from me and smile. “Sounds wonderful.”
Gabriella and Ashley return, and through the rest of the meal, I ignore Noah.
It’s relatively easy to do with Lorenzo there. I throw my full attention his way, smiling and laughing and turning my charm up to 100.