Wow. He must have practiced this in front of the mirror earlier.
Or…gulp…he’s being honest.
My heart beats double time. My soft nougaty center cannot handle the possibility that Noah has real human feelings. That deep down, he might be just like the rest of us.
“I can’t tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Lorenzo asked me to get breakfast with him.”
And in that instant, Noah’s eyes spark with achievement.
He’s accomplished his goal and we both know it.
I roll my eyes. “You’re the worst.”
He shrugs, unperturbed. “I just wanted to see if you were going to adhere to the ground rules, and clearly, you aren’t.”
“Go to hell.”
He stretches his hand out for me to take. “Gladly, if only you’ll come with me.”
I wish I could strangle him right here and now, just have it out and be done. As the Italian police carted me away, I’d scream that it was worth it, that I’d do it again if I had the chance.
I shove past him and scoot closer to the group so I can listen to the tail end of Lorenzo’s discussion about the Marcus Aurelius Column. He opens it up to a question-and-answer session, and my students don’t let the opportunity pass them by.
In a studious, no-nonsense tone, Zach asks, “Mr. Ricci, yes, I was wondering if you knew offhand how long the column’s shaft is.”
“On that same note,” Isaiah continues, sounding just as serious, “I was wondering about the girth of the column.”
Chapter Six
I have no idea how Lindale Middle School got an in with this swanky study abroad program. There’s no way that chocolate bar fundraiser is covering the full cost of this trip, but I’m not complaining. Along with all the other amenities, we have the option to eat in the dining hall for all three meals a day. For free! And it’s good food! At this very moment, I have not one, but two little slices of tiramisu I stole from dinner, and I’m eating them while I FaceTime my friend Kristen.
The screen is completely black. Her smiling face would be in its allotted rectangle, but she’s hiding in her closet with the lights off. A necessary sacrifice.
“How is it so far?” she asks, a wrapper crinkling in the background.
“Fine, mostly. Hey, I thought you finished all your candy back in April?”
“Yeah, I thought I did too, but I found a Snickers tangled in one of my thongs yesterday. Lucky me.”
Kristen pilfered some of the kids’ Halloween candy last year and hid it in her underwear drawer. Whenever she gets desperate, say, if the kids are being particularly grouchy, or if she’s about to start her period, or if it’s any day ending in Y, she dips into her stash.
“Are the middle schoolers behaving?”
“Yes. It’s not them giving me a headache.” I dig my fork aggressively into my tiramisu, using it as a makeshift stress ball.
“Noah?” she guesses immediately.
“He’s worse than ever.”
“Well at least all that evil is encased in a hot bod.”
“Kristen.”
“Oh, don’t try to deny it. I saw him, remember?”
She did. Two months ago, she brought me lunch up at the school. When she walked into my classroom, her eyes were as round as saucers.
She didn’t have to say a word.
“Noah?” I asked, annoyed by her reaction.
She nodded dumbly, her jaw still slack from shock.
I hustled toward her and pulled her all the way in, quickly shutting the door behind us. “Did you say anything to him?”
“No. I couldn’t! He smiled at me though.”
I groaned and took the Taco Bell bag from her. “Why’d you let him do that? It’s like his secret weapon. Did they put Fire sauce packets in here or just Mild?”
“Both. What was I supposed to do? He was just there and—”
“Stop.” I held up my hand. “Stop talking about him.”
She didn’t of course. Not for thirty nauseating minutes.
Fortunately now, she believes me that, hot or not, Noah is the embodiment of true evil. Like any good friend, she hates him on principle simply because I tell her to.
From the rustling on her end, it sounds like she’s trying to find another piece of chocolate lurking in her panties. She does this a lot: hides out for a moment of peace. It’s the only way we can actually have a conversation. Her husband Drew is nice, but he’s a sports fanatic. His definition of minding the kids is shouting over his shoulder for them to settle down while keeping his eyes glued to an NFL game.
“I have a date tomorrow morning,” I volunteer.
“What? With who? You just got there!”
“Oh, no one special, just the program director who just so happens to be a super-hot Italian guy.”
“Oo la la. I love the sound of this. Tell me everyth—”
Her son starts pounding on her closet door.
“MOMMY! MOMMY! I’M HUNGRY!”
“We just ate lunch!” she shouts back.
“BUT I’M HUUUNNGGRRYYYY!”
“Go find Daddy!”
“Daddy’s at work! I want Mommy!”
“Sounds like you need to go,” I tell her.
“Are you kidding me? You were just going to tell me about the hot Italian dude! Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I’ll fill you in after my date, how’s that?”
Her son succeeds in prying open the closet door, flooding the phone screen with light, and then I get a split second of Kristen’s face before her son comes into view, his blond curls bouncing as he tackle-hugs her.
The line cuts off and I know she’ll text me later, apologizing that our call didn’t last longer, and I’ll reassure her that it’s totally fine. It’s just the way it goes now that she’s a mom. No worries.
I’m more than a little envious of the chaos though.
My small room feels quieter than ever now. My meager belongings do a poor job of making this place feel homey.
Outside, the sun’s gone down, and I can’t see the garden next door.
I wish I had a friend here.
It occurs to me that Noah’s right across the hall.
I wonder what he’s doing.
Docking himself onto his charging port overnight? Crawling into his casket? Clipping his toenails?