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.
I stay in my seat up on the balcony as they leave. The courtyard empties and a few minutes later, Gabriella and Ashley gather their small group of six and lead them off to shop at the market.
I’m alone here now with three kids. Two boys and a girl, all from Trinity. Oh joy. The boys are playing video games in one of their rooms and the girl is sitting out in the courtyard, reading. When I knock on the boys’ door, they open it and stare out at me like they have no idea who I am or what I’m doing there.
I do an annoying wave I immediately regret. “Hi, I’m Audrey, erm…Ms. Cohen, one of the chaperones from Lindale. I just wanted to let you all know I’m here if you need anything.”
More like, LISTEN UP, I’m still here, so don’t try any funny business.
They grunt then shut the door in my face.
Right.
Out in the courtyard, I wave at the girl, and she looks at me like I’m yesterday’s trash. What is with these Trinity kids?!
“What are you reading?” I ask her.
She lazily holds up her book. Foucault’s Pendulum by Umberto Eco. In Italian! When I was her age, I was reading a buffet of books from Sarah Dessen.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, is that required reading for Trinity?”
“No.”
Her tone couldn’t be clearer: Go away, you plebe.
With my duties completed for the morning, I have nothing left to do. I’ll check on the kids again in a little bit, but for now, I rinse off in the shower and dress, trying to do things that might make me feel normal. I take extra time when I dry my hair, smoothing it out so it feels like spun silk. I apply a little makeup and moisturize my sunburned skin. I try to tidy a few things in my room, but everything is already put away, so it doesn’t take me long. I pick up Where the Red Fern Grows, read the same paragraph four times, and then give up. I check my email and see nothing new except promotional emails from The Gap and Match.com (Want to finish creating your profile? You’re missing out on eligible singles in your area!), and I suddenly can’t stop the tears that well up in my eyes.
I can’t put my finger on exactly what’s wrong. This anxious feeling in my stomach, the way I can’t catch a full breath.
I call my mom to talk, knowing she’ll let me cry it out and then give me the same sage advice she always does: “You know what will make you feel better? A walk. Go get some fresh air and stir up some endorphins!” But she doesn’t answer and I realize belatedly that it’s still the middle of the night back home. My held-back tears start to fall. I feel ridiculous crying. Over what? Being away from home? My fight with Noah?
Ridiculous.