by R.S. Grey
“How so?”
“Naked. Totally. Pale butt cheeks and all.”
It sounds like his forehead thunks against the door and then I swear he laughs. A real couldn’t-suppress-it-even-if-he-tried laugh.
“Just email me your dumb plans,” I say, trying to wrap this up so I can go back to doing one of my most beloved activities: stewing.
“Stop being ridiculous, Audrey.”
Ridiculous?
I’ll show him ridiculous.
I get my phone and pull up my email app.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Beach Trip Planning - Rome
Per our discussion, we can nail down the itinerary here, over email.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Audrey…
Are you trying to get us fired? Don’t use our work emails for this.
“My email sounded professional!” I shout, knowing he hasn’t left his post outside my door.
“It would have devolved quickly and you know it.”
I’m not even going to ask how he has my personal email. He probably knows every detail about me. Bank accounts. Social security number. Starbucks order. Information is power after all.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Great idea
I think you should stay back and book a flight home to the US and I’ll take the kids to the beach. Win-win.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Are you going to hole yourself up in there all night?
I wasn’t finished explaining myself in the dining hall.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: BEACH PLANS
Ahem, let’s stay on topic. Tomorrow is the beach day. No class. All day fun in the sun. Sea, sand, adventure. Whoopie. Sperlonga is a two-hour trip from Rome. From what I’ve heard, we’re caravanning there in two vans that Lorenzo has arranged. We’ll obviously split up and ride separately. Keep our distance. Pretend the other doesn’t exist. Deal?
I send my email and then pace, waiting for his reply. I chew my thumbnail and refresh my inbox, and still, nothing.
What is he doing? Writing a dissertation?
I wish my door had a little peephole. I want to know if he’s still out there, but I don’t want to embarrass myself by poking my head out.
I decide to give it a few minutes, and when those few minutes pass, a few more.
I change into my pajamas and start to get ready for bed. All the while, I eagerly check my phone. I turn it off silent—a rarity these days—and nearly have a heart attack when my email pings. Leaping for my phone, I unlock it, and then…I see it’s just a junk email from LinkedIn. Audrey, please add to your LinkedIn network.
No! Go away!
When my bladder has had enough of this hostage situation, I eventually do leave my room. I crack my door gently, gently now, but then I feel like a doof when I find the hallway is empty. Noah’s door is closed. I don’t think another email is coming.
Huh.
Normally, in a situation like this, I would feel like I won something. I got the last word. HaHA!
Oddly though, that’s not the case. I just really want Noah to email me back.
That realization freaks me out.
WHAT IS GOING ON?
Everything is turning into a jumbled mess. I’ve lost my grip on the situation.
Up until last night, Noah and I were oil and water. Forever at odds. I knew where I stood with him. It’s why I assumed his kiss was a form of torture, emotional manipulation, a cruel joke, what have you, but now…things are getting messy. What he said at dinner contradicts everything. And the stuff about Lorenzo? About him not being good enough for me? That’s really throwing me for a damn loop. There’s no way to put a negative spin on that. It’s a bald-faced compliment through and through.
HOLY CRAP. My brain can’t compute the implications of all this.
Every little cog in my head is whirling around at full speed. Steam should be shooting out of my ears.
Where a moment ago, I wanted Noah to be waiting for me outside my door, now I’m relieved that he’s not. I race to the restroom, pee, brush my teeth, run back to my room, and lock my door once I’m inside. I feel better now. I can relax.
I think I’ll feel normal again in the morning. I’ll have a better handle on the situation then. It might seem weird and confusing now, but I’m just tired. In the light of day, Noah will be my enemy again. Just like always.
Chapter Fourteen
I have a lot on my mind in the morning, and Noah’s not even at the top of the list. That spot is reserved for this question: What kind of swimsuit is appropriate to wear around middle school boys that I’m chaperoning? Obviously, it’s a trick question. The right answer is to not wear a swimsuit at all, but instead, a giant fleece Snuggie that will cover me from head to toe. Since silly ol’ me didn’t pack one of those, my options are: a decently revealing black bikini and a decently revealing red one-piece. I never planned on wearing either of them around the Lindale kids. I only packed them on the off chance I found an opportunity to swim on my own, but here we are. Yippee. I pull both options out of my drawer and dangle them at eye level. I find the material on both to be…lacking.
The only solution is to wear the one-piece with a cover-up over it the whole day. God forbid these pubescent boys see the outline of my butt or breasts. If the overzealous PTA moms caught wind of that…oof. I’d never hear the end of it. I’m a middle school teacher and should therefore be shaped like a cardboard cutout of a woman, not a real human being with organs that take up space!
Once I change and confirm that all my body parts are tucked away as much as possible, I stuff a towel, sunscreen, baseball cap, and book of crossword puzzles into a lightweight tote. Then I add sunglasses, a water bottle, a granola bar, and an apple.
I am extremely prepared. I feel like today might not be all bad.
Of course, I’ll find out later that I was extremely wrong about this, but for now, I’m happy and cool as a cucumber.
I make it out to the courtyard before most everyone else.
Lorenzo is there with a clipboard, going over plans with Ashley and Gabriella. When I join them, I hear the tail end of a discussion they’re having.
“—should hold out until this evening. I looked at the weather report this morning and it says it’ll be sunny all day. Nothing to worry about. Hey, Audrey.”
I smile at the group. “Morning. Can I help with anything?”
He checks his clipboard. “I think we’ve got most everything covered. The two vans I rented should be here any minute. Oh hey, do you happen to know how to drive a stick shift?”
“Manual? Yeah. It’s what my dad drives back home, and he forced me to learn. Said driving an automatic was like ‘letting the car drive you’.”
He grins. “Would you mind following behind the vans in a car with Gabriella? The vans won’t fit everyone, we’re two seats short, so I brought my uncle’s car with me today for someone to drive. I planned to drive it myself but one of the drivers for the van flaked on me, and—”
I cut him off. “Absolutely. Sure thing. I’ll drive the car. Does it matter that I don’t have an Italian driver’s license?”
“Just bring your passport and driver’s license from the States. That’s all you need.”
Perfetta.
It’s like the clouds have parted and the heavens are singing down on me. Now there’s no chance I’ll have to be in a vehicle with Noah for two hours. I’ll be in my own car. Untouchable!
I run back to my room and grab my passport, stuff it into a plastic bag with my license so they don’t get all sandy, and then hustle back down to the courtyard.
Noah�
�s down here now and my heart seizes in my chest, but at least I keep walking without embarrassing myself. He’s wearing dark blue board shorts and a white t-shirt. His baseball cap is on backward and I hate that he looks hot. The bastard’s probably doing it on purpose.
It looks like Lorenzo is filling him in on the plan. When I get closer, he glances sideways at me, and the revelation from last night comes rushing back. NOAH KISSED ME AND HE LIKED IT.
“Audrey.”
I blink and realize Lorenzo’s been talking to me.
He’s jangling keys in front of my face. “Are you all set with the car? It’s parked out front. You can follow right behind the vans. We’ll caravan to the beach.”
I smile, snatch the keys, and set off. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
When I stroll out of St. Cecilia’s gate to find the car I’ve been tasked with driving, I feel like I’m being pranked. Lorenzo’s uncle’s car is a tiny canary yellow Fiat 500 that looks like it was manufactured when dinosaurs still roamed the earth. It should be wedged into the meaty fist of a toddler as he says BEEP BEEP. It cannot still be drivable.
It’s a two-seater with barely enough room to store our bags in the trunk.
When I take a seat and buckle what apparently passes for a seatbelt, I quickly realize the car comes with a few quirks. There’s nothing on the dashboard but an ashtray and some weird-looking switches. No clock, no radio, and—devastatingly—no air conditioning.
Even with the windows down, it’s a sauna.
Gabriella sits patiently while I stall out twice.
“Sorry, I swear I’m good at driving stick, but this one is a little…” I clench my teeth as I lurch into first gear with a shudder. “Finicky.”
“No worries. Take your time. I’ll pull up a playlist on my phone.”
Finally—after killing the engine twice and grinding the gears to nubs—my left leg becomes one with the clutch and away we go. We’re cruising behind the second van, down historic Roman streets, and listening to Italian pop music.
I realize almost immediately that driving through Rome is not for the faint of heart. The tourists walk wherever and whenever they want (Traffic signals? What are those?), the roads are uneven and bumpy, and drivers are either crawling by at 5 mph or careening along at 100 mph; there is no in between. I have a hard time staying behind the vans. I feel like I’m twelve again, playing Crazy Taxi in an arcade. We do a slight right onto Via del Viminale then a left onto Via Principe Amedeo. A truck lays on its horn, shouting at me about something, but I’m too naïve to realize how I’ve offended them. We turn right at the second cross street onto Via Cavour and a group of nuns takes an eternity crossing from one side to the other. A few Lindale students in the back of the second van press their faces against the glass, teasing us.
Once we get out of the city, things ease up. The four-lane highway reminds me of driving in the States, and once we pick up some speed, it doesn’t feel quite as hot. I mean, I’m still melting onto my seat, but at least there’s some airflow. I’ll take it.
The only hiccup is when Lorenzo takes the wrong exit off the highway and we end up on a road that was built to accommodate horses and carriages. It’s narrow and winding and snakes through the terrain. A picturesque ten-minute detour involves three hairpin turns and one very close call with a cliff that has me cobbling together snippets of prayers from three different religions.
Finally, we make it back onto the main highway. We pass a city named Terracina, and then for the next twenty minutes, our drive is on a two-lane road right on the water. Little beaches pop in and out of view, disappearing behind crops of trees and waterfront houses.
The vans slow and then turn off into a small parking lot that’s about a quarter mile from the beach.
“We can’t get any closer. Not in high season,” Lorenzo tells me once we start to unpack the gear from the back of the van.
“No worries. This is great. It’s only a short walk.”
The kids are more excited than I’ve seen them the whole trip. They race out of the vans and gather around us, offering to help with bags and coolers.
Noah’s on the other side of the group—I know because it’s impossible to not constantly track his whereabouts. It’s habit at this point.
He’s laughing with Zach and then he just up and lifts a huge cooler like it’s filled with cotton balls. Underneath his t-shirt, his muscles bulge, and it feels R-rated. I should look away. I will. Then I walk straight into Gabriella and that does the trick. The spell is broken.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Sperlonga technically has two beaches, I find out from Lorenzo. Levante Beach has a more natural setting below hillsides with sand dunes and smaller coves that can only be reached by foot. Sounds romantic, but not something I’d sign up for with this many kids. Lorenzo takes us instead to Ponente Beach, which lies directly beneath the town. It’s backed by hotels and restaurants, and once we make it onto the sand, there are rows and rows of umbrellas and loungers neatly arranged in perfect lines. My OCD tendencies are having a field day.
We have a reserved space a few yards down the beach beneath a cluster of white umbrellas. Lorenzo fist-bumps the guy in charge of them and then we all fan out, claiming our spots for the day.
“Put on sunscreen! Drink water! Wear a hat!”
My motherly advice falls on deaf ears as the kids yank off their t-shirts, kick off their flip-flops, and run straight for the water. I can’t really blame them. The trek from the vans to the beach was enough to cover my entire body in a nice sheen of sweat. It’s just so hot and sunny and bright. All I can do is drop my stuff on a lounger before I follow the kids into the water, leaving my cover-up on.
The sand is fine and soft underfoot, hot, sure, but I keep moving so my toes don’t get burned.
The warm shallow water is crystal clear and I swim out far enough to get my whole body under, glad the water gets cooler as it gets deeper.
Either they discussed it on the ride down, or the kids just know not to go past a certain point in the water. They stay close to the shore and swim, splashing each other and showing off. The Trinity kids stay clustered together at first, but someone brings out water toys—beach balls, boogie boards, goggles, snorkels—and the cool act drops. Everyone just wants to have fun.
I dip under the water and swim out until my feet can’t touch. I do a few laps back and forth along our small stretch of beach, only stopping when my muscles start to ache. I come up for air and bob in the water, treading and swimming as I look back toward the beach. Noah’s still up near our loungers, setting up the coolers, laying out towels for the kids. I feel bad for not thinking to help. I make a mental note to make sure I’m the one who does most of the cleanup effort before we leave.
I watch as Noah takes a bottle of water out of one of the coolers and nearly drains it dry in one long swallow.
He drops it onto a lounger, reaches back for the collar of his t-shirt, and pulls it off over his head in one fell swoop. My lips part as I suck in a breath. This is only my second time seeing him shirtless. It’s not like there’s been a lot of opportunity for that sort of thing. Lindale has a dress code, after all.
My first instinct is to look away, give him a modicum of privacy. But I don’t. I take in every detail like it might be my last opportunity. I memorize the slight curve of his shoulders, his strong arms, toned stomach, tapered waist. He’s tan everywhere. Fit like he works out every day twice a day.
He heads toward the water and looks out to find me watching him.
I dip my head back under and go right back to swimming laps, trying to exhaust myself and kill the butterflies in my stomach.
When I’ve had enough, I head back up onto the beach, peeling my wet cover-up away from my body and trying to get it to do its job again. It’s pointless, but I don’t give in to the urge to just tug it off and be done with the damn thing. Gabriella and Ashley are both wearing one-pieces without cover-ups, but they’ve got less butt and less boobs than me, so it do
esn’t seem as in-your-face. Besides, it’s not so bad now that I’ve had a chance to cool off in the water. If I get too hot again, I’ll just take another dip.
I check on the kids, bring them water and force them to drink it, spray a few of them with sunscreen when they stop moving for long enough, and then plop myself down under a lounger.
My top half is under the umbrella while my legs stick out into the sun. Since the kids are all in the water, I decide to be adventurous and hike up my cover-up until it’s around my waist so I’ll get an even tan on my bottom half.
For a few minutes, I close my eyes and listen to the waves crash against the shore. Before I accidentally fall asleep like that, I rifle through my bag for my book of crossword puzzles. I go for a medium difficult. Call me crazy.
Life is good for a while, and then Noah’s shadow falls over me, blocking the sun on my legs.
“You mind?” I ask, not looking up.
“You’re avoiding me.”
“So? That’s nothing new.”
I reread the clue for five down, underlining it so he gets the hint that I’m a little busy.
“You’ve really deluded yourself, haven’t you? We’re attached at the hip, you and me. Thick as thieves. You feel rudderless without me.”
I laugh like he’s completely off base. “Not even close. The last two days have been like a nice little vacation.”
“Liar. You’ve cried you miss me so much.”
There’s no way he doesn’t notice the blush creep up my cheeks. He’s only joking, but I have cried over him, so what am I supposed to say to that?
I settle for a subject change.
“Uh-huh. Right. Unless you’ve come over here to help me with my crossword—”
He drops a tube of sunscreen onto my lap.
“I can’t get my back.”
I shield my eyes from the sun and finally, finally look up at him. All my internal prep does nothing. His body up close would bring anybody to their knees.
