Vice Principal Trammell’s gaze sweeps the room, and we all look anywhere but her.
“Mrs. Vincent?” Vice Principal Trammell asks, sounding hopeful.
Mrs. Vincent is the Spanish teacher, but she’s one of those geniuses who speaks like eight languages, Italian being one of them.
She holds up her hands in defeat. “Oh man. I wish!” She doesn’t wish. “It sounds so fun. Rome in the heat of summer—sign me up.” She’s barely masking her sarcasm. “But I’m due to deliver my baby at the end of August, so I doubt my OB wants me traveling overseas that late into my pregnancy.”
Every pregnant teacher in the room breathes a heavy sigh of relief. What a perfect excuse.
If only I were pregnant.
Or married.
Or in a relationship of any kind.
My only commitment at the moment is with my dry cleaner. No one, and I mean no one gets chocolate stains out of fabric like he does.
Vice Principal Trammell purses her lips. “Right. Well, if any of you has a change of heart, please let me know. We need to fill the two spots by Friday or we’ll have to inform the students that the trip is canceled. It’ll really break their hearts.”
She’s digging deep with that one, trying to get us to bend.
For a moment, I start to give in. Maybe I should go. What a wonderful opportunity for these adolescents to explore the world and expand their minds.
Then I remember how Danny in my third period farted yesterday and the smell was so nauseating I was forced to evacuate my entire classroom until a custodian could come open the windows and air it out. I bet the scent will still be there today.
My heart turns cold as ice. If the trip is canceled, we’ll just wheel in an old TV on a cart and have the students watch a grainy documentary about Rome. They’ll be fine.
After the meeting, I stand and gather my things, neatly tearing off the top sheet of my notepad so I can trash it. Sensing early on that I wouldn’t need to take notes during the meeting, I doodled in the margins instead. Just idyllic little scenes of Noah getting struck by lightning. Falling into the lion enclosure at the zoo. Crying as his check engine light comes on.
All the teachers filter out, joking and talking with each other. I look up as Noah passes by on the opposite side of the conference table. He makes like he’s going to keep walking, then he suddenly stops midstride, rocks back on his heels, and looks over at me.
“Y’know, I’m surprised you didn’t volunteer to go to Rome,” he tells me. “So unlike you.”
“I’m busy this summer.”
Not wanting to encourage him, I head over to the refreshment table so I can start to pack up my extra cookies. He rounds the table and meets me there.
“I’ll bet you are. Already planned your room decor for next year? I heard there’s a shortage on construction paper across the city.”
I go about my business as if I’m not the least bit bothered by him. It’s not as easy as it seems given his size. He’s six foot something. He should be gangly and awkward, but he’s not. He’s broad-shouldered and in my way.
I bat my eyelashes at him like I’m playing coy. “And what about you? What will you do all summer without children to terrorize?”
“My students love me.”
It’s true.
Noah is only one class over and we share a wall. I hear every time he makes his class laugh.
Still, for good show, I grunt in disbelief and tilt my head so I can look into his breathtakingly hideous brown eyes.
“They only laugh at your jokes because they feel bad for you.”
“I’m hilarious.”
“You mispronounced annoying.”
He doesn’t want to smile, but he almost does. I lean forward, wanting it. Then, realizing how close he is to giving me that pleasure, he restores his face to its factory setting.
After the meeting, I don’t expect to hear anything more about Rome.
I put it out of my head completely until I get an email about it later that night. I’m in my apartment, alone, making enough dinner for five and calculating how many days I can get away with eating leftover mushroom risotto without feeling physically ill at the thought. My phone pings and my heart leaps.
I want it to be a text from someone, anyone.
At twenty-seven, my single friends are starting to drop like flies. I can’t go to a family function without a well-meaning relative feeling sorry for me.
“Your time will come too, sweetie…”
Uh, thanks Aunt Marge, but I’m sort of just trying to eat my pumpkin pie in peace if that’s all right with you?