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.
Noah isn’t crying. Noah is doing fancy footwork on a soccer pitch, showing off for a bunch of freshly minted teenagers who idolize him. He’s forgotten I exist.
I’ve never been all that good at wallowing. I can only stand in front of my window crying dramatically like I’m the main character in a music video for so long before the tap runs dry. There, that was efficient. I’ve had my cry and now I’m good as new. A Barbie right out of the box. Not one who’s had her hair chopped off and her arm popped out of socket by some pesky kid brother.
One big calming breath feels heavenly, so I do another.
I wash my face with cold water, reapply my makeup, and then check on the Trinity kids again. None of them have moved. Once I’m done, I give myself a proper tour of St. Cecilia’s. The place might as well still be a museum. It’s astounding that they can keep works of art intact in a place filled with children. I find and study twelve statues and eighteen paintings before the group from the farmer’s market returns with their hauls.
I ooh and ahh at everything they unpack out in the courtyard. There are fresh strawberries and baked Pane Toscano that we pass around and share. The bread is warm and flaky and the strawberries are so flavorful and juicy I wish I had a whole bushel of them to myself. A few of the students picked up sweet little bouquets of flowers for their rooms: dahlias, amaranthus, lisianthus, and garden roses all grown on nearby farms. Ashley got a pair of leather sandals that an artisan fit for her right there on the spot. Millie picked up a tiny landscape painting of Rome, and I compliment her on her find.
Everyone’s packing up their things to head into the school when Gabriella tugs me aside and tells me she could sense something has been a little off with me since the bar last night.
“I know you probably don’t want to get into it, but I figured…here. It’s just a little something.” She holds out hand cream in a small foil tube covered in delicate floral designs. “The vendor told me it’s rose and gardenia scented. His family makes it in small batches.”