When In Rome...Find Yourself: A Sweet New Adult Romance (4 page)

“You, too.” She hesitated another moment, not sure if she was supposed to say something more. But Theresa picked up her teacup and sipped at it, so Rory escaped while her attention was diverted. With each step, she winced at the creaking floorboards. It must annoy Theresa to have boarders traipsing up and down the stairs, making so much noise.

She was relieved when she saw that Ned’s door was closed. A light filtered from under it, but she hurried by, hoping she wouldn’t disturb him. Again, she could hear music through the door, this time Pink Floyd. She made it to her room, closed the door, tossed her suitcase onto the bed, and then sank down beside it. Relief at last. She could only truly relax when she was alone or with her family, and they were halfway around the world now. It was going to be a long six weeks.

CHAPTER Four

The next day, they had their first class, which was more like an orientation and an overview of their classes, which would go from eight in the morning until one in the afternoon each day for six weeks. On Friday, she made it to class on her own. This wasn’t so hard. As long as she didn’t miss a tram, she could follow the prescribed steps from Theresa’s house to class and back. She even had a few extra minutes after class in case Professor McClain kept them late.

She walked outside that day to see Kristina and Maggie leaning against the wall to the right, in the sliver of shade the building provided at that time of day. They were talking with Cynthia and Nick, all of them looking as comfortable as if they’d always gone to school there, as if they lived in Rome. How did anyone get so comfortable so fast? Rory was still agonizing over whether she’d chosen the right clothes that morning. Did people still wear jean shorts? Her mind never caught up to the present moment. All the moments leading up to it were too fraught with insecurity and indecision and second guesses.

She took out her phone and started to text her parents, who would be waking up now. Their day was just beginning. And then suddenly Cynthia was approaching her. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t meeting another one of her friends. Rory didn’t know what to say to a girl with pink hair, a girl with all the laughter and confidence.

From what seemed like a great distance, Cynthia spoke to her. She asked if she wanted to go out. To a club. Dancing.

Rory had been to a club once before, but after listening to Patty make fun the people dancing for the first hour, she hadn’t had the nerve to step onto the dancefloor herself. Usually, they stuck to local bands. So why was Cynthia asking her now? Was it because Nick had seen her dancing at a Jack of Spades show? But why would they want to go anywhere with her? They didn’t even know her.

Before she could consider all the possibilities, she was shaking her head no. She didn’t want to impose. The four of them would fit into a car, and she wouldn’t fit with them. If she went, she’d be the one who made everyone in the back seat have to squeeze together, too close for comfortable conversation.

“Maybe next time.” That was what she said. As soon as Cynthia and Nick walked away arm in arm, she cursed herself. Why hadn’t she said yes? She’d panicked and probably missed her only chance to make new friends in Rome. She thought about calling after them, but that would be too awful. To run after them and tell them she did want to go, she did want to be included in their cool group, to be one of them.

Instead, she stood rooted to the spot, berating herself for being such an idiot. When they had disappeared around a corner, she took out her phone and started to text her mother.

“Rory?”

She looked up, this time into the familiar scruffy face of her fellow boarder. She refused to call him her roommate. That sounded like they shared a room. “Oh, hi,” she said, her face warming for no particular reason other than that it could. “I—I didn’t know your classes were here, too.”

“Yeah,” he said in his stoner way. “Are you done? Wanna ride home in Jelly?”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “You probably have somewhere else to go…”

“Just heading back to Theresa’s,” he said. “You can ride if you want.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Cool.”

She followed him in silence, sure that she should say something, but not sure what to say. “Thanks,” she said at last.

“No problem, dude.”

“So, uh, where are you from, anyway?” she asked.

“The great state of Kentucky,” he said. “You?”

“Are you allowed to have dreads in Kentucky?”

Ned laughed, and a flicker of pride swelled in Rory’s chest. She’d made him laugh.

“Probably not,” he said. “But everyone in Rome seems okay with it so far. What about you? Where you from?”

“Arkansas.”

“Dude, we’re like, mortal enemies then.”

“What? Why?”

“Kidding,” he said, unlocking Jelly and sliding in to reach across and unlock her door. Maybe they could be friends, and he could teach her not to be so hopelessly awkward around guys. This could be a good thing, living with a guy. If she got used to one, maybe the rest wouldn’t be so alien and scary. She climbed into the car and rolled down the window. Jelly did not have air conditioning.

Maggie and Kristina still stood leaning against the wall, claiming their spot as if it were their birthright. Rory imagined leaning out the window to tell them she’d go with them. They’d wonder about her, who she was and how she’d already met a guy.

Or more likely, what she was even talking about. They hadn’t invited her. Cynthia had, and Rory had said no. For all she knew, Cynthia was now texting them as she walked home, telling them Rory was total spaz. And it wasn’t like either of them would be jealous of her for riding around in a rusted out tin can with a dready American guy.

Just then, her phone rang. She started and checked the screen. Of course it was her mother. She really would have rather spoken with Quinn right then. Quinn would understand why she had turned down the invitation. But it was only six-thirty in Arkansas, and Quinn would never answer her phone that early.

“Hi, Mom,” Rory said, turning away from Ned, as if he wouldn’t be able to hear her if she spoke towards the window.

“Hello, dear,” Winnie said. “How’s your class going? Are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing fine,” Rory muttered. “Class is fine.”

“What? I can’t hear you, dear. Do you think it’s a bad connection?”

“No, I can hear you fine,” Rory said, still speaking too low. Why had she answered? She knew her mother would freak out if she didn’t hear from her every day, but she could have texted back and told her mom she was busy just then.

“Are you sleeping well?” Winnie asked. “And finding your way around? You haven’t gotten lost in that big city, have you?”

“No,” Rory said. “It’s not so bad. I already know my route to class and back.”

“And you’re taking your meds?”

Rory glanced at Ned, heat prickling her neck. But of course he couldn’t hear her mother. Could he? Her mother spoke so loudly. She wanted to hush her, but then she’d have to tell her why, and then her mother would have an aneurism. No matter how innocent the arrangement was, she wouldn’t want Rory living with a boy.

“Yes, Mom,” Rory said. “Everything is fine. Stop worrying so much.”

“I just want you to make it home in one piece,” Winnie said. “I wish you hadn’t gone so far away. Couldn’t you have studied somewhere closer, like the Grand Canyon or Yellowstone?”

“That wouldn’t be studying abroad.” She couldn’t stand it another minute. Ned must think she was insane, or at the very least, a hopeless loser who couldn’t wait to talk to her mother until she’d gotten home. “Can I call you back?” she said, forcing her flaming face to stay turned to the window so she wouldn’t have to see Ned’s expression of pity or contempt or amusement. “I think it might be a bad connection after all.”

When she hung up, she waited for Ned to say something, but he just drove in silence. Rory balled her hands into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.

Get a grip, she told herself. What does it matter what Ned thinks of you?

But that technique had never worked for her, because she did care what people thought of her. In elementary school, her mother had told her not to care that the boys started calling her Carrot Top, because they were just being immature. But she had still come home crying about it at least once a week.

In middle school, her mom told her to ignore the pretty girls when they thought themselves immensely clever for calling her a dog and then a week later, naming her Spot because of all her freckles. But she had still gone home and cried alone in her room every day.

In high school, her mother told her not to worry that no one asked her to dances or delivered Candy Grams to her on Valentine’s Day, because those were silly things that shallow people were concerned about, and no one would notice that she didn’t get them because they were too busy worrying about themselves. She was probably right, but Rory still sat in class on those days, her heart racing every time a Valentine was delivered to a classroom or burning with shame when the girls around her talked about their dresses and dates for homecoming and prom and Sadie Hawkins. By then, she’d learned to cope a little better, and she didn’t cry about it anymore. Instead, she buried herself so deep in the worlds of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet, of Mordor and Hogwarts, that no one bothered to call her names anymore.

That’s what she did that day, too. After receiving an especially ugly greeting from Tom, who then streaked off down the street with his tail held high, she went inside and immediately retreated to her room, where she stayed all afternoon. She called her mother back, assured her a million times that she was fine, and sent a text for Quinn to call when she woke up. Then she tried to sink into
Cyrano De Bergerac
. At first, it worked. Ned was downstairs talking to Theresa, and the quiet hum of their voices and the creaks and pops in the old house were somehow comforting. They reminded her of the sounds of the cabin her family rented every summer in Cape Cod.

After a while, Ned came upstairs and shut himself in his room. A few minutes later, his music started. Rory sighed and lay back on her bed, dropping her book on the floor. What was he doing in there? Smoking pot? What if the cops came? Did Italy even have cops? Of course they did. That was silly.

She picked up her book and tried to read again. The music wasn’t loud, but for some reason, it bothered her. She wanted to know what he did in there all day, with the music on. Maybe he just smoked pot and passed out. That’s what Jack used to do. He and all his friends would smoke and then hang out and play video games until three in the morning, while Rory sat there, invisible, bored out of her ever-loving mind but not wanting to get up and draw attention to herself. She always imagined that they’d all be distracted from the game and annoyed with her, that they’d all stare and ask questions, though it was more likely no one would have even noticed.

Rory’s stomach growled. She sighed and closed her book again. After class, she had gone straight to her room, embarrassed about her phone call, so she hadn’t had lunch. It was still early for dinner, only five, but she went downstairs to look for food. She knew her way to class, but she wasn’t going to get on the tram in the evening and just go out, with no destination in mind. Dinner was supposed to be on their own, but Theresa had offered to feed her the first night. Besides, she hadn’t eaten lunch, so maybe she could just get a sandwich and call it late lunch. If her first few days were any indication, people in Italy ate dinner really late at night, anyway.

The house was silent as Rory crept past Ned’s door. Hendrix played on. The upstairs hallway, with its dark carpet, was dim without the lights on, even during the day. She stepped onto the first wooden step of the staircase and froze when the wood let out a loud groan that echoed up and down the cramped stairwell. Her heart pounding in her ears, she took another step. This one squeaked. Flinching with each step, she made her way down the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief when she emerged at the bottom, next to the front door.

She had an absurd urge to bolt out the door and run. But of course, she only wanted to get away, and then she’d want to get away from wherever she ended up even more. Sometimes she thought she’d never be at ease unless she learned to run and never stop. Or drive. Or do anything that felt like she could escape herself for even a few short minutes.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she froze again. Theresa stood at the counter, flipping through a cookbook and chewing on some sort of cookie. How had she forgotten Theresa? She’d been so busy trying not to disturb Ned, she’d somehow assumed that Theresa was upstairs, too. Now she felt like she’d been caught stealing. Surely Theresa wouldn’t kick her out. But what if she did? Where would she go?

“Oh, hello, dear,” Theresa said, catching sight of Rory. Her voice lilted up and down in the Italian accent, as if she spoke her words in waves. “I was just getting dinner started. Are you hungry?”

“Uh, no,” Rory stammered. “I mean, no, thank you. I’m just…I didn’t know you’d be down here.”

“Help yourself to anything you’d like. If you’re thirsty, I’ve got fresh lemonade in the refrigerator. Ned picked me up the lemons at the market today.”

“Oh, okay.” Rory slunk to the refrigerator, still feeling guilty. She got out the pitcher and poured a small glass. “Want some?”

“I might have some, too,” Theresa said. “Here, you have a cookie.” She pushed a plastic tub of cookies at Rory. Rory poured her some lemonade and took one cookie, though her stomach was yelling at her to take the whole bucket to her room and devour it in one sitting. She retreated to the table so as not to hover.

“I think to make something with prosciutto,” Theresa said. “Ned pick me up some of that, too. He’s a good boy, you know.”

“I know,” Rory said, seeing the sly smile on Theresa’s face. She didn’t know anything about Ned, actually. But it seemed rude to disagree. “So, um, does he do all your grocery shopping?”

“Oh, yes,” Theresa said. “That’s why I really let him use my car.” She gave a little cackle and turned back to her cookbook. “Do you cook, dear?”