12. Lucia
12
LUCIA
D espite the scorching 102-degree heat outside, the air inside Whitson Elementary is icy cold. I shiver despite the cardigan tightly wrapped around my shoulders, grateful that I remembered to bring it. It also serves to hide the bulky bandage on my left bicep, a reminder of an injury Saverio inflicted on me that still throbs with pain.
The first day of school always brings a sense of excitement and anticipation, but for me, it’s an extra special joy. As I enter my third year of teaching, I am greeted by the cheerful faces of my new students. But one particular interaction stands out to me - a bright-eyed little girl who proudly announces that her big sister was in my class two years ago. She beams at me with a toothy grin and tells me how her sister loved having me as a teacher. My heart swells with pride and happiness as I crouch down to her level, feeling honored to have taught siblings now. “I’m sure I’ll love having you as a student, too,” I say sincerely.
My first year at Whitson was hard. The task of creating my own teaching plan from scratch drained me both mentally and physically, often leading to sleepless nights that bled into early mornings. I struggled some weeks and wondered if teaching was right for me. But every person I encountered at Whitson assured me that the first year was always the most challenging.
It wasn’t until I was in the middle of a full-on meltdown in the teacher’s lounge that I found someone who helped me through the worst of it. Brooklyn Morris, a sixth-grade teacher with vibrant red hair and an unflappable resolve, sat me down amidst the chaos and extended her expertise. We’ve been best friends ever since.
“ A yyyyy, Lucia!” Brooklyn confidently strides into the teacher’s lounge, her sundress falling just above her kneecap and accentuating her long, toned legs. It’s a daring choice for the first day of school, but Brooklyn pulls it off effortlessly. “I saw your classroom this morning, and I’m jealous.”
A couple of the other teachers perk their heads up from their coffee mugs, but only for a moment. The conversation doesn’t interest them, and they return to their phones a second later.
“Thanks,” I grin. “I saw someone do something like it on TikTok, and I was convinced I had to have it.”
Brooklyn wrinkles her nose. “You could have looked up ideas on Pinterest like the rest of us. Now we look bad.”
A disheveled older teacher with graying hair and a wrinkled dress shirt sits at a nearby table and mumbles under their breath, “Speak for yourself.”
With a flick of my hand, I beckon Brooklyn to join me. We navigate through a maze of tables and chairs, heading towards a secluded corner of the teacher’s lounge. Usually, I eat alone in my classroom, surrounded by stacks of papers and lesson plans, but with the school year just beginning, I have yet to accumulate any work I’d need to use the lunch break to catch up on. “How was your date this weekend?” I ask.
Brooklyn gives me an exaggerated sigh of disgust. “Girl, I almost called you in the middle of it. This man would not stop calling me babe. Every sentence. ‘This one time, I went skydiving. Have you ever gone skydiving, babe? Babe, I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?’ It drove me nuts. I love a good pet name, but it was our first date. Now I’m not even sure he remembered my name.”
While certainly not the most grievous sin a man could commit, I can understand why she found it irritating. “Definitely annoying,” I reassure her with my agreement.
“No, what’s annoying is that we went back to my place to watch a movie. He took off his shoes in the middle of the movie and put them on my lap.”
My nose scrunches in revulsion. “Stop,” I hold up a hand. “He did not.”
Brooklyn nods her head dramatically. “And there was a hole in his sock over one of his toes. I couldn’t even concentrate on the movie. After twenty minutes, I had to end the date. Who gets that comfortable on a first date?”
Not me. By the fifth date, I still haven’t reached a level of comfort where I can show a man my feet, let alone prop them in his lap. We would need a strong rapport and a serious discussion about feet before I even consider it. While some may have a foot fetish, I am the complete opposite. The mere thought of feet makes me cringe, and I have a strong aversion to them. I will not be touching anyone else’s feet nor allowing them to touch mine. It’s just not my thing.
“But that wasn’t the end of it,” Brooklyn goes on. “He’s spent the last few days texting me nonstop. I responded the first few times, but then he started texting me long messages about stuff happening at his work or what he was getting for lunch. I don’t care, dude,” she glares, “leave me alone.”
She’s going to ghost him; I can see it now. “So I take it he isn’t ‘the one’ then.”
Brooklyn gives me a pointed look. “Absolutely not. I know I have my issues, but I can’t do it. He deserves to be with someone who can put up with his first date pet names and holey socks in their face.”
“His feet weren’t in your face, Brook.” Sometimes, she’s dramatic for the sake of being dramatic.
“They were on my lap. That’s close enough,” she huffs.
A smile spreads across my face as I take another sip of coffee, the warm liquid invigorating my senses. This is my third cup today if you count the mug I brought in earlier this morning. But now, as I begin the second half of the day, it’s exactly what I need to keep me going.
“Speaking of dates, I need you to double with me this weekend.”
My hands start to shake, and I can’t tell if it’s the caffeine or the ball of dread forming in the pit of my stomach. “I can’t.”
Brooklyn rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can. I asked you yesterday if you were busy this weekend.”
I knew I shouldn’t have told her I was free. “That’s entrapment,” I accuse.
“Come on. The guy I’m going out with has a friend who’s in town from Kansas City. They don’t get together often.” I don’t know why not. Depending on where the guy lives in Kansas City, it’s only an hour’s drive from Topeka. “He said if I can’t get a date for his friend, we’ll have to reschedule for next weekend.”
“Then reschedule for next weekend,” I shrug. “It’s another week, Brook. It won’t kill you.”
She’s not convinced. “It could, Lucia. We don’t know for sure that it won’t.” Her tone is very serious, and it cracks me up. “This isn’t a laughing matter. What if he’s my soulmate?”
I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, but that’s a story for another day. “Then he’ll still be your soulmate next weekend.”
Brooklyn’s expression immediately shifts to displeasure, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. A withering glare, typically reserved for those who have wronged her, is directed at me. It is a look that could make even the toughest janitor at Whitson Elementary cower in fear. “Lucia Terlizzi. Give me one good reason why you can’t go out this weekend.”
Going out isn’t the problem. I can go out whenever I want, wherever I want. The problem is Brooklyn wants me to go on a date, and if Saverio finds out, it’s game over for everyone involved. “I’m not interested in dating right now, that’s all.” I breeze past the truth with a grimace that Brooklyn immediately picks up on.
“I said this guy is my soulmate, Lucia, not that his buddy has to be yours. It’s just a date. You’re doing me a favor. You don’t even have to tell him your real name. Tell him your name is Jasmine or something.”
I shift my arms, trying to find a more comfortable position, but my left bicep twinges with pain.
Brooklyn wouldn’t understand. If I tell her about Saverio and our arranged marriage, she’ll want every detail. But I can’t explain our complicated relationship. Brooklyn already has theories about my upbringing due to the infamous Terlizzi name. I don’t want her to go down a rabbit hole of conspiracies and misunderstandings if I reveal the truth about my engagement to Saverio. The thought alone makes me wince in anticipation of her barrage of questions and assumptions. “Don’t you have any other friends you could ask?”
“You would think so,” Brooklyn agrees, “but no. You’re it, babe. You wanna get Mexican or Thai?”
Inwardly, I groan. Saverio is going to kill me, Brooklyn, her date, and mine. Then he’ll probably kill himself so he can kick all of our asses in the afterlife for daring to fuck around when he has a very public, very commanding claim over me. “I prefer Mexican,” I sigh. “Thai messes with my stomach.”
She clucks her tongue and leans forward to kiss my cheek. “I love Mexican. I can’t wait. It’s going to be a blast.”
Somehow, I doubt it, but I don’t have any other options. I can either come clean to Brooklyn about why I can’t go or tell Saverio I’m going on a date to help out a friend. He’ll understand friendship, right? He won’t fly off the handle just because there’s another man and margaritas involved.
Right?