Chapter 1 #3
This doesn’t sound like a real thing. It sounds more like one of those scams my aunt used to warn me about, the get-rich-quick traps that end with you stranded in some foreign country, working at a meat processing plant in someone’s basement.
Or someone shoving you into a white van with blackout windows while taking you to some underground black market to sell off your organs.
But… then again… it also sounds like a goddamn miracle.
“Is there a degree requirement at all?” I ask, bracing for the catch.
“No, not at all!” she replies brightly. “We do require full fluency in English, since you will be helping to teach young children proper language structure. But don’t worry if you need a refresher! Classes and tools will be provided before you go, so you’ll be all set to teach the kiddos.”
No degree… and they’re willing to train?
What the hell kind of miracle program is this?
I glance down at the flyer again, still sitting in my lap. My thumb brushes over the crease a few times, worrying it between my fingers. This is starting to sound like less of a scam and more of a golden ticket.
“That’s… really generous. Can I ask how much the pay is?” I say slowly.
“Certainly! As I said, the family will provide you with a weekly stipend while you are over there. This money does not include the food and travel expenses, as that will also be provided by them separately. Additionally, our program gifts a bonus at the end of a successfully completed project.”
Food and transportation also covered?
Jesus.
I don’t live expensively, just ramen, gas, the occasional thrift store run when my jeans decide they’ve had enough. But even I know that not having to worry about groceries is a damn luxury. Not to mention this bonus thing she casually tacked on at the end.
I shift the phone to my other ear and sit up straighter. “How long do the contracts usually go for?”
“Typically, six months. Although if you and a family are getting along well and they request for you to stay longer, we accommodate for that too.”
Six months?
I let that sink in.
That’s half a damn year. Half a year in a foreign country. Half a year away from my friends and the life I’ve built here.
Can I last that long in a foreign country?
It’s not like I’m a seasoned traveler. Hell, I’ve never even been on a plane.
I don’t speak a word of Russian, unless you count the few curse words my high school boyfriend used to yell at video games.
I’m horrifically bad at charades, and the idea of being somewhere I can’t communicate well enough to ask for the damn bathroom is enough to twist my stomach in knots.
And yet all she’s said so far is that the only requirement is fluency in English.
That has to mean these families know what they’re signing up for, right? That they’ve got someone in the household or on staff—God, staff, a word that makes my mouth go dry—who can help bridge the gap while I get my bearings.
Because based on everything Miss Dori just listed, these aren’t families scraping by trying to make ends meet like me. These are people who can afford to fly in a complete stranger from another country and pay them weekly just to talk to their kids in English to further their own high-end futures.
“Is that something that you’d be interested in exploring?” Miss Dori asks, her tone as polite and hopeful as if she hasn’t been steamrolling me with benefits for the last five minutes.
I hesitate.
Because yeah, I’m interested. I’m a lot interested, but I also have a tendency to jump into things when I’m spiraling. And while I’ve definitely had worse ideas while hungover, this one feels like it could actually matter.
My eyes fall back on the flyer.
The big letters at the top feel less like a pitch now and more like a challenge. Teach English Abroad!
I imagine myself stepping off a plane into a snow-covered city of Moscow, feeling the rush of cold air and the thrill of finally being somewhere else that isn’t this damn state for once in my life.
I picture a little girl with wide brown eyes struggling to pronounce Wednesday while I help her sound it out and cheering when she finally gets it right.
I think about being needed, about being useful, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like the walls are closing in around me because of my own failures as a human being.
For the first time in my life, I feel the universe pointing me in this direction for a reason.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. I think I might be.”
“Excellent! That’s wonderful to hear. We are hosting a meet-and-greet this Friday for prospective teachers. You’ll get to chat with alumni and ask whatever questions you need to if that helps you decide. How’s that sound?”
“Sure. That sounds great. My name is Ivy, by the way. Ivy Bennett.”
“Excellent! I look forward to meeting you, Ivy! I can send you the details over text. I hope to see you soon!”
When the call ends, I pull my phone away from my ear and stare down at the fading screen, watching the soft glow dim to black. The room feels too quiet now, letting every loud, anxious thought rattle around in my head like marbles in a tin can.
My thumb hovers over the call log for a second before I finally lock the screen and set my phone back on my nightstand.
Then I just… stare at it. Like it might light up again with Miss Dori’s voice on the other end, calling me back to say, “Oops! Just kidding, we meant to give this opportunity to someone else!”
I sit back on my bed and rub a hand over my face, still trying to shake the headache from earlier, but a new kind of ache is blooming behind my ribs now, tight and persistent.
It’s not fear, it’s longing. An ache from seeing myself watch everyone else around me live the life I’ve been too afraid to chase because of my chronic fear of fucking up. I don’t know if this is real, and I don’t know if this will crash and burn around me, but what’s the harm in trying?
If this program is half as good as it sounds, I not only may have just stumbled onto my next chapter, but I may have also just found my new future.
For the first time in a long time, that idea doesn’t feel impossible.
It actually feels hopeful. Messy, reckless, probably na?ve, but hope, nonetheless.
And honestly? That’s more than I’ve had in a while.