Instead of following, Colton walks down the hallway to meetus. I make a dramatic shushing motion with my hands, pointing towards the door to the common room.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes flicking between me and Inez.
I rub my hands back and forth over my face, hoping it’ll help me focus on something other than the tears trying to escape. I open my mouth, but saying it out loud will push me over the edge.
He runs his hand up my arm. “Talk to me.”
I want to talk to him, but I can’t force the words past my lips. How can I admit how useless I feel, how utterly defeated, when I know he’ll want to make it better? That the only way he can make it better is by putting himself in direct opposition with one of the most powerful professors on campus?
I shake my head, and push past him. Both he and Inez call after me, but I don’t turn back as I rush down the steps and push through the heavy wooden door to the street.
I start walking toward the Piazza della Rotonda. Sitting in front of the Pantheon always helps center me, reminding me of how small my troubles are in the grand scope of history. But halfway there, I remember the way my best friends called after me. Inez usually gives me space when I’m upset, but Colton won’t. If he plans to check on me, that’s the first place he’ll head, and I need space. So I change tack and cross the river to another spot I love. I climb the Janiculum Hill, letting the strain of my legs from the incline burn away all my thoughts of how terrible I am at my job.
I walk through the park at the top, quieter than most parts of Rome. This isn’t one of the seven ancient hills, so fewer people go out of their way to come here. The people whoarearound me almost exclusively speak Italian. The overlapping conversations are impossible to make out, but I allow myself to sink into the cadence of speech, to enjoy the time I have here before I have to go back to Boston and face how I failed.
Gravel crunches under my feet as I wander the paths lined by busts ofRisorgimentofreedom fighters, men who fought and died for a unified Italy in the nineteenth century. Every five feet, there’s a new bust, each face more judgmental than the last. They seem to say,We united an entire country, and you can’t even unite six people.
I can’t say how long I’ve been walking when I reach the monument to Anita Garibaldi, wife of the famed Italian revolutionary leader and a legendary figure in her own right. I sit at the lone bench in front of the massive structure, staring up at this wild, brave woman. Shame creeps under my skin. People like her exist, and yet I’m so easily cowed by a few closed-minded professors.
The phone in my hand feels heavier than usual as I look down at it, realizing I’ve pulled up my father’s contact without consciously choosing to. It must be some long-buried instinct to seek his guidance, and for one solitary second, I let myself consider calling him the way I would have when I was younger. But his name, big and bold at the top of my screen, doesn’t give words of encouragement. It spews negativity, a lecture about how I’ve wasted my time on my graduate program and how I’d have a place with the professors if I’d listened to him years ago.
I stare back up at Anita for god knows how long, until something flies over my shoulder and plops into my lap. A bag of M&M’s sits on my legs, and I don’t need to look up to know who’s in front of me. I keep my eyes cast downward as Colton drops onto the far end of the bench.
“How’d you know where I was?” I ask, eyes still glued to the statue.
“I didn’t,” he answers, and I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. “Went to the Pantheon first, and you weren’t there, so I figured I’d try here.”
My lips twitch against my will. “I was going to go to the Pantheon but I knew you’d look for me there.”
His breathy chuckle warms me, even as I fight to stay cold and numb. “I guess we’re both predictable.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then we won’t talk,” he says.
Colton holds his tongue, the two of us listening to the noises of the park around us. Children laugh from behind the wall of a nearby school. Cars fly down the street in the middle of the park, unconcerned with pedestrians. A cannon booms, and I distantly register it has to be the daily shot the park sets off to mark noon with more reliability than the clock on my cellphone.
I continue to ignore Colton’s presence, settling back into my self-loathing, when something small and hard hits my cheek.
“What the hell, Colton?” I spin toward him. He’s turned his body to face me, back braced against the arm rest and another M&M poised in his hand.
“Sorry. Hard to aim without you facing me. Try two.” This time, the M&M hits me square on my closed lips, and he scowls. “You’re supposed to open your mouth, Quinn.”
“I’m not in the mood for your ridiculous fucking game, Colton.”
He narrows his eyes and tips his bag toward me. “Actually, it’syourridiculous fucking game.”
He’s right, even if I don’t want to hear it right now. Colton lets the moment sit, no doubt hoping I’ll cave like I have so many times in our past. When I don’t speak, he shrugs.
“Guess I’ll play with myself.” A snort escapes against my will and he smirks. “Head out of the gutter, Riley.”
I watch him toss an M&M high in the air, catching it easily just like he’s done so many times on camera, when we’d played this game from two different continents.
“Having to read the shitty papers students didn’t try on.”
He holds up another piece and mimics throwing it at me. I cross my arms, and he shrugs again, tossing the candy up for himself.
“Students who don’t do the work but expect you to pass them because theyreally need an A.”
