Today

Senior Class Trip

Even though we were as quick as possible, Alex and I are still five minutes late to meet our tour group.

Being late is officially our thing.

I rushed to put my tights back on and now they feel bunched up around my thighs. I smooth the wrinkles out of my dress as we hurry to join our friends in the lobby.

“Alex, why’s your hair all messed up?” Ryan asks loudly with a smirk.

Our entire class turns to look at us. Some smile knowingly. The Italian students give us curious looks.

“Thanks for gracing us with your presence, Rouvelis,” Coach Rice says. “McDowell’s right. Your hair’s a mess.”

Alex pats the top of his head. I grin sheepishly for pulling on his new, shorter hair so much.

Max comes over and whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry about before.”

“Me too.”

I check out his outfit. He’s wearing jeans and a dinner jacket made up of multicolored, multi-design plaid squares, like a quilt. “I love this jacket.”

He touches the sleeve of my dress. “And I love your rockets.”

Lawrence the tour guide pointedly looks at his watch. “We need to leave if we want to stay on schedule.” He pronounces it shhedule, which makes me groan because I know Ryan will start pronouncing it that way too.

The leader of the Italian group steps forward, her long, chestnut hair bouncing. We learned on the bus that her name is Carina Abella, and she’s the English teacher at their school. Is everyone from this particular area of Tuscany really, really attractive or what?

“Are we ready to go?” Ms. Abella says with an accent.

“Uh, yeah,” Coach Rice replies, clearing his throat into a fist. His face is pink.

Ryan elbows Alex. “Oh shit, Coach has a thing for her.”

“Good for him,” Alex replies.

Marcie cranes her neck to look at Coach Rice. “He isn’t married?”

“Oh, he’s married,” Alex says. “He’s married to baseball.”

“Coach is perpetually single,” Ryan adds. “The most action he’s gotten lately is when Alex pulled down his pants at first base a couple seasons ago.”

Coach Rice hears this and gives Ryan a look.

To get to Central London, Lawrence leads us to a nearby Underground station called Greenford. Our tour group walks together down the sidewalk. Given Ms. Abella’s excellent English, I am not surprised when I learn the Italian kids speak our language well and begin to weave in with kids from our school.

Alex and I are holding hands when Sexy McSexerson approaches us.

“Hello,” he says, shaking our hands. “I am Elia.”

“I’m Lulu and this is my boyfriend, Alex.”

“Lulu? I have not heard that name.”

“Short for Louise.”

I make eyes at Marcie, urging her to walk beside us, but she’s a deer in the headlights.

After a ten-minute walk, in which I learn how Elia’s family is from Milan—where his dad is an executive for a beverage company—we arrive at the entrance to the London Underground. It’s marked with a large red circle. The tube station reminds me a lot of New York’s subway, only it’s cleaner and more vivid, peppered with bright paint. Like in Manhattan, there are people from many different races and backgrounds.

We each buy an Oyster Card to ride the subway. To get to the train, we take an escalator up to an elevated, outdoor platform. Large black letters across the tile floor spell out MIND THE GAP. London is a very polite city.

Our group rides the tube to the Westminster station, which takes thirty minutes. It feels like forever, like driving from home to Nashville. A bunch of us take the opportunity to close our eyes because we’re exhausted from the flight.

When we arrive in Westminster, we climb the stairs out of the Underground, passing T-shirt vendors. Some of the guys stop to buy tees that say We Love London and God Save the Queen and even Mind the Gap.

We exit the station, and Big Ben looms before us, the gorgeous clock set against a bright blue sky.

I gasp. This city is stunning, with lush trees interspersed between the buildings and around the square. The breeze is chilly; it’s much cooler here than in Tennessee. I zip up my jacket over my dress.

I take my guidebook out of my cross-body purse and flick through it to the map of London to confirm the gorgeous building behind Big Ben is Westminster, where Parliament debates all things England.

My classmates and the Italians begin taking photos.

Tourists and people dressed up in suits and ties swarm in front of the massive building from another century. If not for all the honking horns and people wearing jeans, I’d swear I was in the 1800s.

Across the square is Westminster Abbey, where past kings and queens are buried. Oh, and Princess Kate and Prince William were married there.

“Look, Lu. There’s the London Eye.” Alex points across the bridge to the other side of the river Thames to the biggest Ferris wheel I’ve ever seen. By comparison, the Ferris wheel Alex and I rode together at Six Flags is a Lego.

As we come to stand under Big Ben, I remember how Dad flipped out about this trip. He didn’t want me to come. A couple of months ago, a terrorist drove a van through here, right across Westminster Bridge, hitting a bunch of pedestrians. Three Americans died, including a man celebrating his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

“You’ll be going to all sorts of tourist traps in London. It’s dangerous,” Dad had insisted.

“Bad things can happen anywhere,” I’d replied.

Something similar had happened in New York a few years ago—a man drove a truck down a bike path, killing several people. But Dad didn’t stop me from going to New York. Hell, an attack could happen back in Coffee County.

What would be the point of living if you cower at home all the time?

I want to live.

“Let’s get a picture of all of us in front of Big Ben,” Max says, recruiting Coach Rice to snap a photo of me, Grace, Max, Alex, Ryan, Caleb, Marcie, Nick, and Dana with our arms around one another. My smile wanes as I think about how we won’t be together next year. If I’m not careful, I’ll bawl my eyes out during graduation.

“Now, let’s get one with me in it,” Coach Rice says, passing Max’s phone off to Lawrence to take a photo of him squatting in front of us, holding up the peace sign.

“Go home, Coach,” Ryan says. “You’re drunk.”

“Coach, why’re you hanging around us when that hottie Italian teacher is over there?” Alex asks.

Coach rubs the back of his neck. But instead of going to talk to her, he decides to check on another group of kids from our school.

“That’s it,” Alex says to Ryan. “We have to hook Coach up with Ms. Abella before the trip is over.”

Ryan responds with a fist bump.

Only my silly boyfriend would come up with an idea like this. Can’t adults figure out their own relationships?

But Coach Rice has been a great coach to them over the years, so I understand why Alex wants him to be happy.

Without him, Alex wouldn’t have a scholarship to play ball for a top college team.

To get to the London Eye, we cross over the Westminster Bridge and then walk under an overpass and along the banks of the Thames.

I walk slowly beside the shoreline to see if anything interesting has washed up from the murky brown water. My guidebook says that people do this thing called mudlarking, where you wade out into the Thames at low tide and search for stuff people have thrown into the river over the past two thousand years. Everything from Viking belts to clay pipes, which used to be as common as cigarette butts under Queen Elizabeth I. One mudlarker even found a two-thousand-year-old Roman coin.

Being in the presence of all this history, from Westminster to Big Ben, makes me feel so tiny, my problems so insignificant. Is my story with Alex, even if I don’t know how it ends yet, important?

“God, it smells like the 7-Eleven bathroom down here by the river,” Ryan says, pulling me from my deep thoughts.

“Maybe it’s just you, man,” Alex replies.

“It’s definitely Ryan,” I say. “I love it here. It reminds me of New York.”

“Me too,” Alex says.

“Only it’s more romantic,” I whisper to him, and he wraps an arm around my waist.

Caleb and Max are walking in front of us, holding hands. They rarely, if ever, do this at home in Tennessee, where close-minded people like to make rude comments. Most kids at school have accepted them—and I know of at least a sophomore girl and a junior boy who came out after Caleb and Max got together—but adults in public aren’t as welcoming. It makes me happy they feel comfortable here.

The place where you board the London Eye is full of school groups waiting to ride the giant Ferris wheel or one of the boat tours next door. After standing in line for what feels like forever, we finally prepare to climb aboard the London Eye.

“The wheel never stops moving,” Lawrence says. “It’s going very slowly, but you still have to climb aboard while it’s rotating, so make sure you move quickly.”

When the worker raises the barrier, we hurry across the plank into our compartment. Behind us, two workers wearing SECURITY shirts follow with mirrors attached to wooden poles, which they use to search under the seats, I guess looking for bombs or other threats. Once they finish their sweep, they jump off the car right at the last second as we swing upward toward the blue sky.

London stretches out beneath us. I can’t imagine how romantic this would be at night. Maybe even the most romantic view ever.

The Ferris wheel is so big, it will take half an hour to fully rotate. Twenty of us fit comfortably into one car, including Elia and his group of friends. He hangs out with these two girls who are dating—Siena and Cat, and another guy, Leo.

Now that I’ve talked to Elia a little, I introduce him to Marcie. Elia says hello to her and smiles, but gets distracted when Leo says something in Italian to him, pointing through the glass at the London Spire.

“Maybe he’s gay,” Marcie whispers.

Caleb checks him out. “That boy is not gay. Trust me.”

“How do you know?”

“He hasn’t looked at me or Max once.”

“Maybe you’re not his type,” I say.

Caleb gives me a pompous look. “Please.”

Meanwhile, Alex and Ryan are whispering conspiratorially, sneaking glances at Coach Rice and Ms. Abella.

Alex claps once like he’s in a huddle at a ball game. “It’s go time.”

Ryan walks over to Ms. Abella and points into the distance. “Do you know what that building is, Ms. Abella?”

At the same time, Alex calls out, “Coach, Coach, come take another picture of me and Lu.”

“I’m not your personal photographer, Rouvelis,” Coach Rice says. “I want to see the city too.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Alex replies. “Come stand here, it’s a great view.”

Right then, Ryan steps away from Ms. Abella and Alex guides Coach Rice into the place Ryan vacated. Coach Rice glances down at the Italian teacher and swallows nervously. Ms. Abella points at something and begins speaking to him. He smiles, and a few seconds later, he laughs. Then she chuckles too.

Alex pumps the air with his fist, celebrating.

Ryan dances in place like he’s the absolute shit.

After the London Eye makes one complete rotation, we exit and join up with the rest of our class to begin a boat tour on the Thames. My group of friends chooses seats toward the back.

A very peppy British woman with a microphone stands at the bow of the boat. “Welcome aboard! Thank you for joining us here on City Cruises.”

The boat begins to slice through the brownish water, which reminds me of the Cumberland back in Nashville.

“Off to your right, you’ll see the replica of the Globe Theatre, where Shakespeare’s plays were originally performed. The first Globe Theatre burned to the ground in 1613.”

The boat glides beneath the London Bridge.

“Up ahead on your left is the Tower of London, built by William the Conqueror in 1078,” says the tour guide. “Not only can you find the crown jewels here, but this is where King Henry VIII had Anne Boleyn beheaded.”

“This boat trip is a little morbid,” I say to Alex.

“A little? I would say it’s a lot morbid.”

The tour guide says, “It’s actually Medieval Weekend at the Tower. Head on over there if you’re interested in eating some venison or gruel, or shooting a crossbow.”

Ryan sits up straight. “Oh shit. Coach, I want to go shoot a crossbow.”

“You remember in the last game where you threw that ball a foot over Alex’s head?” Coach replies. “Yeah, nobody’s trusting you with a crossbow.”

I settle into my seat and enjoy the views of historic buildings and the blue sky. “Remember the freshman year trip? Where we had our first kiss?” I say.

“You mean, where you attacked me with your lips?”

“Stop. You liked it.”

“No, I loved it.”

We kiss here on the boat, in front of all of London, and when we break apart, I sigh. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing…and everything.”

I weave my fingers between his and stare at his brown eyes. Most romantic view ever.