First Times： Nine Tales of Innocence Lost(45)

The upcoming trip was a big deal. Twice a year, Carrington put together class trips, one overseas and one within the United States, and spots on the trip were reserved for people taking the associated course. Now here I was, being talked into a trip I couldn’t afford. The course was covered by tuition, but the fee for the trip was more than I made in six months at my part-time job working at the record store in the mall. Yet I sat there and let Carrington write the course in on my schedule for next semester with the expectation that I would cover the costs. The trip was two weeks in Italy. Carrington had been planning this one for two years, which was, incidentally, why I had two courses in Italian as electives. The woman would not take no for an answer. We chatted about a few more things and she listened to my plans for graduate school, grinning her vulpine grin. It was settled. I was going to Italy.

With her.





The big day finally came. Carrington made a deal with me. If I kept an A average in her class, she’d cover half my costs and all my meals. That made it more manageable, but I was a few hundred short when the time came to put in my fee, and she told me not to worry about it. I ended up pacing my dorm room that night. We had to leave at three in the morning to catch the flight, so I paced and paced until two, then put on my backpack and grabbed my suitcases and trundled down the stairs, much to the relief of my sleepy roommate. From there it was half a block to the College Center and the vans. Carrington had her hair pulled into a severe ponytail and was dressed in sweats. Seeing her that was a shock compared to her usual designer suits and heels. Even without added heigh from her shoes, she was still imposing and of a height with most of the boys going on the trip.

“Taylor!” she called as I drew near. “Here, put your bags in this compartment.”

There were three big white vans with the college livery painted on the side. Of course, I was going to be putting my bags in the first one in line, and Carrington was probably driving. There were two other professors going, and two alumni, chaperones in all but name. The rest were the students in the class, fifteen of us in all. Carrington helped me heft my bags into the back of the van and took my arm. Her soft fingers gripped my wrist tightly, her thumb moving lazily over the side of my hand. She grinned at me and almost shoved me into the front seat, giving me pride-of-place. I would be riding to the airport next to her. She must have already down half of the absurdly tall coffee cup sitting next to her seat, and she gulped down even more after she slid in to place. She turned around to face the rest of the students.

“Buckle up,” she chirped, grinning.

She turned to me and lowered her voice as she tugged the gearshift down. “This is going to be so much fun. You’ll see. You have your passport, right?”

I yawned, and nodded.

“You can sleep on the way to the airport, if you want. Once we get on the plane everybody should get a few hours of rest.”

I didn’t need to be told. I nodded in agreement and then nodded off.

When I woke up, My head was resting on her shoulder. I pulled away like I’d set my cheek on a hot stove and she smirked and gave me the side-eye.

“Are we close?” I yawned.

“We’ll be at the airport in ten.”

We were leaving from Philadelphia. I did my best to perk myself up a bit as our little wagon train pulled off I-95 and flowed up the big, sweeping ramp that headed around towards the airport garage.

“Here,” she said, pulling her coffee from the cup. “Red Alert double-mocha. I saved you a couple of swigs.”

I took it and winced at the bitterness of the cold coffee.

“Thanks,” I choked, slipping the now empty cup back.

We pulled into the long-term garage and Carrington led the little procession to the next-to-top, mostly empty floor. From there we all saddled up. Carrington had the most luggage of all of us, and her million watt smile put most of it into the hands of the young men joining us on the trip. As did one of mine. I ended up with only my backpack and rolling suitcase. From there to baggage check, and then to cheek in. They had those spinny backscatter machines, and to my surprise, when it was Carrington’s turn, she looked right at the bored TSA official.

“You’re going to feel me up anyway. I’m not getting in that thing.”

She was waved through, and glanced back at me and winked as one of the agents ran the backs of her hands over Carrington’s ample chest. By then I was already through the backscatter machine and scrambling to get my shoes on. Carrington slipped into a pair of Crocs and walked over, patting my shoulder.

“It’s too bad there wasn’t a spider in the irradiator machine. You’d get superpowers.”