Awkward Abroad (Awkward #2) Read online

  “There it is,” I say, spotting it amongst a group of bicycles in a nearby stand. “Exactly where I left it.”

  Kent loads the bike with difficulty into the backseat of the car and we drop it back at the vendor. He pays the fine with his platinum credit card.

  “You’re paying me back,” he says. “The second you get your first paycheck. Now come on, I’ll take you to breakfast. We’re going to do some straight talking.”

  “Do we ever do any other kind?”

  “Only when you’re dead drunk and making inappropriate advances.”

  He half-smiles, and I can’t help but marvel at how it completely transforms his face, so different from the permanent scowl he usually wears in my presence.

  “You should smile more,” I tell him. “It makes you seem almost human. You might even find yourself a girlfriend.”

  The restaurant is small, a quiet place with rickety wooden tables and chairs upholstered in a cat-sick yellow velvet, and to my delight, the menu is in English. Dark blue paneling lines the walls, and the ancient candelabras cast a soft, warm light over us. Kent clears his throat, and I look away from the ceiling to meet his green eyes.

  “They serve vanilla lattes,” he tells me wryly. “You want one?”

  “I want four.”

  Kent orders eggs – poached – on rye, but I need grease. He raises a brow when I order a double cheeseburger with fries, but I ignore him, giving a soft sigh of satisfaction as I take a sip of my latte.

  He watches me intently, waiting, and eventually, I cave. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, setting my mug on the table.

  “For what, exactly?”

  “You’re really not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “For finding me last night,” I admit. “I guess I got in a little over my head. But,” I add, throwing him an indignant look, “I wasn’t planning on taking anyone to bed. I just… well, it was nice to have company.”

  “You’re lonely?” he asks. “Amber, you’ve barely been here two days.”

  “You know me. I don’t like being on my own.”

  “I won’t deny that you’re a social creature.” He’s teasing me now, and I roll my eyes.

  “You used to be social too, remember?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “You just did.” It’s my standard reply.

  “You’re always reminding me of what I used to be. Why does it matter so much?”

  “I don’t know.” I chew on a fry while I think. “I guess because we used to be friends.”

  “You don’t think we’re friends anymore?”

  I laugh at that. “We haven’t been friends since you started dating Erica Gilmore in freshman year and turned into a pretentious prick.”

  His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t comment.

  “What did you see in her, anyway?” I ask, through a mouthful of bun. “She was awful.”

  “She was interested,” he replies enigmatically. “And I like how you’ve turned it all around in your head. Typical Amber, always the victim.”

  “I was the victim. You’re the one who changed.”

  “I’m surprised you even noticed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. What I’m concerned about right now is how you plan to get yourself out of this mess.”

  “Would it help if I said that I genuinely want to prove that I can do it?”

  “It might. Depends if you’re serious. Last night wasn’t exactly reassuring.”

  “Last night was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. And I can’t even promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Well, at least you’re being honest,” he concedes. “How did the interviews go? Denri said you seemed positive.”

  “I won’t know until I hear.”

  “Well, keep me posted. If none of those work out, I have a few other contacts I can call in favors from.”

  It grates me that he’d need to. In that moment, I decide that I’m going to find myself a job if it kills me, with no help from Kent.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll do this myself.”

  “You’re so stubborn,” he says, but there’s a hint of something almost like pride in his voice.

  He drops me back at my apartment, and I savor every mile of luxury transport.

  “Do you want to come up?” I ask. The words are a surprise, even to me. I guess I just can’t face the prospect of spending the rest of the day alone. With myself. “We can watch a movie. They have subtitles, although, I guess you wouldn’t need them,” I add, recalling that Kent speaks fluent Mandarin.

  “I can’t. I have a plane to catch.”

  “You’re going back so soon?” I feel a flare of panic at losing my only contact with home.

  “Yes. Your father needs my report, and I actually do have a job to do. One that doesn’t entail fireman’s lifting your drunken ass up four flights of stairs.” He winks at me to soften the blow, and I shake my head in mild amusement.

  “There’s an elevator,” I point out.

  “Yes, I’m aware.” He doesn’t offer any further explanation and leaves me standing on the pavement, perplexed, as he drives away.

  6

  I hate subtitles, I discover, as I lounge on the ancient brown sofa, which is as uncomfortable as it looks. I’m just dozing off when my phone rings with an incoming Facetime call. My mother’s face takes up the entire screen on my iPhone. I smile at the sight of her sharp platinum bob and cornflower blue eyes, narrowed in concentration.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say. As always, she looks astonished to see my face, as though she can’t believe the call actually worked. Video calling is definitely a millennial thing.

  “Hello, darling!” There’s a slight delay and then, “You look exhausted, are you sick?”

  There’s no way I’m admitting to a hangover. “No, just tired. I think I’m still jetlagged.”

  “How are you enjoying your trip?” she asks, as if I’m off on some exotic vacation, and haven’t been banished to the ass end of the world.

  “It’s been great so far,” I say, knowing better than to correct her. “I’ve done some sight-seeing, and I’ve been to three job interviews.”

  “How did they go?”

  “Good, I think. It’s hard to tell.”

  “I’m sure they loved you.”

  I force a smile. “I hope so.”

  “Did Kent come and see you? Janine mentioned he was over there on business.”

  “He did!” I say brightly, knowing it’s what she wants to hear. “We had lunch today, it was great.”

  Her smile is dazzling. “Oh, good! I’m so glad he could find time to fit you in. Your father said he probably wouldn’t be able to, with the amount of work he had to get done in such a short space of time.”

  I ignore the twinge of guilt I feel that Kent had to come to my rescue when he obviously had so much on his plate.

  My mother’s face disappears as an incoming call shows on my screen.

  “Mom, I have to go, I’ve got another call. It might be from one of the schools.”

  “Okay,” she sounds disappointed. “Let me know if you hear anything positive! I’ll be holding thumbs!”

  “I will, I promise. Love you, bye!” I switch calls. “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Amber Holland?”

  “Yes, speaking.”

  “Hi Amber, it’s Bianca, from the International English school. We met the other day,” she adds, unnecessarily. “I was just phoning to let you know that your application was successful.”

  “What?”

  She gives a low laugh at my stunned tone. “We’d like to offer you the teaching position,” she says, “that is, if you’re still interested?”

  “I am most definitely still interested,” I say, barely taking in her explanation that I will be starting on Monday morning, and will undergo a brief i
nduction before diving right in. Lesson plans will be provided, thank God.

  “The kids are so excited to meet you,” Bianca finishes.

  “Not as excited as I am,” I lie. The prospect of managing a bunch of six-turning-seven-year-olds leaves an oily slick in my gut.

  “Thank you,” I say before she ends the call. “I really appreciate you giving me the opportunity.”

  “You’re most welcome,” she says. “I won’t see much of you, except at faculty meetings, but we have some wonderful teachers, and I’m sure you’ll fit in well.”

  The second she’s off the line, I text my mom to let her know the good news. I pull up Kent’s number, remember that he’s on a plane, and set my phone aside.

  Denri arrives twenty minutes early on Monday morning, bursting with excitement as if my landing this job is a personal triumph.

  “You knock them down dead, Miss Amber,” he grins when he drops me at the school.

  “Thanks, Denri.” I grin right back, then smooth down my black pencil skirt and square my shoulders.

  The school is made up of simple rows of classrooms, situated behind the administration building, and a few playing fields. Bianca meets me in the reception area with a polite but brief apology that she has meetings to attend, and then hands me over to an Australian woman named Mandy, who has been teaching at the school for six months. Her sandy-blonde hair has a gorgeous natural wave and her eyes are a light hazel, warm and welcoming. She’s almost my height and has the toned, compact figure of a woman who’s been blessed with good genes.

  She speaks so quickly that I can barely understand her accent, but I learn that the teaching staff is a mish-mash of foreigners from all over the world, some who joined only a few weeks ago and others who have been here for over five years. I can also tell, within five minutes of being in her company, that Mandy and I are going to get along. She’s easy-going, with a wicked sense of humor, and she doesn’t take herself too seriously. While we talk, she strides around the admin building, giving me a whirlwind tour.

  “God, I hate orientation,” she announces, opening a door halfway down the hall. She waves me in first. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? I’m sure we don’t need to cover everything. If you come unstuck, you can just ask.”

  We spend only about half an hour going through the educator’s handbook, which covers teaching methods, the code of conduct, and disciplinary procedures, and then Mandy breathes a sigh of relief. “Time to dive in.” She deposits a heavy file intro my arms. “Syllabus.” And then, at my look of alarm, “you’ll figure it out.”

  I almost make a run for it when we reach my classroom. Children are tearing around inside, all talking at once. As I watch through the window, a cherubic-looking girl with curly blonde hair and enormous baby blues gives her classmate – a slight, dark-haired boy, a savage pinch. The boy rounds on her, wide-eyed and furious, and then promptly tackles her to the floor. A frazzled looking woman, who must be a temp, hauls him off and sends them both to opposite corners of the room for time out.

  “Oh, God,” I breathe, watching the chaos unfold from behind the relative safety of the louvered window.

  “They’re a treat, right?” Mandy laughs, rolling her eyes. “Whoever said teaching is a gift was on meth.”

  I try to look amused and fail dismally.

  “You’ll be fine,” Mandy says. “Just don’t let them know you’re terrified. They can smell fear.”

  “Good to know.” I straighten my shoulders and put on my strictest face. Mandy cocks her head to one side.

  “Nailed it. I’ll see you at lunch!”

  “If I survive that long.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she repeats, and then she’s sashaying down the hall, her long skirt flapping behind her.

  The temp’s cry of, ‘Oh, thank God you’re here!’ the second I step into the classroom, does little to boost my confidence.

  How is it possible that there are only twelve children, I think hysterically, trying to do a head count.

  An hour later, I’m already frazzled. Being an international school, most of the students are European – children of ex-pats currently living in China. But I do have two native Chinese students – a shy, serious little girl called Li Na, who seems most comfortable in the storybook corner of the room, as far from the other kids as she can get, and Wei Li – the dark-haired, beautiful and unruly boy who tackled the blond girl this morning. Wei is wild, with a capital W. He also spends the entire morning conversing with me exclusively in Mandarin, much to my shock and horror. It’s almost lunchtime when I overhear him carrying on an entire conversation with another student in perfect English and realize I’ve been had.

  Fortunately, lunch is provided by the school. It’s the same food the children are served in the cafeteria, but I at least get to eat in the staff room, which is mercifully child-free.

  “Amber!” Mandy flags me down, and I weave through the tables to sink gratefully onto a chair beside her.

  “Hungry?” she asks, eyeing my plate, which is piled high with chicken and noodles.

  “One less meal to budget for,” I tell her gleefully.

  “Clever.” She offers me a wicked grin and then turns to a tiny, delicate woman with pale skin and a Halle Berry haircut, who is sitting opposite me.

  “Kate, Amber,” Mandy says, bits of spinach flying from her crammed mouth. “Amber, Kate.”

  “Hi!” I extend my hand, and Kate takes it shyly. If first impressions are anything to go by, this girl is as mild as milk. “Have you been working here long?” I ask.

  “Just over a month,” she replies, her accent instantly recognizable.

  “You’re British?”

  She nods. “I’m from Windsor.”

  “I adore the U.K,” I say, “but only in summer. I can’t bear the cold.”

  “We get that a lot. And you’re American?” she asks politely.

  “Yeah. California. I love it, it’s warm,” I tease, and I’m rewarded with a small smile.

  “How’s your first day going?” Mandy interrupts.

  “So far, so good. A few of the kids are…” I try to find a suitable word and fail. “Energetic,” I finish, lamely.

  Mandy laughs out loud and gives Kate a pointed look. “She’s got Wei.”

  Kate’s look of sympathy is utterly genuine.

  “Did he pretend he couldn’t speak English?” Mandy asks.

  “Yes!”

  “It’s his favorite trick. He’s an absolute shit.”

  “I feel sorry for him,” Kate interjects softly, and Mandy rolls her eyes.

  “You’re such a drip.” She’s teasing, though, and Kate doesn’t look offended. Their dynamic is relaxed, with the easy banter of two people who clicked instantly. Mandy is extroverted and easily bored, whereas Kate seems more shy but self-assured in her own quiet way.

  “Wei’s parents are super successful,” Mandy explains. “You know the type – investment banking and international travel, corporate dining, Louis Vuitton, and rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of high society, but taking absolutely zero interest in their own kid.”

  I feel slightly less hostile toward the little boy who, an hour ago, I was ready to throttle.

  “He plays up to get attention,” Kate adds, “but admittedly, it’s exhausting. I think he just needs someone to pay an interest in him.”

  “He needs someone to pour some Ritalin in him,” Mandy corrects, before turning back to me. “How are you enjoying Beijing so far?”

  “I haven’t really done much, I’ve only been here a couple of days. I did go through to the Forbidden City, though,” I add, purely to impress.

  “Godawful shite,” Mandy says, at the same time that Kate lets out an appreciative “Ah, isn’t it beautiful?”

  “A bit of a culture-vulture is our Kate,” Mandy explains. “I, on the other hand, prefer to spend my free time doing fun things.”

  “Sight-seeing is fun!” Kate insists, but she’s laughing.

 
I sit back and feel the thrill of possibility wash over me. I like these girls. I really like them – they’re hilarious and just straight up nice. Is it possible I might actually make some friends here? Friends who don’t need a platinum card to buy their loyalty?

  “We should go out after work,” Mandy is saying now. “To celebrate surviving your first day. I know an amazing little pub just down the road.”

  My first instinct is to balk, but I don’t. I might be wanting to turn my life around, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop having fun. If anything, this is a chance to prove to myself that I can control myself. An exercise in moderation.

  “Sounds good,” I say. Mandy grins, and we both turn to face Kate just as the bell rings, signaling time to head back to class.

  “Well, obviously I’m in,” Kate says, giving Mandy a sidelong glance. “I mean it’s not like you’re going to give me any choice.”

  “I’m not,” Mandy says, giving a whoop. “I’ll meet you both at the main gate after school. Good luck, Amber!” she adds, giving me a wink.

  7

  Back in the classroom, I find myself watching Wei far more closely than before. He truly is a beautiful child, with thick, sooty lashes and a cupid bow mouth, but his eyes are hooded, solemn, and his destructive behavior is even more obvious now that I’m paying attention. Twice, I catch him striking out at other children with sharp fingers when he thinks no one is looking. More specifically, when he thinks I’m not looking.

  “Wei,” I call, once I’ve settled the class with their sentence blocks, and his angry eyes cut to me. “Could you come up here, please.”

  His small body is stiff as a board as he approaches, but I keep a calm smile plastered on my face until he comes to a halt before my desk.

  “Wei,” I say, speaking softly so the others won’t hear. “We don’t use our hands to resolve conflict, we use our words.” I catch myself, wondering if he even understands the big words I’m using, given his age and the fact that English is his second language. “If I catch you hurting the other children again, I’m going to have to report you to Principal Chen,” I finish. I’m sure the word Principal is easy enough to grasp.