Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“You’re doing great,” Sarah says as we sit in the teacher’s lounge, tucking into our respective lunches. “The kids seem to like you already.”
“Thank you,” I say, honestly relieved. “I was kind of nervous. I didn’t want to mess up.”
“Not at all. You’re an absolute natural. Plus, the staff here are lovely, so they’ll be able to help you with anything you need once I’m gone. Including any language hiccups.”
“Wow - am I really that terrible?” I ask.
“No comment,” she says with a teasing laugh and a wink.
∞∞∞
By the end of my first week, I feel like I’m starting to settle in. I’m really getting the hang of the lesson structure and the necessary lesson planning and general organisation.
I can’t lie, the work is pretty exhausting, but it’s also satisfying, and every day feels like I’m finding my place a little more.
Sarah wasn’t wrong about the staff, either - they really are so lovely and welcoming. It’s a small school, and even the headteacher has been wonderful.
It’s during lunch on Friday afternoon that I’m invited out for drinks with some of my colleagues.
“You have to come,” says Ana, a lively German teacher with a wicked sense of humor. She’s very much decided that we Modern Foreign Language teachers will stick tightly together, and I can’t say that I’m displeased by the sentiment. “It’s a tradition. Friday drinks are non-negotiable.”
“I second that,” chimes in Elena, who teaches art. “It’s the perfect way to end the week.”
I glance over at Sarah, sitting serenely with her tea.
She chuckles at my uncertain expression. “Don’t look at me,” she says, patting her belly. “I’m officially at the ‘feet up and rest’ stage. You go and have fun. I’ll be here next week to help you survive the chaos.”
“Okay,” I say, laughing. “I’m in.”
I walk through the main shopping plaza on my way home every day, and today is no different.
But now, I find myself hesitating.
It’s been ages since I treated myself to something nice to wear, and after a week of teaching in flats and practical outfits, I feel like it’s time for a little treat.
Despite the fact that it’s the middle of the afternoon, the plaza is bustling. I’m not in a particular rush - we aren’t meeting until later on in the evening - so I take my time browsing the different stores. I eventually find the perfect dress: a soft pink dress that falls to my mid-thigh in a light, floaty fabric that’s cinched at the waist. It feels effortlessly chic, and I decide to pair it with some cute heeled sandals and a light denim jacket.
Practical, I suppose; but still stylish, and perfect for a casual night out.
Back at my apartment, I spend more time than I’d like to admit getting ready. It’s silly, but I’m excited. This feels like a real step in the right direction - an opportunity to make some good, solid friendships with my colleagues - and I want to look the part.
I run my fingers through my long, blonde hair to smooth it out and add a pop of lipstick before checking my reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, I figure that I may as well treat myself to a glass of white wine in peace and quiet before I leave.
Chapter Eight
The bar we meet at is tucked away in one of Valencia’s cobblestone alleys. The inside is cute and welcoming, with low lighting, rustic wooden furniture, and music humming in the background.
Ana and Elena are already there along with a few others I’ve met during the week (but whose names I admittedly can’t remember), and I wave happily as I step inside and head over to them.
Drinks are ordered, and the conversation flows easily between the group. I find myself laughing more than I have in ages, and I’m almost reminded of how easy things were back in Madrid with my roommates.
There’s a different kind of relationship here, of course; but everyone seems to get along well enough, and as the night progresses, the group decides to head to another spot - this one livelier and fancier, too, with live entertainment and a rooftop terrace.
“Come on, Olivia,” Ana says, grabbing my hand. “You can’t say no to a dance!”
Reluctantly, I agree, though my feet are already starting to protest in the heels.
∞∞∞
It’s on the terrace that it happens.
I decided to come up here for some air (alright, to rest my aching feet) and was captivated by the view.
The city sprawls out below me, lights twinkling like stars against the inky sky. Despite the late hour, the early February air is still pleasant, and I’m more than content sipping my drink while leaning against the railing and letting the night wash over me.
It’s one of those rare, perfect moments when everything feels just right.
And then, someone brushes past me.