Book 3: Two and a Half Years Later

Eleni

“Fuck you too!” I yell at a taxi driver leaning on his horn in the center of Athens, yanking my handlebars so I just barely avoid slamming into his hood.

This is what I get for taking a class that gets out at two. But this is the only time Professor Vasiliatos offers his thesis review. Tasia’s going to be furious.

Still, by the time I make it far enough out of the city center to smell the ocean breeze, a little of my irritation has burned off. The start of a new semester is always like this. I always decide I never should’ve taken these classes or this major or decided for the umpteenth time that the feeling of freedom on a bike is more important to me than the ease of a driver. And as soon as I get used to the routine, it’ll feel as easy as breathing.

Just like wheeling my bike up to the whitewashed house with the cobalt shutters towering over the restaurant—Gregorio’s, for Baba. I chain it to the post out back and dart inside.