by Kevin Craig
“You know what I think? I think you want to be lost. I think you did this to us on purpose. I don’t want to be drawn into any of your plans to screw this up. You’re sabotaging me.”
I walk into the grocery. I let the door close on Claire, shutting down her ability to respond. I hope they can point me in the right direction. I don’t care if she follows me or not. I’d rather she didn’t.
I have my phone out, getting directions from the lady behind the counter, when Claire finally enters the store. We’re struggling through the language barrier, but the woman understands Camino and is able to show me on Google Maps where I have to go to get back on the path. Claire stands behind me, skulking noisily. After I have the directions, I buy a couple apples that happen to sit in a basket on the counter.
I turn to Claire and give her a dirty look as I put one of the apples into a side pocket in my backpack. I bite into the other and say, “Come on. Let’s go.” I hold up my phone to show her I know where I’m going.
“Nah,” she says. She pops a handful of Skittles. It was cute at first, but those little candies are beginning to annoy me. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“What does that even mean?”
Claire heads for the door without saying another word. I thank the woman behind the counter again before I leave. She says Buen Camino, and I wave as I leave her store.
“What is your problem?” I ask Claire when I catch up to her. She just shrugs and keeps walking in the opposite direction we need to go in order to get back to the yellow arrows. “Come on, Claire. You’re going the wrong way. You can’t just get lost in Spain. Are you nuts, girl? What is wrong with you? I thought we bonded last night. I thought—”
“Oh, what?” She pivots, cutting me off mid-sentence. “You think because we spent half an hour together we’re best friends now? What about the day before that? Or on the plane? You know, when you didn’t say two words to me?”
“I just want to get back to the Camino, Claire. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“What are you even in for, anyway?” She walks over to where I stand waiting for her.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Give it a shot. Hit me. Diego’s in for setting his school ablaze. Manny told me this morning he’s in for some kind of weapons offense, and Shania is in for grand theft auto. That one’s pretty hot, actually. I don’t know how she was ever able to get her sentence lowered on that one. You think if some chick jacks a car, she’s going to have to spend time in jail. Or at least juvie.”
“Her dad’s a—” I stop myself. If Shania didn’t tell her her dad’s a lawyer, she didn’t want her to know. “It’s none of your business. What does it matter? What’s going on here, anyway? Are you coming back to the path with me or not?”
“That remains to be seen,” she says. “Maybe I’ll—”
“Wait.” I cut her off. “What did you just say about Manny? Weapons offense? Seriously? Manny?”
“What was it you said about Shania? Oh yeah. It’s none of your business.”
“Grow up. Her father’s a lawyer. There. Now you know.”
“You cave easily when you want something. Did you ever notice that about yourself?” She smiles. She’s liking this day way too much.
“Just tell me what you’re talking about already. Weapon? Really? Manny seems like such a good guy. You’re destroying my image of him.”
“It’s true. I swear,” she says. She motions to the stoop of an abandoned storefront beside the grocery, and we sit down. “There’s a big story behind it, believe me. You can keep his image untarnished. The boy’s a saint. He took the fall for a cousin.”
“That sounds more like Manny.”
“Yeah, right? Apparently, he was standing by his locker minding his own business and his cousin gets called to the office. Next thing, the guy’s running up to Manny all panicked and telling him to hide a bag in his locker. He tosses it to Manny like it’s a hot potato and then he bolts. Right out of the school.”
“And there’s a gun in the bag? And Manny gets caught in possession, and his cousin is free and clear and doesn’t own up?”
“Almost. You’re good,” Claire says. “The cops were on Manny right away. Guilt by association. Then they found the gun. Then Manny did that noble thing all broken superheroes who don’t know what they’re doing do. He takes the fall for his cousin by refusing to rat on him.”
“Jesus. Man. I don’t know if he’s a loser or really really awesome.”
“Maybe both.” Claire laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “The only reason he got off so easy? He’s an honor student with a squeaky clean record. Like, top student in his school. Everyone knew it wasn’t his gun. Manny wouldn’t steal a pencil or punch a fly. He’s like untouchable at his school. They moved mountains to get him in The Walk.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. So back to you, Troy. What are you in for? Have you been a naughty boy?”
“Stop. Wherever the new attitude is coming from, you can stop anytime.” I get up from the stoop, take a bite of my browning apple, and wait for her to join me.
“I’m just tryna have a conversation with you.” Claire stands up.
I walk off in the direction of the yellow arrows and I’m relieved when she falls in beside me. I wouldn’t want to have to tell Gilbert or Meagan one of their charges has flown the coop.
“I don’t like this new you. Can we go back to the girl I met last night? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss Creepy Jesus.”
“Ha,” she says, smacking my shoulder. “Good one. Here’s a heads-up for you, Troy. I think I’m gonna bolt sooner or later, but maybe I shouldn’t do it while I’m with you. You’re okay. Other than the cold shoulder at first. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Mighty big of you,” I say. She stops again and my long sigh is out before I have a chance to stop it. “What now?”
“I’m just taking my Crocs off.” She sits on the sidewalk, removes them, and stuffs them into her overstuffed backpack. She pops back up, now barefoot, and says, “Okay. Let’s go. All ready.”
“Yeah, ready to cut your feet to bits on glass and gravel.”
“Nah. I’m good. I go barefoot all the time. It’s good for you.”
“Whatever.” I’m still angry. I’m having a hard time hiding it. “Tell me something, Claire. Were you trying to get us lost, or did it just look that way?”
“Guilty. I’m sorry. But when I saw your face back there at the grocery, I figured it was time to stop. I’m an ass most of the time, Troy. That would be good for you to know and remember.”
“What was your plan, lady? To get us both lost and ruin everyone’s holiday? For what? And what’s your deal at home, anyway? You try to make it sound like this big mystery.”
“In case you forgot, this isn’t supposed to be a holiday,” she says. “And my deal at home is none of your business. Yes, I was going to screw off. And take you with me. I thought that was obvious. To mess with them, you know.”
“Listen.” I make her look at me. “Let’s make a pact, shall we? We walk into Santiago de Compostela together. You stay on the path and don’t screw this up for all of us.”
“You know I can’t promise that, Troy.” She deliberately steps into a puddle in the gutter along the side of the road and walks in it. She attempts to splash me, but I jump back. “I don’t foresee myself making it to Santiago. Ooh. Maybe I should have asked the Creepy Jesus of Cacabelos to tell me my future. Maybe he knows how all this will play out.”
“Funny. Let’s go find those arrows.”
“Yes, sir.” She reaches into her pocket for more Skittles. She’s come to a wide section in the never-ending puddle and attempts to splash me again, this time successfully.
“Gee, thanks.”
“My pleasure,” she says.
“If we ever catch up to the guys, we can walk with them. You’ll see, they’re okay. If you give them half a chance.”
“You didn’t look too happy with them last night.”
“Yeah, well. They’re asses. But they’re okay.”
“Come on. Let’s see the directions. I’ve got a good memory. If I can just see the map, you can put your phone away, and we can move faster.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to believe you’re not gonna get us lost again? Fat chance.”
She grabs my phone and runs ahead, just out of reach. Once she’s a good distance away, she concentrates on the screen. “I promise. I’ve had a change of heart. Girl Scout’s honor.”
“How am I supposed to believe you? Like you’ve ever in your life been a Girl Scout.”
“I guess it’s a chance you’ll have to take.”
When I catch up to her, she hands me back my phone and taps the top of her head. “It’s all in here, now, bub. Let’s go. You up for a run?”
“You’re barefooted. You’ll kill—”
“I’ll be fine. Really. I’m used to it. Let’s go.”
I liked Claire better when she slept in and walked with Gilbert.
“Okay,” I say, worn down and hopeful. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 16 — Diego Nelson
I have never felt this loopy in my life. Bastien and Shania have stayed close ever since we left Luciana’s house. And by close I mean they’re practically carrying me. One on either side, both propping up an arm. I think I’m okay, just a little wiped out. I doubt it’s a concussion or anything.
The sun’s been out since we hit the road, and the sky has cleared up some. With any luck it’ll stay this way until we get to our next albergue. I’m not up to walking in the rain anymore.
“I still can’t believe how nice she was,” I say. “Letting a stranger into her house like that. Into her shower. I probably left mud everywhere.”
“On the Camino, it is the way most times,” Bastien says. “Not everybody love the peregrinos, but they do as they can. There is respect for pilgrims.”
“They might not respect these particular pilgrims if they knew why we walk,” Shania says. I give her a dirty look, but she waves me off. “Come on, Diego. We both know Bastien’s okay.”
“What is it I miss?” he says.
“What Shania is trying to say is, we are here because we have to be.”
“What is it for?” Bastien says. I stop walking, and they both come to a halt, holding firm to my upper arms as though they’re afraid I’ll fall if they let go. If Moms could see me now, she’d flip her lid. “I do not understand, Diego? Have to? On the Camino, nobody has to. We are called to the Camino de Santiago.”
“Some, actually, are court-mandated,” I say. “I think I’m okay. You can let go. Just stay close by.”
They release their holds on me, and I take a step back and give my arms a shake and wriggle around a bit to test the waters. I don’t fall flat on my face, so there’s that.
“Remember we said we were walking with guides? Leaders?” I continue. “Well, they’re counselors. There are six of us kids. And then two counselors, Gilbert and Meagan.”
As I explain, Bastien nods steadily to let me know he grasps my words. We walk on. As we round another corner, it’s clear we’re leaving the town. Up ahead, there are open fields on either side of the road. Across the road, I can see a yellow arrow pointing to a dirt path that leads up the middle of one of the fields. The path is lined with trees, and there’s a mile marker at its entrance with tons of stuff hanging from it and from the trees around it.
“Well, we all did something bad,” I say. “Something we could have been punished for by going to a juvenile detention center. I’m not sure what they’re called in France.”
“We have the same, almost, to you. I understand.” We get to the place in the road where we need to cross, and Bastien puts his arms out for us to stop. He looks both ways, to make sure it’s safe, and then waves us across.
“Okay, so we made some bonehead moves, but not really, really bad.” I can no longer read the look on his face, but I’m pretty sure it’s not fear. “We were given the option to walk a portion of the Camino over custody or some other punishment.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Shania says, handing me her phone. “But could you please take my picture in front of this marker? Instagram shot.” She smiles apologetically, runs over to lean against the marker, and drapes herself in some of the cloth streamers hanging down from the branches above it. I snap a couple shots, and she runs back and grabs her phone.
“Sorry,” she says. “As you were.”
Shania walks just ahead of us as we enter the canopy made by the trees on either side of the path.
“In ancient times, the criminals, they walked,” Bastien says. “A thousand years ago, under this same sky. This is not new, Diego. Remember, no judging on the Camino. Sometimes the call, it comes in ways we don’t understand. But still it comes.”
“What now?” Shania starts to walk backward so she faces us. “Criminals? On the Camino? For real?”
“Yes, yes. It is true. There have always been prisoners on the Camino de Santiago. For to get pardons if they finish their walk. I think in Belgium it is, they still allow one prisoner—like the chocolate factory, no—the Golden Ticket. It is believed they will meet a spiritual life and turn over the leaf.”
“A new leaf,” Shania says. She turns around and keeps walking ahead of us. “That is so cool. We’re not the first. Whaddaya know.”
“Oh, no,” Bastien says. He laughs. “No. For hundreds of years. Maybe the first Americans, no?”
“Whoa, whoa,” I say. “We’re from Canada. We’re Canadians.” I step ahead of him and pat my backpack to point out the Canadian pilgrim patch my abuelita helped me to sew in place. “See.”
“Oh yes. Canadians. Yes. Oui. I knew; I knew. First Canadian prisoners.”
“Prisoners,” Shania says. She guffaws. She doesn’t turn around to face us, but keeps walking. “That’s a good one.”
“All pilgrims are pilgrims,” Bastien says, clearly his final words on the subject. Probably to let us know he doesn’t care he is walking with a couple of juvenile delinquents. “Whatever the reason.”
“Thanks, Bastien,” I say.
We walk in silence. I feel a little less shaky and loopy now that I’m some distance away from my boneheaded fall. I’ll probably survive another day. Still, I’m a little worried about telling Moms tonight when I talk to her. She’ll worry about me. Even more than she probably already does.
“Where are you walking to today?” Bastien asks, breaking the silence. We are back in the sunshine, walking on a narrow dirt path surrounded by tall grass. We need to walk single file, it’s so narrow. With Bastien in the middle and me behind him. The view to my left is endless: rolling hills and fields. And the sky is filled with small, puffy, white clouds and endless blue.
“Um, Trad—Trem Tradelco—”
“Not even close, loser,” Shania says from the front of our little pack. She laughs. “Tradello.”
Now it’s Bastien’s turn to laugh, but it’s not like his outburst is malicious. He giggles at Shania’s butchering of the language.
“Trabedelo. It is not far ahead. Not bad.” He points into the vista beside and just ahead of us. “That town there. See.”
Sure. It looks close. But I’ve been fooled before. I know how it works. Something looks minutes away, but it’ll be another hour or two before we even get close to it.
“Oops. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Trabedelo.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Not even close, loser.” We all laugh.
Then we disappear into the silence and the walking. All I can hear is our feet on the ground, the swishing of the tall grass around us, and the occasional thunk of Bastien’s stick as it connec
ts with the wet and drying earth. I can get used to this. Head gash and leg wounds aside, I feel like there’s this ball of something inside my chest, this tight fist that is waking up and slowly unclenching. I know it sounds crazy, but the more I walk, the more I feel it. Something is happening.
Chapter 17 — Shania Reynolds
Wednesday, July 3rd – Day 5 – Shania Writes Two Entries!
Yep. You read that right. Two entries. I think this one is because I want to, not because I have to. What is happening to me?
We just ate that kick-ass soup again. I can’t get enough. The bread always rocks too. Too bad about the wine, it’s everywhere… but in my glass.
Everyone loves Bastien. He stopped for the night at the same albergue as us. He said he wanted to talk to our prison guards, to make sure we wouldn’t be in trouble. He’s such a great guy.
We’re all just sitting around talking. This albergue is quite big. They have this huge table where some of us are sitting. And little tables they brought in for other pilgrims too. I don’t know if these places ever turn people away. They find room.
Little conversations everywhere, and everyone is laughing. Even the old lady with the totally sick blister on her heel. They have volunteer women in the neighborhood who go from albergue to albergue just to fix people’s blisters. For free. They come in with their medical bags and sit on the floor washing feet and bandaging blisters. It’s unreal. That just would not happen at home. There’s totally an audience watching this woman attend to the pilgrim lady’s blister. It’s that sick. It makes the one Troy had look like nothing. Phones are out snapping pictures to send back home.
We went to our rooms to put our backpacks on our beds earlier, and, when I got there, I realized we have a room for eight tonight. Four sets of bunk beds. All in the same room. I almost died. Diego and I looked at each other, and I think we were both thinking the same thing.
No, not anything romantic or sexy or hot. Trust me! We were thinking about farting, snoring, and sleepwalking. And sleep-talking. And anything else that could cause embarrassment. I hate my life. Seriously.