Spain or Shine

by Michelle Jellen

  “I’m almost ready-I swear,” Jenna called as she buzzed around the room in a skirt and bra, limping on one wedge sandal and searching for the other. “What do you think?” Jenna asked, holding up a trendy green top.

  “Cute,” Elena said.

  “Hmm,” Jenna turned and considered herself in the mirror. “No, it makes me look fat.”

  “Oh, please,” Elena groaned. Jenna took off the shirt, revealing a perfectly flat belly.

  Jenna finally decided on the first shirt she’d tried on—a plain white tank top—with dangly earrings. Elena waited another ten minutes as Jenna combed through the mess on the floor in search of her purse. She finally found it shoved beneath Elena’s bed. The girls hastily piled the clothes back in Jenna’s suitcase, then said good-bye to the Cruzes.

  “Have a good time,” Señora Cruz called. “Please be back by twelve.” Elena’s curfew at home was eleven thirty. She’d always held the suspicion that those extra thirty minutes could mean the difference between a fair evening and a truly memorable night. She was ready to find out.

  The sun was sinking into the ocean as Elena and Jenna veered from the promenade toward the dorms. They hooked up with Marci and Caitlin at the front entrance of the dorm building as planned, and then headed out as a group toward the tapas bars to meet Alex.

  As they entered the alleyways, the streetlights above the doorways were already lit and glowing fuzzy yellow. Alex was waiting at the Plaza de la Constitución with a blond guy.

  “Hey,” Alex called as the four girls approached. “This is Chris. Chris, this is Elena, Jenna, Marci, and Caitlin.”

  Chris offered each girl a polite handshake. Elena marveled at how much he looked like Alex. They could have been brothers. Chris wore baggy pants, a long-sleeve Billabong shirt, and a knit cap pulled down low over salt-ravaged hair. He was an all-American, California surfer boy in every way. That was why Elena practically lost her balance when he said, “Pleasure meeting you,” in a distinctly British accent.

  “Wait. You’re English?” Elena blurted before she could stop herself.

  “Yes.” He nodded, clearly surprised by her reaction.

  “Right. Of course.” She snapped her jaw shut and pumped his hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, Jenna,” Alex said casually.

  “What’s up?” She tossed him a sweet little smile. Elena thought she saw them hold each other’s gaze for a couple extra moments before Alex cut the silence.

  “So, where should we go first?” Alex asked. They stood together watching the other diners strolling through the cobbled streets beside them, ambling in and out of open doorways and flocking around bars. The plan was to hop from bar to bar, tasting tapas at each place.

  “Okay, I have a plan,” Jenna announced. “It’s easy to find out where the best place is. You just have to figure out where the locals are going.”

  “But they’re going all over the place,” Caitlin interjected.

  Jenna scanned the crowd, ignoring Caitlin’s comment. “There,” she shouted, then lowering her voice. “Follow those two.” She pointed in the direction of a chic Spanish couple in matching tight Versace pants.

  They tailed the young Spanish couple to a bright and airy bar. Bullfighting posters lined the walls, and cured hams hung from the ceilings. But the focal point of the restaurant was clearly the bar. Flocks of patrons stood chatting and drinking and nibbling from a collection of plates, each one nesting a small portion of food. Elena and her friends found an open spot where the bar curved toward the wall. They squeezed in and waited.

  “Why isn’t anyone taking our order?” Caitlin groaned. It did seem that everyone around them was munching happily, while they were being ignored.

  “I wonder if there’s an age limit,” Elena ventured.

  “Definitely not,” Jenna returned. “They would have carded us on the way in. Maybe we have to wave someone down.”

  “First time at a tapas bar, eh?” inquired the cute young guy standing beside Elena at the bar. They looked over at a boy with shaggy hair and rumpled clothes who spoke with what sounded like an Australian accent. “You just grab what you want and tell the bartender later.”

  “How does he know you ate what you said you did?” Jenna asked.

  “He doesn’t. It’s the honor system,” he returned. “Are you honorable?” This last question was playfully directed at Jenna.

  “Who me?” Jenna asked with mock innocence. “Of course.”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes and cut in. “So, we just grab these things and start eating?” she asked, leaning in for a plate of skewered shrimp.

  Elena glanced at Alex to gauge his reaction to Jenna’s newest flirtation, but he had already struck up a conversation with the Spanish couple they’d followed to the bar.

  “What’ll you ladies have to drink?” their new friend asked.

  “I’ll just have a Coke,” Elena responded as she reached for a plate of stuffed mushrooms.

  “A Coke?” Jenna shook her head. “There’s only one thing to drink at tapas bars. Sangrias all around.”

  Elena shrugged and popped a mushroom into her mouth, then switched places with Jenna at the bar so she could be closer to the boy of the moment. They learned his name was Paul, and he was actually from New Zealand. “I’m traveling for a while before I head back home and start working for my mum and dad,” he explained.

  “How long is a while?” Jenna asked.

  “I’m not sure. Until my money runs out, I guess.”

  While Jenna flirted with Paul, Elena stood with Marci, Caitlin, and the boys—all of them sliding plates back and forth around the bar like a game of checkers. They started cautiously with dishes that looked familiar and unthreatening, sautéed mushrooms and bacon, cheeses, olives, and pan con tomate—bread with tomatoes.

  The female half of the Spanish couple they’d followed to the bar introduced herself to everyone as Arrosa. She was friendly even though no one in the group spoke Spanish particularly well.

  “Usted debe tratar éstos,” she said, pointing to what looked like it might be stuffed squid. Elena kept quiet, but she was surprised how well Alex and Chris were able to communicate with the Spanish couple. With Arrosa’s guidance, the whole group soon began to venture into the unknown, popping morsels into their mouths that they didn’t recognize and couldn’t pronounce.

  “You should try the ham, too,” a woman with a French accent leaned over to say. “It’s their specialty.” Elena hoped they wouldn’t pull one of the hams from the ceiling and slice it up in front of her.

  She tried a timid bite of some ham from a plate in front of her. “Oh, that’s really good. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  Most of the people at the bar had a dish to recommend or a story to tell. Elena was beginning to realize that the whole tapas bar experience was as much about the company as it was about the food.

  “I think I’m ready to move on,” Jenna said, after they’d been at the bar for about an hour.

  “How come? Aren’t you having fun?” Elena asked, raising her voice to compete with the growing chorus of voices around them.

  “Yeah, but the whole point is to hit several different places. We have to be home by midnight, right? So I think it’s time to move on.” Jenna took another sip of her purpley-red sangria. Elena had a similar glass with hunks of fruit bobbing in it, though she’d hardly had any of it. It was too sweet, and the smell of wine and cinnamon made her dizzy, so she just took small sips now and then to seem agreeable.

  “That Spanish couple at the bar told me of a cool place to go, a locals’ place,” Marci suggested, barely concealing the pride she took in one-upping Jenna in the competition to find the coolest place in town.

  Alex and Chris squeezed through the cramped bar, while Elena and the other girls grabbed hands to form a human chain so that they wouldn’t get separated. They all spilled out into the street in front of the restaurant.

  Marci led them past several discos where Trikit
ixas—Basque pop music—came thundering out into the street whenever the doors opened. They wandered out toward the cathedral at the edge of the old section of town, and stopped in front of a restaurant that had a Basque sign mounted above the door by rusty nails.

  “This is it; I’m sure of it,” Marci said. She opened the door to an inviting, lively place. The lighting was soft and rosy, and flamenco guitar played live in the back of the restaurant. They walked up to the bar, and Elena took her time looking over the array of choices. Finally she leaned into the bar and stretched out to grasp the rim of a plate of prosciutto rolls—melon and figs wrapped in thin cured ham. She pulled the plate toward her and felt a tap on her shoulder.

  As she started to turn, her eyes fell on the profile of a Spanish boy several paces down the bar. She couldn’t help but pause midmotion. It was like stumbling upon a treasure at a yard sale—a beautiful surprise. He was taller and more muscular than most of the Spanish boys she’d seen and his face was leading-man perfect. For a moment the only sound she could hear was her own heart thumping inside her chest. Then he turned and looked right at her. She glanced away quickly as a rush of blood filled her cheeks.

  She felt the tap on her shoulder again and turned to answer Jenna. When Elena looked up again, the boy was gone. It seemed no one else had spotted him. Even Jenna, with her finely tuned boy radar, had missed him.

  As the night progressed, she caught glimpses of him. He stuck near a knot of local guys, his comrades for the evening. She noticed several girls squeeze their way into the cluster of boys, hanging conspicuously close to the cute one.

  Jenna marched out onto the little dance floor in the center of the room. Within seconds, a boy with thick shiny curls was showing her some flamenco dance moves. Although Jenna’s feet and hands flopped awkwardly, she didn’t seem to care. She just twirled and pranced around the dance floor, letting out one of her wide, head-thrown-back laughs.

  After a while Jenna took a break and wandered over to Elena and Marci at the bar. As Jenna and Marci talked about the boy with the curls, Elena imagined how much easier life would be as Jenna. She pictured how she would be if she were as confident as Jenna. That version of herself would walk right up to the Spanish guy and introduce herself. She’d slink close enough to brush his arm with hers, but she wouldn’t hover. He would tell her his name and ask her a question, and then she’d make one of the flirtatious jokes Jenna was always making.

  “Hola,” a low voice cut through the air around her, the weight of it pulling her back down to earth. Elena turned to find the very boy she’d been envisioning standing beside her, close enough to touch. She hadn’t even noticed him approaching her. He was saying something.

  “Oh, hi,” she managed to squeak before he had to repeat his greeting again.

  “I’m Miguel,” he said in clear English.

  “Elena,” she said, though her voice came from someplace outside herself. Her name sounded strange. She didn’t feel like herself.

  “Elena. That’s a Spanish name, no? Are you Spanish?”

  “Um no, well yeah, sort of.” This had to be the worst conversation in history. She wondered why he was even talking to her. She stared at the collar of his shirt to avoid meeting his eyes. “Actually, my mom is Spanish. I mean she’s American, but she has Spanish heritage. So I’m part Spanish.” She’d recovered, sort of.

  He looked as if he was about to ask her another question when Jenna joined the conversation.

  “Hey,” she said, grabbing Elena’s arm but beaming at Miguel.

  “Hello.” He nodded politely. “This is your friend?” he asked, turning toward Elena.

  “Oh, sorry. Yes. This is Jenna.” Jenna’s hand was already stretched out to meet his.

  “What’s your name?” Jenna asked, tilting her head to one side.

  “Miguel. Nice to meet you.” His eyes were stuck to Jenna. Elena could feel herself disappearing.

  “Miguel, that’s a nice name. Are you a local?” Jenna asked, leaning in toward him and looking interested.

  “Yes. I live in the part of town called Gros. It is on the other side of the river. Where are you ladies from?”

  “Oh, we’re ladies, are we?”

  Miguel chuckled softly and looked down where he scuffed the floor with his shoe. Elena just stood there as Jenna carried on a conversation with this boy named Miguel that sounded much like the one Elena had scripted in her head. It seemed as easy as breathing for Jenna. Miguel was chuck-ling now at something Jenna had said. Suddenly, his interest in Elena became clear. He had obviously approached Elena as a way of getting close to Jenna, who had been standing just beside her. She was ashamed she hadn’t seen this coming, particularly after the situation with Joe Cipriani. How could she have fallen for that move twice?

  “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you both,” he said finally. “Perhaps I will see you again.”

  “I hope so,” Jenna cooed. Elena managed a smile.

  He started to walk back over to his friends. Before he had even reached the group he was intercepted by a girl in a low-cut halter who clung to his arm. Someone who received that much unsolicited attention from girls had to be full of himself. Elena decided she was better off where she had begun and where she had ended, at a distance.

  Chapter Five

  In all of Elena’s daydreams about San Sebastián during the months leading up to her semester abroad, not once was it raining. In her mind it was a place impervious to rain. Yet, on Saturday morning the gentle tapping on the tile roof of the Cruzes’ apartment sounded completely natural. A little rain made sense in San Sebastián. How else could the mountains stay so green and the flowers so full of color?

  “What do you think of Alex?” Elena asked from her bed, where she was watching Jenna paint her toenails. The two girls were rehashing the previous night’s festivities.

  “He’s cute. I think he’s into Marci, though.”

  “Are you crazy? He’s into you. He was asking me about you the other day in class.”

  “Oh? What did he say?” Jenna didn’t look up. Elena could tell she was trying to play it cool.

  “He asked me if you had a boyfriend back home.”

  “What’d you tell him?” Jenna asked.

  “I said you were available.” Elena smirked. “He likes you. I think you guys would be so perfect together.”

  “You do? Well, I’ve only been in San Sebastián for a week—there are still so many boys I have to meet.”

  Elena rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Like that guy Miguel we met at the end of the night?” Even though Elena had promised herself she would keep a distance from him, she was curious if Jenna liked him since he was so obviously into her.

  “He was pretty cute.” Jenna shrugged.

  Pretty cute, Elena thought. He was gorgeous. Before Elena could respond, Señora Cruz opened the door a crack and poked her head through.

  “Jenna, you have a phone call from the dormitory manager.”

  After speaking with the dorm manager, Jenna announced that her room was clean and dry and ready for her to move back in.

  “The manager wants me in by this afternoon,” Jenna explained.

  “You’re leaving?” Alita whimpered. “Will you still come to visit?”

  “Of course,” Jenna assured her, giving Alita a hug.

  Alita hovered close to Jenna as she gathered her cosmetics from the bathroom and stowed her stray clothes in empty pockets of her duffel bag. Elena helped fold some of the shirts Jenna had left scattered across the floor after her mini-fashion show the previous night.

  Señora Cruz offered to give Jenna a ride. Alita tagged along, but Elena preferred to say good-bye at the house.

  “Want to go to the beach tomorrow if it’s not raining?” Jenna asked as she headed out the door.

  “Sure,” Elena returned. She didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal, but she was relieved that Jenna didn’t equate leaving the Cruz household with leaving Elena behind for good
as well.

  “See ya tomorrow,” Jenna called as she disappeared down the stairway. Elena could hear Jenna’s sandals clicking on the stairs, followed by the clunk of her duffel as it hit each step on her way down to the street.

  Elena shut the front door and walked into the quiet kitchen. Señor Cruz was sitting at the kitchen table huddled over a cup of steaming coffee and reading EI País, Spain’s national newspaper. He looked up as she entered.

  “Hola, Elena. Café?” he offered, nodding toward the nearly full French press on the stove.

  “Oh, no, thanks. I think I’m going to do some homework.”

  “Good idea,” he answered, turning back toward the window next to him, where drops of water ran down the glass. “I have always thought rainy days were good for working.”

  Elena smiled. “Me, too.” She liked that Señor Cruz didn’t have to start up a long conversation every time they were alone together. It reminded her of being with her own dad—a quiet comfort.

  Elena went to her room, slipped on her iPod headphones, and cued up some old Nick Drake. It was great for studying. She glanced at the slick cover of her Spanish textbook. Her first Spanish term paper was due Tuesday, and she hadn’t even begun to think about it. She sat on the bed and pulled the textbook onto her lap. Her pen was poised above a crisp blank sheet of paper, but she couldn’t focus on the Spanish assignment. Instead she found her mind wandering through possibilities for the first playwriting assignment, which was also due on Tuesday. She was itching to get started. She shoved the textbook aside and began sketching out a scene.

  Last spring she and Gwen had gotten into an argument over who should be able to wear the Tracy Reese dress they shared. With both of their money put together they had been able to afford the dress, but sharing caused some conflicts. Well, actually only one. Elena put her pen to paper and started scribbling.

  Their fight over the dress had come the day after Joe Cipriani had asked Gwen out. That was when she had convinced herself Gwen would always end up with the things Elena wanted. She worked a couple lines of dialogue into the beginning to make it clear that this argument was about more than just sharing a dress.