Spain or Shine

by Michelle Jellen

  They finished packing up and began the descent down the walking path that led back into town. She never would have predicted a boy who slept through class and a girl who dreamed with her eyes open could produce tangible work.

  “I think we might actually be able to pull this off,” Elena mused aloud as she stumbled on a knot of roots.

  “See.” He lent her his arm to steady her on the uneven ground. “Told you we’d balance each other out.”

  To: dramagirl23@email.com

  From: LanieH@email.com

  Subject: A quick hello

  Hi Claire Bear,

  Just finished meeting with Alex about our project. He’s not such a flake after all. I think I sort of underestimated him. We definitely made progress on our play today. I’m still having fun with this whole playwriting thing. I don’t know if we’ll be one of the final plays selected, but we’re definitely enjoying ourselves.

  How are you? I just realized today that Halloween is in a couple of weeks. Any cool parties? I don’t think they really celebrate Halloween here. Well, they have their own version of it. (Actually, I think theirs might be the original Halloween—you know, what our version of Halloween grew out of.) It’s called Todos los Santos, or All Saints’ Day, here, and they celebrate it on Nov. 1. It doesn’t sound quite as fun as Halloween, to be honest. My host family is going to take me to the graveyard to set out flowers for their ancestors. It’s to show respect for the dead—a little different than our holiday. The good thing is that we get that Monday off of school and Señora Cruz is making a big dinner. Happy early Halloween!

  Love,

  Elena

  On the Thursday after Halloween Elena and Jenna decided they should make another outing to the tapas bars the next week. Elena told Alex about the plan that afternoon while they worked on their play. She told him to invite Chris. Jenna rounded up Caitlin and Marci to come along, as well. They assembled at the bar where Elena had first spotted Miguel. It was only eight thirty, which was early by Spain standards, so the restaurant wasn’t too crowded yet and there was room for everyone to spread out along the tapas-covered bar.

  Jenna ordered a round of sangrias and began pulling plates from the edge of the bar.

  “How are the plans coming for the Madrid trip next weekend?” Elena asked, sidling up to Jenna and Alex.

  “Pretty good. I found a hostel near the Puerta del Sol with beds available. If we all split the cost of everything, it should be pretty cheap.”

  “We just have to figure out how we’re going to get there.”

  “I was thinking maybe we’d hitchhike.”

  ‘Jenna, are you kidding? We’re not hitchhiking across Spain.” Elena grabbed a plate of pan con tomate.

  “Why not? I thought we could have, like, an adventure on our way to Madrid.”

  “Jenna, I think hitchhiking is a little dangerous, don’t you?” Elena prodded. “Plus, who’s going to pick up six hitch-hikers?”

  “Well, I guess we’ll just have to find some cars then.” Elena looked up at the front door and saw Miguel and Borja entering the restaurant. She nudged Jenna.

  Jenna waved them over to the group.

  “Hi guys,” Jenna said. “Here, I’ll get you some sangrias.” She leaned into the bar and flagged down the bartender.

  “So, what is going on?” Miguel asked.

  “Jenna and I were just talking about our plans for next weekend,” Elena said.

  “We’re taking a trip to Madrid.” Jenna handed each boy a glass. “Do you guys know where we can rent cars?”

  “Why do you need cars to go to Madrid?” Borja looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Well, how else should we get there? Elena shot down my hitchhiking idea,” Jenna said.

  “Trains are the way to travel here.” Miguel chuckled. “What is it with Americans and your obsession with cars?”

  “Oh my God. I didn’t even think of a train. You guys should come with us next weekend! We need you. It’ll be so much fun,” Jenna pleaded.

  Miguel touched his chin and appeared to be thinking it over. “I will see if I can get off work.”

  “I can go.” Borja smiled broadly at Jenna.

  “All right,” Jenna whooped. “This is going to be awesome.”

  They hung close as a group until Alex and Chris wandered off to talk to three pretty Spanish girls who had come in, and Marci and Caitlin headed out onto the dance floor. Jenna talked with Borja, but Elena noticed that she kept stealing glances at Alex.

  “So, do you think you’ll be able to come with us to Madrid?” Elena asked Miguel after he had ordered another glass of sangria from the bartender.

  “I think so. I have to check with my manager, but I would like to go. It would be good to visit again before I go there for university next fall.”

  “That’s right,” Elena nodded. “You mentioned you’ll be going to school there. What are you planning to study?”

  “I don’t know.” He leaned back against the bar and looked out at the dance floor, which was filling rapidly. “I love history. Or maybe philosophy. What about you? Do you know what you will study at university?”

  “Well, first I have to figure out where I want to go.” She hedged for a second, and then surprised herself by opening up a little more. “Maybe I’ll study theater, or film.” She smiled. She’d never said those words aloud to anyone but Claire.

  Jenna interrupted them, grabbing Elena and Miguel by the hand and pulling them toward the dance floor. “Enough talk,” she shouted over the music. “Time to dance.”

  They danced for an hour as a big group. No couples split off, though Elena caught Jenna and Alex eyeing each other throughout the night. At the end of the night, Alex and Chris walked Jenna and Elena back to their respective places to make sure they were safe.

  They dropped Jenna off at the dorms and then continued toward the Cruzes’ apartment.

  “Do you want to meet again tomorrow to work on the play?” Alex asked as they passed through a puddle of light from one of the streetlamps.

  “We probably should, huh? I feel like we still have so much to do.”

  “Well, at least we’ve finished the first act.”

  “Yeah, but that took a while.”

  “We’ll get there, Elena. Why don’t we meet at that park down by the marina tomorrow. I’ll bring food—my host mom makes these killer bocadillos”

  They reached the front stoop of the apartment building. “Thanks for walking me home, boys,” Elena said. She waved as they turned to leave. She appreciated the gesture, but she realized that she felt very safe in San Sebastián. After only a couple months, she was already surprisingly comfortable. She wasn’t really nervous anymore about going to Madrid. It would be a different experience, but she was ready for another frontier to explore.

  Chapter Nine

  The swift shimmy of the train as it switched across a fork in the tracks jostled Elena from her nap. The week had passed quickly in a blur of schoolwork and trips to the beach before the weather turned cold. By Saturday she found herself on a train streaking toward Madrid.

  Elena sat up in the thinly padded seat and craned her neck to see what everyone else was doing. Jenna was asleep beside her. Marci and Caitlin were reading magazines and whispering. She got up out of her seat and headed toward the bathroom, passing the four boys—Miguel, Borja, Alex, and Chris—sitting in seats that faced each other, playing cards. As Elena passed them, Miguel caught her eye and smiled. She was glad Miguel had been able to come along. Even though just looking at him made her heart race and the blood rush into her face, and even though she could barely bring herself to say more than two words in his presence, she liked having him around.

  Elena stopped for a moment beside the wide glass windows that revealed dry shrubbery and hills whipping by on the other side. The sun was going down over the landscape, which meant they were set to arrive in Spain’s capital within the hour.

  After eight hours on the train, they reached Madrid just after
sundown. They climbed off the train and into Madrid’s central station, Estación de Atocha. Elena and her friends passed through a corridor and then boarded a human conveyor belt that looked like an escalator, but with a flat floor instead of stairs, that carried them up to the next level. They entered the core of the station, where they were engulfed by noise and a flurry of sights. The station’s intercom system snapped and crackled, announcing departure times in rapid Spanish. The train announcement board clicked as it shuffled letters and numbers with updated departure information. This station was a far cry from the modest one-room train station they’d left in San Sebastián.

  A woman in four-inch Jimmy Choos hustled past them, a sprinter on stilts, hurrying to meet a train.

  “No need for her to hurry,” Miguel assured as they turned to watch her skittering across the marble floor. “Her train will probably be late.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The Germans,” he said, “their trains are on time. The Spanish don’t stress so much. Five minutes here, ten minutes there. What does it matter over a lifetime?”

  Their groggy group followed the signs marked SALIDA that led them to the main corridor.

  “Okay,” Elena said as they huddled under one of the palm fronds that stretched out over the walkway. “Where do we go now?”

  Her friends were yapping over one another, and drifting out across the walkway into the foot traffic. She decided it was going to be nearly impossible to keep a group of eight people together for an entire weekend.

  Miguel moved toward Elena and held his Madrid pocket map out in front of them. She liked having him so close, though it made her stomach knot up. She tried to relax. He’s just my friend, she told herself. She tried to think of him the way she thought of Alex, which worked only as long as she didn’t look at Miguel and he didn’t talk.

  “We are here now.” He pointed to a dot in the right corner of the map, then traced toward the center with his finger. “And our hostel is here, near the Puerta del Sol. I think we will need to take the metro.”

  “Metro?” Jenna craned her neck over Elena’s shoulder to peer at the map.

  “Um, underground train. How do you say it in English?”

  “Subway,” Elena said. “So, how do we do that?”

  “I think we ask someone,” he responded.

  “Good idea. Why don’t you and Borja go ask and I’ll watch your bags,” Elena suggested.

  His face crinkled into a sly smile and he glanced over his shoulder at the desk labeled INFORMACIÓN.

  “Why don’t you ask over there and I will watch your bag?”

  “What? You’re Spanish; you should go ask.” Elena crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

  “Yes, but you are a visitor in Spain who would like to speak the language with more than just your Spanish family. It will be good practice.”

  “Well, what do I say?” she asked.

  “All you have to do is ask how to get from here to the Puerta del Sol,” he murmured, handing her the map. “You know the language. Just try it.” His eyes were soft. He seemed to be trying to apologize for the spontaneous dare. Elena hated dares. She tried to hate Miguel, too.

  “Fine.” She snatched the little map from his outstretched hand. “I’ll go ask, in Spanish, how to get to the hostel.” What was she really afraid of? She’d tripped up on her first day in Spain. Wasn’t it about time to try speaking Spanish with a stranger again?

  “Hola,”“she mumbled as she approached a woman with a pixie haircut and a small pointed nose, whose head and shoulders barely hovered above the information countertop.

  “¿Cómo puedo ayudarle?” she asked with a welcoming smile. Okay, Elena thought, she just asked how she can help me. I got that.

  “¿Cómo puedo Ilegar allí desde aqui?” Elena pointed to a dot on the map near the hostel location.

  The woman nodded and began rattling off directions. Elena’s mind froze, as it always did when people spoke Spanish rapidly. Her brain couldn’t translate all the words fast enough, so they just ended up jumbled together inside her head. It would be so embarrassing if she couldn’t pull this off. All she had to do was ask directions. Why did she get so nervous making conversation that wasn’t outlined in a textbook? She peered back over her shoulder where Jenna and Miguel smiled at her, urging her on.

  “Perdón,” Elena interrupted. “¿Habla despacio,por favor?” The woman smiled again.

  “Porsupuesto,” she said, then began to speak much more slowly, just as Elena had asked. She rounded out each word and kept her eyes trained on Elena’s face to make sure she was comprehending. Then something miraculous happened; Elena began to understand.

  After the tiny woman had described how to find the metro, which line to take, and where to get off, Elena thanked her effusively. She was so grateful for the woman’s kindness and patience that she felt like reaching across the counter, picking her up, and swinging her around the train station. Instead she thanked her and walked back to the group, where she reported what she’d learned then led the way toward the metro.

  As they bumped and jostled their way onto the metro car, Miguel leaned in toward Elena’s ear. “I knew you could speak Spanish,” Miguel said as he found a place to stand. “Pretty soon you will be speaking better Spanish than me.” Miguel smiled.

  “I don’t think so.” She laughed. “Thank you, though.” She forced herself to meet his eyes for once. “I mean, thanks for pushing me to try my Spanish.” She knew it was Miguel’s belief in her ability to speak Spanish that made her try again, however reluctantly. For that, she was grateful.

  The metro spit the group out into the buzzing center of Puerta del Sol, Madrid’s central plaza. In the center of the plaza sat a large saucer-shaped fountain and a tall statue of a man on horseback. The square was hedged in on all sides by wide buildings painted the pale yellow color of lemon chiffon cake with vanilla frosting trim.

  The Puerta del Sol was believed by many to be the heart of the city because it was situated in the city’s physical center. In fact, it was the geographical center of the entire country. Elena felt that heart was an appropriate word for the plaza since it virtually pulsed, pumping people and cars through the streets that radiated out from its center like arteries. As the masses of people coursed past her, Elena pulled her backpack to the front of her body. She was in a big city now; she had to be more mindful of herself and her things. She’d been warned by the Cruzes about pickpockets who lingered near the fountain.

  After several trips around the block, they managed to hunt down their tiny hostel. Jenna checked them in.

  “We’re going to do all the big-city stuff while we’re here—go to the cool clubs, eat at great restaurants, hear awesome music,” Jenna reminded them as they trudged up the stairs to their rooms to get ready for their first night in Madrid. “We’re going big, you guys.”

  Later that evening they met in front of the hostel and walked several blocks to their dinner destination. The flamenco restaurant Borja selected was small, dark, and smelled of stale smoke. It was also packed from the front rim of the stage to the back wall. As it turned out Borja had stumbled on one of the hottest flamenco restaurants in town. They had to wait for an hour, smooshed next to a tiny bar. By the time the hostess had cleared two tables to push together for their large group, Elena’s stomach was gurgling at her. But the table, only one row back from the stage, was worth the wait. Elena chose a seat at the far corner, so close to the front of the stage she could see the black scuffs left from dancers’ heels on the wood.

  Miguel slipped into a seat beside Elena. Jenna gave her a raised-eyebrow look as if to say, Isn’t it interesting that he chose that seat, right next to you. Elena bowed her head and smiled shyly. She had noticed that Miguel stayed near her lately, but in a friendly way. Elena was starting to pick up on the fact that he might not be head over heels for Jenna, but she still wasn’t convinced that he was interested in her.

  Miguel and Borja, their resident food ex
perts, ordered an assortment of tapas and entrées for the table to share. Miguel chose several plates of white asparagus, a fish dish—Mediterranean bream char-grilled over hot coals—sirloin steak with red peppers, and stuffed mushrooms. When the waitress delivered the first round of food and two pitchers of sangria, a cloud of spicy, woody scents mingled together over the table. Moments later the house lights dimmed so that the only light in the restaurant came from the white tea lights winking in the center of each table. A flutter of plucked guitar strings unfolded in the darkened room. A clack of castanets bounced off the walls. The guitarist was illuminated first, sitting on a wooden stool off to the side of the stage, his fingers galloping across the strings. A voice tinged with sadness lifted up into the air in a haunting lilt.

  A woman’s form broke into the light, slinking and twisting. Her tiered dress, in shots of claret and black, swirled around her as though it were dancing independent of her, yet at her will. She rattled the castanets in time to the music and knocked her heels against the hollow stage.

  “This music is sexy.” Jenna leaned across the table to whisper, then winked at Elena. Elena noticed her lean a little in Alex’s direction.

  Elena smiled softly then reached across the table toward the water pitcher and filled her glass. Suddenly the room took a collective breath.

  Elena looked up at the stage just in time to see the dancer scampering offstage like a wounded deer. The guitarist kept singing and playing.

  “What happened?” she whispered to Miguel.

  “It looked like she must have tripped on a groove in the stage and twisted her ankle.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I have never seen this happen before.”

  There was a crackling tension in the air as they waited to see what came next.