Spain or Shine

by Michelle Jellen

  “I wonder if this is the end,” Elena whispered to Miguel.

  As soon as the words left her mouth, a different woman slithered out of the darkness. She felt Miguel shift in his chair, moving closer to her. He leaned in and lingered near her ear for a moment.

  “Or it could be just the beginning,” he whispered. A ripple of shivers crawled across Elena’s skin.

  The new dancer was dressed in a brilliant pink dress. Her light brown hair looked hastily slicked into a chignon and pierced with a floppy purple flower. The rushed hairstyle and a brief flush in her cheeks were the only clues that betrayed how quickly she’d had to scramble onstage to cover the mishap. She flipped open a lace fan and twirled it, her wrist flicking and spinning, her legs moving beneath her like liquid. Her motions were so fluid and feminine, yet so sure.

  “She is wonderful,” Miguel whispered in Elena’s ear.

  “How is she able to do that, to just step in like that without missing a beat?” Elena asked.

  “It is the nature of flamenco,” he explained. “It is an art of improvisation. They may practice their performances for this restaurant, but true flamenco musicians are masters at making it up onstage. It is like your American jazz in that way.”

  “So she’s a true flamenco performer?”

  He nodded, shifting his eyes back to the dancer as she floated across the stage. Elena wondered if she’d ever possess that kind of confidence.

  Two more flamenco dancers gave solo performances. To end the show, all the dancers, except for the one who twisted her ankle, came out and performed together, their bright colored dresses twirling past one another across the stage.

  The next morning they had a group discussion about how to spend their day. The original plan had been to see a museum and a bullfight, but they had trouble getting started in the morning. Jenna and Alex both overslept, and it had taken longer than expected for everyone to shower and get dressed. When they had finally assembled in the hostel’s dining room for a late breakfast, it had become clear that they were not going to be able to do everything they had planned.

  “We could split up,” Jenna suggested, grabbing a croissant from a basket. “I mean, I don’t really want to, but at least that way everyone could see what they want to see before we leave.”

  “Well, I’d prefer to go to the museums,” Elena said. Caitlin and Marci agreed.

  “My vote is for the bullfight, man,” Alex chimed in.

  “Me, too,” Jenna seconded.

  Chris and Borja agreed that they wanted to see the bullfight, but Miguel was the only boy who hedged.

  “I’ve seen plenty of bullfights,” he explained.

  “Cool. You can come to the museum with us,” Elena said casually, though inside she was elated.

  The two groups headed their separate ways and planned to meet up at the train station later in the evening.

  Elena and her group took the metro and exited the station at the park-lined Paseo del Prado, one of the widest and busiest streets in Madrid. Elena was surprised by how green it was. Trees lined the wide promenade leading toward the three world-famous art museums. Elena breathed in the fresh air. She could feel autumn in this inland city more so than in San Sebastián, where the air was heavy with salt water.

  They approached the Prado Museum, arguably the most famous in Madrid. It reminded Elena of a slicker version of an ancient Greek temple with smooth stone columns, topped by an intricately carved mural. She felt this was a good indication of the grandeur and history that lay inside.

  Only minutes after entering the museum, Elena was struck by how many different types of paintings from all over Europe were housed under one roof. There was a blurb at the bottom of a brochure stating that the Prado owned over nine thousand works of art in total. Not all of them were on display, of course, but it certainly seemed that way to Elena.

  “Oh my God,” she murmured. “I don’t think we could see everything even if we had the whole week.”

  “I know.” Marci groaned.

  “We don’t have to see it all,” Miguel pointed out. “Perhaps we should just focus on the Spanish art. That alone may take all afternoon.” He pointed out an entire floor on the map reserved for the Spanish masters.

  They meandered past centuries of Dutch and German art, through corridors of Italy’s finest, and finally found their way to the floor reserved for the Spanish masters.

  “What are we supposed to be looking for?” Caitlin whispered.

  Elena shrugged. “Just absorb them, I guess.”

  “What makes these so good anyway?” Caitlin asked. Marci steered them toward a Velásquez painting just as a guided tour led in Spanish filed away from it.

  “Take this one. I think I’ve seen it before.” Caitlin tilted her head and scrunched her nose.

  Elena nodded. She recognized it as the painting on the cover of her Spanish textbook.

  “But why is it famous?” Caitlin said.

  Miguel read the Spanish blurb aloud about LA INFANTA MARGARITA, and then gave them a recap in English. When he was done, the girls leaned in closer.

  “I still don’t get it,” Caitlin whispered to Marci in a tone that was loud enough for Elena to overhear. “This is kind of boring.”

  Marci rolled her eyes and took Caitlin by the arm, leading her toward the next painting along the wall. Elena hung back so she could consider the first painting without Caitlin’s interruptions. Miguel didn’t make a move to follow Marci and Caitlin either.

  “What do you think?” he asked after a long moment of silence had passed while they contemplated the painting.

  “I don’t know. I’m not really an art buff, or anything, but I think it’s pretty. What about this one?” she asked, moving to a portrait of a woman several paces down the wall. “What do you think of her?”

  “This woman is beautiful, no?”

  Elena nodded emphatically and leaned in to look at the delicate brushstrokes around her eyes.

  “But...” Miguel paused dramatically.

  “But what?” she asked, straightening up to look at him.

  “Well, I would like her better if her eyes were blue.” He looked forward, appearing to study the painting closely. “And if her hair was lighter. If her skin was very fair, and if she had lips like...” He looked at Elena boldly. She froze and looked right back. “Yes. If she had lips like yours, then I would think she was even more beautiful.” He smiled slightly.

  Elena reflexively reached up to touch her lips and felt a blush rising in her cheeks. He’s flirting with me, she thought.

  For a moment she felt time freeze. She imagined herself laugh and smile then say something flirty in return as she bumped playfully into him. But she realized none of that was happening. Miguel looked at her expectantly.

  She tried to say the things that were in her head, but what she heard come out of her mouth was, “We should probably catch up with Marci and Caitlin.” She smiled weakly and peered down the corridor in the girls’ direction.

  Elena and Miguel fell in step with Marci and Caitlin at the end of the Velásquez display, and they all wandered toward the section on Francisco de Goya.

  “I’m going to like these,” Caitlin predicted. “Goya, Goya, Goya. Even the name is fun to say.”

  They edged in next to a cluster of tourists assembled in front of a painting of a nude woman reclining on a settee, her arms folded confidently behind her head.

  Miguel read the blurb in Spanish again. Elena stepped closer to the painting, listening to the musical rise and fall of Miguel’s voice, but tuning out the actual words. The best part about seeing these paintings in person was being able to move close enough to see the texture of the brushstrokes in the paint. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers over the ripples of paint. These paintings granted immortality to their creators. She felt an urge to create something lasting of her own through playwriting.

  “This particular painting by Goya created a new nudity form,” Miguel began to translate in a
serious academic voice. “It was inspired by Goya’s mistress, a lazy woman who enjoyed lying around all day near the window....”

  Elena straightened up and glanced toward the plaque next to the painting. “Does it really say that?” she gasped.

  “Yes,” Miguel deadpanned. “It also says that Goya wanted her to go on a diet, but she refused to give up churros con chocolate.” He flashed a sly smile.

  Elena burst into giggles.

  “Mmm, churros con chocolate,” Caitlin groaned deliriously.

  “Speaking of food, we might want to leave soon so we can grab something to eat before our train,” Marci said.

  “Good idea, I’m starving,” Caitlin said, hooking her arm through Marci’s and leading the way to the exit.

  “Hey, you guys.” Jenna waved as Elena’s group walked toward the platform that boarded the train headed back to San Sebastián.

  “How was the bullfight?” Elena asked as they approached the other half of their group.

  “It was awesome,” Alex gushed.

  “What was it like?” Marci leaned in.

  “Pretty gross,” Jenna admitted, contorting her face in disgust. “And actually sort of boring.”

  “What? No, it was brilliant,” Chris defended.

  “The bull was huge,” Alex chimed in.

  “It was interesting from, like, a historical perspective, but totally macho,” Jenna said.

  “You have to admit, the bulls looked pretty awesome,” Alex countered. “Each one looked like it could break every bone in my body.”

  “That’s impressive?” Jenna shot back with a wry smile, obviously enjoying the heated exchange. “They were just big simple animals.”

  “Just big simple animals? Are you crazy?” Alex said. “It was sick, dude. The bull charged out like this.” He scuffed his foot on the floor and bounded toward Chris. Chris grabbed him around the waist and tried to fling him to the ground, but Alex resisted.

  “But the matador was too quick,” Chris took over the narration. “He spun around and stabbed the bull in the shoulder.” Chris popped Alex on the shoulder with his fist. The boys abandoned their narration but continued to wrestle as other passengers began to board the train.

  Jenna picked up her backpack and cracked a smile at the other girls. “Like I said, just big simple animals.”

  “Hey, what did you call me?” Alex said. He charged over to Jenna, who was already giggling, picked her up by the waist, and carried her onto the train.

  Just as Elena was beginning to feel a twinge of snack-sized hunger she heard the metallic squeak of the food cart wheels bumping down the aisle. She and Alex had left the others and had come to another car to work on their play assignment, which was due in only a few days. Elena knew they had a lot of work to do, but her mind kept drifting back to Miguel’s flirtations back at the museum. It was so much better than anything she could have dreamed up.

  There was a whooshing sound and the compartment dimmed as the train sped through a tunnel and the view of twilight outside her window turned completely black. Elena was grateful for the few moments of darkness to think about Miguel. By the time they had exited the tunnel, the snack attendant was standing beside her.

  “Something to eat?” the attendant asked.

  “Yes,” she answered, pointing to a package of chocolate hazelnut cookies. She was always amazed when many of the locals instantly knew she was an English speaker. She knew she didn’t look particularly Spanish, but there seemed to be something about her appearance that screamed “American.”

  “And a water,” she said.

  “With gas?” he asked as he handed her the cookies.

  She shook her head no. Elena had learned her lesson with that question. She’d finally realized that the servers weren’t asking her if she wanted a glass. They were actually saying gas, and gas referred to the bubbles added to the water.

  Elena split the paper wrapping on the package of cookies and spread them out on a napkin.

  “Help, I can’t eat all of these,” she said, shoving the cookies into the middle of the table that stood between them. It was funny how much Alex had begun to feel like one of her brothers. Elena had noticed that being with people who were all so far from home was like being in a friendship incubator, accelerating the awkward phase and skipping more quickly into the comfortable stage.

  “Okay, we should probably work on the third act. That’s the only thing we still need to finish,” Elena said, pulling her notebook out of her backpack and spreading it open on top of the table. Elena wrote Act Three at the top of the page.

  “Right,” Alex nodded, reaching for a cookie. “So, he’s already met his mom. We just need to wrap up the love story. I think they should end up together, and maybe they kiss at the end.”

  “I don’t know,” Elena said after a pause.

  “What? You don’t like it?”

  Elena hesitated again. “It’s not that. I just don’t know if it’s very realistic.”

  “Elena. What are you talking about? We’ve been building up to it the entire play.”

  “It’s just that sometimes two people have trouble getting together, and it may never happen, whatever the reason.”

  “What?” He looked at her sideways for a moment, then said, “Ooh, is this about you and Miguel?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I mean. I saw him following you around all weekend, and I saw you looking at him, too.”

  “What?”

  “He’s into you, you know.”

  She was used to guys falling all over themselves to be near Gwen, and now Jenna. So, even after Miguel’s constant proximity and his flirtatious comments at the museum, Elena had trouble believing he was interested in her.

  “Do you really think Miguel likes me?” she asked.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “I don’t know. I had just assumed he was into Jenna.”

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “She is hot.”

  “That’s what I mean. Everyone loves her.”

  “Look, Elena, Jenna’s a cute girl, but that doesn’t mean you’re not.”

  “Aw, that’s a nice compliment. You know, in an Alex sort of way.” She laughed.

  He tugged at the side of his baseball cap. “I just mean that you’re a good-looking girl. Maybe Jenna’s not his type. It is actually possible, you know.”

  Elena wondered if she had spent so many years comparing herself to her sister’s impossible beauty that she hadn’t really looked at herself the way Miguel might.

  “Listen, I don’t know what Miguel’s done to let you know he’s interested, but you can’t expect him to do all the work. Most guys are okay with making a move, but they need some sort of sign that you’re interested, too. They need to know they aren’t going to get shot down. No one likes to be rejected.”

  Elena thought about Miguel’s flirtatious comments again and tried to remember how she’d responded. She had imagined the perfect response, but she hadn’t really done anything to reciprocate.

  Alex leaned in a little closer and softened his tone. “I’m just reaching here, but my guess is you probably haven’t done much to let him know you like him.”

  “How do you even know I like him?” she recoiled, her face burning.

  “Oh, please. It’s so obvious.”

  “Well if it’s so obvious—”

  “To me, not to Miguel,” he countered, before she could even get her argument out.

  “All right, I get it,” she said. “So, to recap, I’m irresistible, Miguel’s irresistible, we’re all irresistible.” She cut her eyes at him and then blinked furiously in her best playful Jenna impression.

  Alex laughed.

  “Enough about me.” She scooted the notebook and pen over toward Alex. “We have a play to finish.” She was trying to appear as though she had brushed the whole conversation aside easily, but she knew this would stay with her. Alex had just challenged everything she had ever believed about herself an
d her prospects with boys. He had actually suggested that someone could like her just for being herself.

  Chapter Ten

  “What do you think? Should we change it?” Elena asked as she and Alex were walking toward play production on Wednesday. They were supposed to turn in their play at the beginning of class. “We still have a few minutes.”

  “Elena, would you stop stressing?” Alex leaned against the outside wall of the classroom.

  “I just feel like we could have done something more with the confrontation with the mother, and—”

  “Elena, it’s perfect.” Alex snatched the play out of her hand and walked into the classroom. She was about to make one last protest when she saw him slide the stack of papers into Ms. B’s hands.

  “Thank you, Alex,” Ms. B said as she set their play on top of the others on her desk. Then she looked at Elena. “I’m looking forward to reading it.”

  Elena nodded weakly, then took her seat.

  “Stop worrying,” Alex whispered as he sat down in the desk beside her. “It’s done now. All we can do is wait.”

  Despite Alex’s insistence that worrying wasn’t going to change anything, Elena had reviewed their play over and over in her head all day. That night at the apartment she decided she would call her great-aunt Elena to see if she could visit her in Barcelona over the next weekend. She’d realized a couple days earlier that next week would be Thanksgiving. She and her friends were planning to make a little outing to the tapas bars to celebrate, but Elena also felt like being with family, even if it was family she’d never met. Besides, she figured if she was busy traveling and meeting new people, she wouldn’t be able to spend the entire weekend worrying over Ms. B’s decision.

  She dug through her bag and found the slip of paper with her great-aunt’s phone number. Her mom had also written her calling card number to use so the Cruzes wouldn’t be charged for her calls.

  She walked into the empty kitchen and dialed the phone. A recorded voice picked up after three rings. Elena left a message in the best Spanish she could muster. She knew it was sort of rude to call up and ask to come and stay for the weekend with only a week’s notice, but she hoped her great-aunt wouldn’t mind. With the anxiety over the play, and the sadness of spending Thanksgiving without her family, she knew a trip to Barcelona would be a welcome distraction.