Foreign Exchange (13 page)

Or the right one.

Sawyer must not pick up on my hint, because he doesn’t move. Though, now that I think about it, Amelia seeing us may not be such a bad idea. Her name feels like sandpaper in my head.

“You’re certainly making things with Amelia look super-convincing,” I whisper-hiss. If he’s not leaving to go back to his seat, I can’t hold
in my thoughts any longer.

“We need her to help us,” he whispers back at me. His voice has lost
its friendliness. “The same way we need Matt, remember?”

I take the only small step I can
away from him. “It looks pretty real. On both your parts.”

“Jamie...”

My traitor heart flutters at him calling me Jamie, but I square my jaw.

“She has to believe it so she’ll lie for me. So she’ll lie for us.”

“Is that why you’ve played me too?” I thought I’d gotten rid of my distrust for him, but seeing him with Amelia, and now whispering the words out loud, they sound so true.

He takes a step toward me, backing me right into the metal galley cupboards. “Is that really what you think?” His sudden intensity, his red-hot anger at me is palpable. I want to be angry right back, but the truth is, his sudden passion for me to believe him is making him incredibly hot.

He’s not quite touching me, but I want him to. Just a half a step closer.

Instead he lifts a hand and places it high on my chest. Over my heart. I can barely breathe
and my heart feels like it’s suddenly pounding out of control against his hand. “Can you feel that? Do you really doubt this is real?”

By the way his eyes are narrowed at me, I’m sure he’s going to grab my shoulders and start shaking me. But I want him closer anyway. “Prove it,” I pant out.

He looks away just for a second, then lets out a single humorless laugh and shakes his head. He’s angry that I don’t believe him. The truth is, maybe I do believe him, but I want him to prove it anyway.

When he looks back at me, suddenly his hand is on my side, tensely gripping me right above my hip. I’m still waiting for him to shake me, but instead, his hand loose
ns, until it’s barely touching me. By the tense look of his jaw, I’m certain he’s trying to control his anger. Or trying to control something.

His hand runs up my side from
my hip. Along my waist and up farther. I suck in a breath at his touch, and I’m waiting for the second that he grazes the edge of my breast, but his hand comes just shy of it. His other hand braces on the galley cupboards, locking me in.

“Is this proof enough?” he asks, leaving his hand on my ribs, just an inch away from my breast. His voice has dropped an octave. It’s no longer angry.

I still can’t breathe. I can’t even swallow. Keeping my eyes on his, I shake my head.

This earns me a tiny smile at the edges of his lips. He takes a half a step closer and I can feel his heat against me. When he leans in even closer, his hot breath
tickles my neck. His lip runs against the edge of my ear and he whispers, “How about this? Is this proof enough?”

I shake my head, involuntarily letting out a small sound.

He pulls back just a little and his smile is bigger. He comes closer so I can feel his hot breath on my lips. “What if I kissed you? Would that be proof enough?”

“Yes
.” The word is a breath. A pant. A plea. I don’t need any more proof, but I need him to kiss me. He shifts so he’s even closer against me. The cupboards behind me dig into my back, but I don’t care. He strokes his thumb against me––the one that’s near my breast––so I’ll remember it’s there. As if I could forget.

He leans closer...

“Mr. Bishop. Miss Monroe.” The sudden full-volume sound of our teacher’s voice makes us both jump apart. “Back to your seats, please.”

Sawyer takes a
nother giant step away from me, bows his head so he’s not meeting Mr. Echols’s eye, and mumbles a sorry. He steps aside to let me get out of there first, and I take him up on it. I can’t look at our teacher either.

I make it to my
seat, still trembling and flushed. I turn and try to catch another look at Sawyer, but because he’s in a middle seat, it’s impossible to see him from here.

Once I’m settled back in
to my seat, I hug my arms around myself and squeeze as hard as I can, trying to get a grip on myself. A shiver runs through me every time I remember the feeling of Sawyer’s hands on me, his face so close.

Did that really just happen?

Chapter
Twelve

I guess I finally nod off, because I’m groggier than my mother after a double shift when the flight attendant comes by with breakfast. I still can’t see Sawyer from here, but I can remember every moment of last night. I don’t think my perma-smile has left my face.

Not long a
fter that, the plane makes its descent, and I get excited all over again.

Any minute I’m going to be walking on Spanish soil. Or Spanish concrete. Airport flooring, anyway.

And I’m going to see Tristan.

Our group finds each other just outside the plane and we
herd our way through customs and then toward the baggage area. The inside of the airport is shiny clean, with tall, backlit advertisements popping out of the glossy floors every so often.

Some
people whisk by us speaking Spanish. I’ve waited for years for the opportunity to be able to test out my Spanish skills in the real world. I understand everything I read and write in Spanish now, but surprisingly, I can’t catch more than a word or two from any passing conversation. It’s all too fast, and some of it seems like a different dialect. I eye Amelia, up at the front of the group, remembering how she’d asked me to act as official translator.

At the baggage claim, I
can barely keep my eyes on the luggage. Matt’s still holding my hand, but my eyes obviously roam the exits of the airport.

“Your best friend is meeting you here?” Matt asks.

I nod. “She was supposed to. Maybe she’s running late.” Sawyer’s eyes are roaming the airport much more frantically. It’s not like Tristan to be late, I know that, but I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.

After we find our bags,
Amelia approaches me. “Mr. Echols suggested we go check on our transportation.” Her voice is friendlier than I expect, but then I realize this
mortal enemies
feeling must be one-sided.

I
’m nervous about leaving the baggage area in case Tristan shows up, but Matt says, “You go. I know what she looks like. I’ll watch for her.”

All the signs so far have been in Spanish
, English, and a third language I don’t recognize, so my hope is that Amelia won’t need my help. As I’m walking away, I notice Sawyer at a nearby kiosk looking at cheap international cell phones.

I wonder if he’s going to call
Tristan’s emergency cell number. Maybe he should let me call, but I don’t have time to stop and tell him that.

E
veryone Amelia talks to speaks perfect English and soon we know exactly where to go to catch our shuttle bus. I’m even more nervous when we get back to Mr. Echols and everyone has gathered their luggage. “Where is she?”

"All right, people. This way," Mr. Echols says.

"Excuse me, sir." I stand right in front of him, so he's forced to stop. He furrows his brow at me, so I go on. "My friend was supposed to meet me here. My friend from Michigan. She's over here too, and we hoped to meet up, but she's not here yet." My eyes dart around.

As Matt comes up beside me and rests a hand on my shoulder, a sickening thought hits me. I had joked in one of my emails that since I was getting so bold and confident with Matt, maybe she didn’t need to bother coming all the way to Barcelona to meet me. What if she took that seriously?

“I don't...” Mr. Echols glances at Amelia, who has now come over, along with Sawyer, to see what all the commotion is about. “I don't know what we can do about that, Jamie. Maybe she can meet up with us at the hostel.”

“Does she know what hostel we’re
booked at?” Matt asks.

I nod.
I had given her all my flight and hostel information months ago.

“
Wait, Tristan was supposed to meet you here?” Sawyer asks. He already knew this, so I don’t meet his eye for fear of giving ourselves away. He must have a reason for saying this.

I nod
. “Yeah, but maybe Matt’s right. Maybe she’s running late and she’ll meet us at the hostel.”

“
Maybe, sir, maybe we could just stay for a few minutes.” Sawyer's voice sounds so much older than mine, and I think that's what convinces Mr. Echols. He agrees that the group can have a bathroom and food break, but we really can't wait more than fifteen minutes.

The group disperses to the restrooms and the one nearby eatery, but Sawyer pulls me aside, grabbing my elbow. Amelia stares at
his hand on me, but Mr. Echols is talking to her, so she can't do anything about it. Still, I pull my arm away.

I explain to him quickly about the joke I’d made about her not needing to come and meet me. I feel so guilty about my stupidity I can’t look at him. As I’m saying it, another sickening thought hits me.

“What if she was here somewhere and saw you? What if she took off because she doesn’t want to talk to you?”

Sawyer nods, like he’s already thought of this.
“Do you know what time the trains leave for Milan?”

I shake my head. “I
was waiting to find out what time the group would be leaving for the mountains tomorrow.”

“I’m going to go ask at
Information. Pretend I’m looking for Tristan, okay?”

I nod and
ask for his phone before taking a step back from him. I’d like to check my email again right now too. Surely Tristan has emailed to make sure I got here okay if she wasn’t going to show up. But I guess that will have to wait for the hostel.

I plug in Tristan’s emergency cell number and dial it, but there’s no answer. I type the whole thing in again, just to make sure I have it right, but still, it just rings and rings and rings.

Sawyer returns just as Mr. Echols is calling us back, so I don’t have time to ask him privately what he found out. I pass him the phone and tell him she’s not picking up. Amelia has had her eye on me ever since he touched my arm, so I keep my distance.

“Maybe she’s on a train and not getting reception,” he says, which makes sense. Hopefully that makes sense.

Mr. Echols direct
s us to the shuttle bus, but I take one more desperate look around to find Tristan.

“
It's okay. Mr. Echols will be giving me an international cell phone when we get to the hostel,” Matt says as we get on the bus. “If she’s not at the hostel, we’ll track her down.”

I try to give him a look that says he’s my hero. I’ve never done this much acting in my life, but because Matt’s so sweet and naive, it’s actually easier than I thought it would be. If part of my panic to find Tristan wasn’t true, if I didn’t have a vein of worry running through me about being able to connect with her, I’d probably feel a lot guiltier.

“Calm down, Jamie,” Sawyer says as he passes Matt and I. “I’ll keep calling her. I’m sure she’ll pick up soon.”

His statement immediately takes the wind out of Matt’s sails from his offer to let me use his phone, I can tell.
Matt looks like muscular Sawyer has just asked him to compare biceps.

I slouch back into my seat. Something
doesn’t feel right. She’s not here. She’s not in Barcelona. She either took my joke seriously, or she came, saw Sawyer, and left. Now I’m sure of it.

A
s the shuttle bus pulls away from the curb, all twenty-six of our eyes focus on the outside windows. I feel a bit dazed, probably from the jetlag and lack of sleep. While the rest of our group is looking at palm trees and architecture, I'm trying to focus on what to do next. Sawyer’s right, I guess. If Tristan isn’t here, if she’s not waiting for me at the hostel, we need to find our way to Milan. I’m so glad I don’t have to do it alone.

It’s busy
in Barcelona, like Detroit, but driving out of the airport the architecture is older, the people are different in the way they walk, the way they dress—lots of dark suits everywhere—and I swear, they’re all thinner here.

I have a sudden burst of excitement. Once I find
Tristan, then find my dad, I’ll be back here on the class trip. I’m actually going to get to see some of Spain.

The roads are in good condition, but
there are narrow cobblestone lanes off to the sides. They barely look big enough for a car to get down, but cars do go up and down them, so fast I brace my hand on the window edge anticipating a crash. Our bus driver expertly weaves in and out of traffic just as quickly, and I try to focus on scenery to avoid a panic attack.

Matt
rests a hand on my shoulder. He rubs it a little, and I'm grateful for his presence. Sawyer is sitting behind us and glances at Matt's hand on me. He doesn't say anything, of course. But he looks away quickly, redialing his cell phone.

I suddenly feel guilty all over again. Yes, Sawyer’s been chummy with Amelia at school all week, but he’s not sitting with her on the bus. She’s up at the front near Mr. Echols. And
he’s
not massaging
her
shoulders. I angle away to the window and point at a tall building like I'm excited about it, so Matt's hand falls off me.

“Look at all the palm trees,” Matt says, and even though I knew Barcelona had a tropical climate, I’m surprised
at the abundance of them too.

“What do you think that is?” Matt asks, leaning into me
again, but not touching me. He points at a bright sign. I had been expecting to recognize all of the Spanish signage, but most of it seems like a different language. I tell him I’m pretty sure it’s a bakery.

Mr. Echols chooses now to go over “the rules” of the trip
, as if anyone on this bus is able to pay attention to him. He starts rattling things off with us murmuring amongst ourselves and gazing out our windows.

Amelia is the
main trip student leader because she went on last year’s class trip to London. Apparently it was twice the price for students, but not much of a culture shock because the people there spoke English. Amelia helped plan that trip and she practically planned this one on her own, using Matt as her gofer. Mr. Echols is big on student responsibility.

Amelia is
sitting at the front and the only one on the bus with her eyes trained on Mr. Echols as he speaks. She will most certainly enforce Mr. Echols’s
rules
to the “T”.

When Mr. Echols gets to number seven on his list: No
t entering a dorm room of the opposite sex, her eyes go straight to Sawyer. How much is she going to expect him to play up his end of their “relationship” in order for us to get away?

I can’t think about it.

Anna and Caleb sit in the row ahead of Matt and I, and they keep turning around in their seats asking me what different signs say. I try to make sense of them. I'm surprised at the number of butcher shops we’re passing.

When we pull up
to our hostel, I'm at the front of the bus when it's barely rolled to a stop, peering out the front window for Tristan. Amelia has another short conversation with Mr. Echols and then tells me we need to go inside. She looks pointedly between Sawyer and me, but then doesn't argue when we both follow her off the bus and the rest of the class waits behind.

We walk down the long concrete ramp and
Sawyer holds open the door for Amelia and then me. The guy at the front counter of the hostel has a thicker accent than the airport workers did, so I swallow my pride and switch to a clunky, “Hello. We have a group reservation,” in Spanish. Sawyer peeks around corners, looking for Tristan while I talk.

The hostel worker's
lips twitch up like he appreciates my speaking Spanish. He introduces himself as Rex. Rex has dark, curly hair that needs a good cut, but he’s attractive and in his early twenties. I ask about Tristan, but he assures me he hasn't seen her. I ask him to let me know if he does, and I write down her name in case she calls.

When Rex comes around from behind the counter to show us the rooms that we’ve reserved, both Amelia and I glance down, because Rex’s jeans are so snug. It’s surprising, I guess because I never see guys dress like this at home. I feel my face flush when Sawyer raises an eyebrow at me.

Rex gives us directions about the kitchen and the public rooms, all in Spanish, and then takes the school credit card from Amelia, which I assume Mr. Echols will have to sign for later. I keep my eyes on Rex’s face the whole time.

He
tells me that the native language of the area is actually Catalan, and it suddenly makes sense why I had so much trouble understanding people at the airport. Apparently most of the locals are happy to communicate in Spanish, which I’m thankful for.

Amelia
asks me to explain the run-down to the rest of the group once they’re inside.

I rattle off all I can remember about breakfast and safety, and add,
“The main thing Rex kept stressing was to keep an eye on your stuff—in here, but more so out there.” I point to the main stairs leading to outside. “Don’t go anywhere alone…” I stop speaking and take a big breath, remembering that Tristan’s been alone this whole time.

When I’m done, Amelia
calls out room assignments. I'm eager to talk to Sawyer so I can get on his laptop and check for any confirmation messages from Tristan, but he motions that he'll meet me back here in five minutes after we drop off our luggage.