Spain or Shine (9 page)

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.

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.

As she wrote she was unaware of anything going on around her. She didn't hear Alita and Señora Cruz come home. She didn't notice when the rain stopped. The only things that existed in the world were the scene, her pen, and the sheet of paper where her thoughts unfolded.

When she was done, she set her pen down and glanced up at the clock. She was stunned to find that two hours had passed. She'd been so absorbed she hadn't even noticed.

Elena peeped out the window and was surprised to find a slice of yellow sunlight showing through a break in the clouds. She was giddy about the scene she'd written, and there was one person she wished she could share it with. She missed Claire. She knew one of the reasons she'd come to Spain was to meet new people, but at that moment she longed for the easy comfort of an old friend.

Elena walked into the front room and called out to Señora Cruz, who was cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Señora Cruz, I'm going to the Internet café in town. I'll be back in about an hour.”

“Take your time,” Señora Cruz called as Elena headed out. She walked toward the Internet café she'd seen in the
parte vieja.
She knew it would be cheaper to e-mail Claire from the multimedia center at school on Monday, but she couldn't wait. She was so excited about her writing, and she knew Claire was the one person who would understand. Plus, she wanted to fill her in on Miguel.

On her way home, Elena's encounter with Miguel the night before spun over and over through her head like a broken film reel. Even if he was interested in Jenna, she wished she would have been different. Next time she ran into him she would be prepared. It wasn't so hard to imagine herself dazzling him with funny stories. In the film that played in her mind, she was charming, confident, and funny. She knew it was a long shot, but a girl could dream.

 

Elena had been excited all weekend about turning in her play assignment, but on Tuesday, during the break between Spanish and play production, she found herself in a deep funk. She slumped beside Jenna toward the fountain in the middle of the quad, which had unofficially become the meeting place for all of her friends.

“Don't worry about Señor Gonzalez. He's tough on everyone,” Jenna soothed, linking her arm through Elena's. The gesture made Elena feel a little better. “He was such a jerk chewing you out in front of the class: