Foreign Exchange (19 page)

As though Sawyer can sense my
inner battle, he places a warm hand on my back.

I blink away a tear and try to focus. I need to find something familiar. I need to find out if Tristan’s been here.

There’s not much to see in the picture, but it could be this park. It probably could also be any other park in Milan. “This is useless,” I say, looking away from the photo.

“It’s not,” Sawyer says. He’s the strong one again, and I know I should listen, but part of me feels like going with my depression this time. Sinking into it.

He flips his laptop shut, stands, and holds out his hand. “Come on, Jamie. We’ve got to move on.”

Almost two hours later and after getting lost twice, we’re across town at the Milan Cathedral. Any other time I’m sure I would notice the splendor of it. It’s enormous with countless pillars, and Sawyer does stare up at it for a few seconds, but I don’t have it in me. I’m looking around, knowing Tristan has been here, definitely within mere steps of where I’m standing, and I need to believe I might find her in the crowd.

My legs pick up the pace as we get into the square and I scour every inch of the front area.

But now it’s Sawyer’s turn to be depressed. “I don’t know what we thought we would find. It’s not like she’s still here. It’s not like she would have left something behind for us.”

I’m nodding, but feeling the balance of optimism shift in my direction. I scan the rest of the block looking for a tiny burst of hope that I know I’ll find if I just keep my eyes open.

“A hostel!” I say, finally. “She has to be staying
somewhere
in Milan, and if not at that bed and breakfast, or a host family home, then where?”

My optimism, this time, is contagious. Sawyer nods. His eyes open wider.

“Where would she stay? What would be most important to her?”

“Cheap,” Sawyer says, not missing a beat.

“English-speaking,” I add, remembering how Americanized the bed and breakfast with the mailboxes was.

“Close to modeling opportunities,” Sawyer says.
I bite my tongue from suggesting one near the conference center. Sure, she stopped by there, but how focused has she really been on finding my dad?

Things like “clean” don’t even make our list. Tristan
has been going to some pretty big lengths to succeed in Italy. She would have made allowances for cleanliness.

We start with an Internet list of hostels, figuring that’s the cheapest option, and use Sawyer’s cell phone to call.

After the first couple of tries, though, we know this is not the best route. Italians are just not that helpful on the phone. No one seems willing to look up Tristan’s name, citing it being against policy, even when I suggest it’s an emergency.

One guy ask
s us if it’s an emergency, why haven’t we gone to the
polizia
? I try to explain how unsure we are about anything, but Sawyer bites his lip, obviously having picked up on some of my Italian.

“Maybe we
should
go to the police now, Jamie. I mean, how else are we going to find her quickly, so we can get back to Spain?”

I look away, torn. We probably should.
Maybe we should have done that, hours ago. But the thing is, we know she’s safe. What if Tristan’s out there organizing things, making a life for herself, and trying not to let Sawyer and I ruin it. Or what if she’s feeling insecure about all of the rejections. What if she’s just angry and hurt? After all, I did email her and indicate I’d been talking to Sawyer. It’s more than possible that she’s avoiding us, and trying to make her dream come true on her own.

Besides, if we go to the police, they’ll send us back to our class trip. We’ll get in a lot of trouble, and I won’t get to see my dad.

“I want to check out the hostel thing first.”

He shakes his head. “That could take all night. And all day tomorrow. The list of hostels in
Milan is really long, Jamie.”

“I have a plan, though.” It isn’t fully formed, but I’ve been run
ning through my mind how Tristan had first arrived in Italy. How she may have nailed down a place to stay.

And I hope Sawyer will give me
a little more time to check it out.

Chapter
Eighteen

We step up to Milano Malpensa
Airport a little over an hour later. I’m trying to avoid looking at the time because I don’t want Sawyer to focus on how late it is. I don’t want him to think about what time the trains for Barcelona head out. The idea of doing this alone is feeling more terrifying as the sky darkens, but I will if I have to.

T
hat makes me remember how alone Tristan has been. She hasn’t had supervisors and translators helping her this whole time, like I’d originally thought. She hasn’t had anybody.

Inside
the airport, I follow signs until I find
Informazione
.

I get in line, and this time I’m sure to keep my spot, jutting my elbows out each time the line in front of me moves.

Sawyer’s annoyed at my bullheadedness concerning the police, so he hasn’t even asked about my plan. Finally, we get to the front, and I do the speaking, but this time in English.

“Hi there.
My boyfriend and I just arrived…” Realizing what I’ve labeled Sawyer, my face heats up, but I push on. “We don’t speak a word of Italian, and I’m wondering if you could recommend any cheap places to stay where they speak English.” I glance toward Sawyer. He meets my eye for a second but then turns his gaze right back toward the woman in the booth.

Maybe
he’s willing to give this a chance.

The efficient Italian lady starts
rattling off a list of names. I giggle like I’m stupid and ask her if she wouldn’t mind writing them down for us. I want to make this as quick of a process as possible, so I don’t lose Sawyer’s faith along the way.

The thing is, the list is getting really long.

“Um, I’m not eighteen,” I say suddenly. “Do these places accept young travelers?”

The lady looks like she’s suppressing an eye roll as she crosses out a whole bunch of names she’s already written down.

When she’s done, there are three listed. S
he looks past us to the next patron, but I ask, “Um, which one is closest and how do we get there?”

I know I’ve just turned into the annoying tourist I never wanted to be, but I figure any time we can save at this point is essential.

The lady shoves a map in our direction, running a black Sharpie along some curvy streets. It doesn’t look easy.

I
glance at Sawyer. We’ll figure it out.

We make it to the first hostel on the list almost an hour later. The hostel workers aren’t much more helpful in person than when we had been calling around on Sawyer’s phone, but Sawyer and I stand there and stare the guy down until he finally looks up Tristan’s name.

“Sorry,” he says in English. “She hasn’t been in here.”

Before we leave, I switch to Italian and ask for directions to the next closest hostel on our list. He seems slightly more willing to help.

By the time we
round the last corner toward the second hostel, the sun has completely disappeared below the horizon. I’m trying not to mention it, but Sawyer doesn’t avoid the topic.

“We barely have time for this one, Jamie.” The way he says my name does
nothing to warm me. I want to make him happy, but what would make him happy at this point, besides finding his sister and getting back to Barcelona?

“C
ould you really go back to Barcelona without finding her first?”

“She texted once
. She’ll get a hold of us again.”

She didn’t text me.
I can’t help but think the words. I’ve checked my phone and tried to call many times since the restaurant. “Look. We’re here.” I point to hostel number two, which I can’t help but notice is only a short walk from the conference center we’d stopped at earlier today. “Just give this place a chance.” As I march on ahead of Sawyer, I know this is the last option he’ll give me. As it is, we’d be hard-pressed to catch a night train for Barcelona.

We get to the front counter, and the young girl who greets us barely looks old enough to be out of high school. I wonder
what the minimum working age is in Italy. And how young they let girls work in places like this by themselves at night.

“Hi there. Do you speak
any English?” I ask, using my dumb, slightly higher-pitched American voice again.

She nods and smiles. “Sure do.”

Not even proper English. That seems like a good sign. “I’m looking for a friend of mine who I think has been staying here.” Contrary to all the other places we’ve tried today, this girl doesn’t hesitate at my request.

“Sure. What’s
the name?” The girl’s springy dark curls bounce as she nods.

I give her Tristan’s name and spell it out for her. But before I reach the last letter, she nods
again. “Yep. She’s booked in here until the twentieth.”

The
twentieth? That’s still days away! Tristan’s here!

I turn to Sawyer with a wide smile. Back to the girl, I say, “Okay, can I go in and find her?” I’m already walking past the desk to where I see hallw
ays of rooms, but she stops me.

“I’m sorry. Only registered guests can go back there.” Her voice
has turned surprisingly commanding.

“Could you just get her for us then,” Sawyer says. It doesn’t sound like a question. He’s having a hard time believing we’re having success, I can tell.

The small girl shakes her head. “I can leave a message for her.” She points across the hall at a corkboard covered in messages. “But people come and go as they please, and I can’t leave the desk.”

“So you don’t even know if Tristan’s been here lately?” Sawyer asks.

“Well, I’m sure people don’t just pay and then not show up, right?” I ask the girl, trying too fast to turn this around before Sawyer can slip back into his negative thinking.

She looks between us and I have a feeling she’s trying to catch up. Her English is flawless, but still,
she's struggling as to whether the answer to either of us is yes or no.

I pull the picture from my purse. “This is her
photo. Do you remember seeing her recently?”

The girl twists her mouth to the side. “I’m only here a few hours a
week. School during the day,” she adds. “I don’t pay much attention to people with key cards. To be honest, I don’t recognize half the people staying here, but I have to say, she looks familiar.”

That’s all the confirmation I need. “Are you sure I couldn’t just have a peek around for her back there.”

The girl has been so friendly, so helpful, but I can tell the second my request has left my mouth that I’m asking too much.

“Actually,” I say before she can answer. “How much for a night?”

She looks between Sawyer and me skeptically, but there’s also probably no rule about selling us a couple of beds for the night so we can come in. Finally she jiggles the mouse on her computer.

“I have one bed in the male dorm room available. Or a double room
.” She glances down at my hand, and instinctively, I tuck it under my other hand, wondering if she’s looking for a ring. “That’s it for tonight.”

Keeping my eyes from
Sawyer’s, I say, “We’ll take the double, won’t we, honey?” hoping he’ll play along.

The girl
hesitates, but then takes my money as I push it toward her before Sawyer has a chance to try and pay. She passes us each a key card to get in and out. The key cards are set to expire tomorrow at the same time, so we have twenty-four hours—if I can convince Sawyer to skip tonight’s train to Barcelona.

If not, we don’t have much time at all.

Bouncy Curl Girl directs us down the hall and tells us that our key card will work for room 8B. By the time we walk away, I’m already strategizing over how we can get into the girls’ dorm rooms without the proper card.

Sawyer doesn’t say a word
as I slide my key card into 8B and open the door. A light beside the double bed comes on automatically. We both stand in the hallway and stare in at the small looking double bed for a moment. Finally, I shake it off and move inside. It’s not likely we’ll be sleeping in here. When we find Tristan, we’ll be talking all night, I’m sure, if not traveling back toward Spain.

I force myself into the
plain room, with a window opening into an alleyway. There’s another door with a toilet and a small sink inside.

We’re both silent as we drop our
stuff by the bed and look around. But there’s nothing left to see. We both stare at each other and I’m searching my brain for something to say about how we should start showing Tristan’s picture around or try to break into the girls’ dorm rooms, but I’m suddenly so tired. Exhausted from the stress of the day, from Sawyer’s frustration, from the mix of anger and fear and guilt I’ve been carrying.

Sawyer takes two giant steps toward me and the next thing I know, he’s enveloping me in his arms. Not just hugging me, but truly enveloping me. He lets out something between a breath and a cry and I collapse into him, my arms encircling his waist.

We stay there, just breathing into each other, for a long time. Finally he murmurs into my hair. “She has to be here.” He takes another big gust of a breath and says, “I hope this is it.”

Saying “me too,” seems about as redundant as telling him we’re in Europe. I nod my head under his chin and squeeze him tighter.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me, Jamie,” he says, and this I can say back. It’s not redundant, it’s the first time we’ve said anything of the kind to one another. For once I don’t care whether it’s romantic or not. I care that he’s my friend and we can keep each other from falling apart.

I pull my head away
so I can see him when I say, “I’m glad you’re here with me, too, Sawyer.”

He looks at my eyes, at the rest of my face. He lifts a hand and runs it down the side of my cheek. I want so badly for this to be a time
when I can enjoy the feeling, but it’s just not.

As if he can read my thoughts, he nods a couple of times and pulls his hand away. “You ready to go look for my sister?”

I grab my key card and picture of Tristan before following him out the door.

At
the other end of the hallway, we come to a common room. This one is much smaller than the one we’d used in Barcelona, and almost every chair and couch cushion is already snagged by somebody.

“Maybe we should split up,” I say. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I think we’ll
have better success on our own. Sawyer is gorgeous and charming, and even though he doesn’t have a picture to show, I’m willing to bet he’ll find a way to get any information he needs out of any single girls around here.

And sure, the thought makes me
mildly
jealous, but I’ll be working on the male contingent in the room. Not that I know how to
work
a room of guys. But I hope I’ll be at least slightly more interesting as a single girl than one who appears to be taken.

“Why don’t you go talk to them,” I say, pointing Sawyer over to a table with five girls passing magazines around. He looks at me, confused for a second. “Just describe Tristan,
and see if any of them have seen her,” I tell him.

He still hesitates, and I wonder if he thinks I’m telling him to go sleep with them.
Finally he goes. I move toward the couch. There’s a TV on, but the two guys on the couch only seem to be half-watching the Italian news channel.

I plop down between them, and start firing off hellos in different languages until I find out they’re both most comfortable with Spanish.

I pull out the photo of Tristan and me and ask if either of them has seen the girl on the right around the hostel.

One of the guys takes the picture from me and looks at it closer. Sawyer may have success with his charm, but if I have success, it’ll be because Trista
n’s stunning.

Finally he hands it back and shakes his head. “I’d remember her.”

Point established. “How long have you guys been staying here?” I ask.

“I’ve only been here
since yesterday,” the other guy says. The one who looked closer at the picture says he’s been here for just over a week, but he hasn’t been around much.

I move on and ask a few other guys scattered around the room. When Sawyer catches my eye, he’s still with the same group of five girls, and he gives me what I think is a pleading stare that says,
“Help me!”

I laugh a little to myself. His charm
and good looks are so extreme even he needs rescuing from them.

Sawyer introduces me before I’ve even sat down. Apparently all the others speak English, but the only one who gives me more than a cursory
glance is a girl with cropped blonde hair and hoop earrings so big I bet she could fit her whole head through them.

“So you and Sawyer are traveling together?” she says in a strong British accent. “How lovely. I wish I’d had a traveling companion. What’s your favorite part of Italy so far
, then?”

The girl
babbles so fast, I wonder if Sawyer has even gotten around to asking about Tristan. I’m not the charming one, but I am driven. I put Tristan’s picture down in the middle of the table.