Spain or Shine (6 page)

“So, do you have a boyfriend back in Phoenix?” Elena ventured after a few minutes of silence.

“No.” Jenna laughed. “Not particularly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I was dating a few guys, but nothing serious.”

“Oh, right,” Elena said, though she had no idea what it felt like to date more than one guy. Actually, she really didn't have much idea what it was like to date one guy. She hadn't had a boyfriend since Robbie Bowers in the seventh grade. And that wasn't all that serious.

“I fall for boys like this.” Jenna snapped her fingers. They cut over through the town center and headed away from the ocean. “But then I lose interest just as quick. So I never end up dating any one guy for too long. There are just so many cute boys out there. I don't want to limit myself, you know?”

Elena laughed.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh, it's just that I'm the total opposite. I don't fall in love very often, but when I do, I fall really hard. It's sort of a joke with my sister and some of my friends.”

“Do you have someone back home?” Jenna asked.

“I was seeing this guy last year, but that ended badly.”

“What happened?”

Normally Elena might have waited longer to share this story with someone she was trying to impress, but Jenna seemed so relaxed and nonjudgmental that she found herself going into it. “Well, there was this guy I had a huge crush on last year, Joe Cipriani. He was so cute.”

Jenna nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“And he just seemed really cool, too. Anyway, somehow he heard that I liked him, and he started flirting with me at school and calling me on my cell. Well, one day he came by my house to study. I left the room to get snacks, and while I was gone he asked my sister out.”

“No,” Jenna gasped.

Elena nodded solemnly. “He was after her all along.”

“What a jerk.”

“Yeah.”

“But you haven't given up on boys or anything? You still believe in love and all that stuff?”

Elena thought about it for a moment and then answered honestly, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Well, you're a romantic,” Jenna said, bumping Elena's arm playfully with her elbow.

“I guess you could say that.”

“We'll have to find you a nice Spanish hottie to fall for.”

Elena smiled. “Okay, but I'm definitely going to be more careful this time.” Elena wondered if it would really be that easy to change.

They arrived at school with five minutes to find their respective classrooms. With its sleek, smooth walls, high windows edged in steel, and bright red tile rooftops, the campus was jarringly modern compared to the rest of town. The classrooms were laid out in a square with stone-paved pathways zigzagging through a grassy plane. Elena held her class schedule, which had come in a packet of S.A.S.S. material, up next to Jenna's.

“Look, we have conversational Spanish together,” Jenna said. “Second period.”

“Want to meet at the multimedia center before Spanish?” Elena asked before they parted ways. “We have a fifteen-minute break, and I want to see if I can check my e-mail”

“Sure,” Jenna called as she started in the opposite direction across campus. “See you there.”

 

After first period, Elena met Jenna in the multimedia center, and the two girls snagged available computers and typed in their student IDs and passwords.

Elena and Jenna logged off and scurried to their Spanish class, taking their seats just before the bell rang. Their Spanish teacher, Señor Gonzalez, handed out worksheets and began giving the class a first-day rundown similar to the one Elena had just sat through in Basque culture. Elena guessed that Señor Gonzalez was older than the mountains that towered over Playa de la Concha. He spoke in clipped tones and spent an inordinate amount of time going over the multitude of rules for his class. He even looked tough and weathered, with steel wool curls and a grave face. Elena could tell there wouldn't be a lot of goofing around in Señor Gonzalez's class.

“I want you to speak Spanish at all times in this class. I may occasionally ask questions in English, but I expect you to answer me in Spanish. Of course, that doesn't mean you should expect to be fluent right away. I just want you to try.”

“How do we know when we've become fluent?” a guy named Dwight asked, as if grasping a language was something you could quantify and measure.

“There isn't a line you cross and suddenly you're fluent in a language,” Señor Gonzales explained. Dwight's face fell. “However,” Señor Gonzales continued, his finger punching through the air in front of him. “Many people say that you can be considered fluent once you dream in Spanish. It is then that the language and the culture become so much a part of you that they find their way into your subconscious.”

Elena promised herself that by the time she left San Sebastián, she would be dreaming in Spanish.

 

Elena spotted a familiar face as soon as she'd entered her last class of the day, play production. Alex made eye contact with her on her way in and patted the empty seat beside him. With Jenna in her Spanish class and now Alex in play production, she was feeling like quite the social butterfly.

“A play is not just a bunch of words on paper. It's an entire world created by a playwright and then brought to life,” their teacher, Ms. Bartholomew, declared. “This term you will not only learn how to create your own world and bring it to life, but you will also learn how to come together as an artistic community.” As she said this, she interlaced the fingers of both hands and stood for a moment for maximum impact. Elena glanced at the faces of the other students. She saw some eyes rolling, heard some whispers and giggles, but mostly there were blank expressions. They were only minutes into the class and Alex was already dozing, with his chin propped on his fist and his black baseball hat pulled down low over his eyes so that at a glance it looked as though he was concentrating on his notes.

Ms. Bartholomew, or Ms. B, as she had asked to be called, seemed to be a different breed of teacher than the ones Elena had been introduced to earlier in the day. For one thing, she ditched the stodgy polyester pants, button-front shirts, and bland sweater sets. Ms. B wore shell jewelry around her neck and wrists, and a flowing white linen dress cinched with a turquoise-studded leather belt. She wasn't one of those unkempt, I‘m-pretending-it's-still-the-sixties hippies. She was a sleeker, more modern version.

Although Elena could tell from their expressions that some of the students already thought Ms. B had just stepped off the mother ship, Elena warmed to her. At least she cared about what she was teaching. Elena had plenty of teachers at home who showed up every day and seemed to sleepwalk through class, regurgitating the same lectures they'd been giving for twenty-five years without even bothering to update the pop-culture references in their halfhearted jokes. Only last year her history teacher referred to Will Smith as the Fresh Prince. Talk about out of touch.

“The main determinant of your grade in this class will be the final project, a full-length play! If you're lucky enough to be the cream of the crop, you'll stage your play and perform it at the end of the term.” Ms. B clapped her hands and smiled broadly, as though no sane person could possibly wish for anything more. “We are only going to be able to stage two plays—the top two, as judged by me. However, even if your play isn't chosen for the final performance, you will still be involved in some way. We'll need people to design costumes and props. You might be acting in a role or helping to design the sets or lighting. In a couple of weeks you'll form groups of two and three....” Some of the students, including Elena, groaned after this last remark. She hated group projects. Somehow she always got stuck with some bossy know-it-all who took over the whole project and wouldn't listen to anyone else's ideas. Though she was dreading the idea of a group project, she was also already picturing herself as one of the winners. In her mind, she was standing just offstage, watching as the stars of her play received a standing ovation. As the crowd roared, the actors grabbed her by the hand and insisted she come onstage and take a bow with them.

“Now class.” Ms. B clapped her hands together again fiercely, breaking Elena's daydream. Alex woke with a snort, and his chin slipped off his hand. He teetered in his chair but was able to regain his composure without spilling onto the floor. Elena covered her mouth to smother a giggle.

Alex straightened in his chair and pushed the bill of his hat farther up on his forehead. Elena had decided this was his subconscious way of letting the world know he was once again part of the living.

 

Two hours later the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Kids scrambled to jam their notebooks into their backpacks and rush out the door.

“So, you're going to the beach after this, too, huh?” Alex said, glancing at the thin strap of Elena's bikini top peeking out of the neckline of her T-shirt. She'd followed Jenna's advice and donned the suit under her clothes, and a beach towel stuffed in her backpack.

“Yeah. Are you going surfing?” she asked as she followed him through the classroom door and out into the midday sunshine.

He nodded languidly and picked up a short board that was propped against the wall outside. “I already went once this morning, but it's not like I have any homework to do on the first day of school.”

As they walked together toward the beach, they passed a cluster of tall, aging buildings huddled together under a towering hill that formed the
parte vieja,
the oldest and most historical part of town.

“Have you been in there yet?” Alex pointed toward the alleyways that cut through the buildings like caverns.

“No. Have you?”

“Yeah. It's awesome. It feels like a time warp. Come walk through for a minute,” he said, leading her between two grayish-brown buildings so close together it looked as though they were closing in on each other. The air cooled as soon as she stepped onto the rutted street. The proximity of the buildings blocked much of the sun, so it felt like a perpetually cloudy day. Some of the walls were marred by spray-painted graffiti written in Basque. Alex led her through the maze of narrow streets.

“It looks like there's a bar or restaurant on every corner,” Elena said.

“Yeah. I've heard this is where everyone comes to eat and party. Hey, want to get something to eat now?”

Elena looked at her watch. She was late meeting Jenna. “I should get going. I'm meeting a friend at the beach.”

“All right,” he said as he walked toward a tapas bar with an ABIERTO sign in the window. “Maybe I'll see you out there.”

Elena headed back into the sunlight and started toward the ocean. Once she reached the beach she slipped off her flip-flops and stepped onto the simmering sand. After scanning the packs of sunbathers, she finally caught a glimpse of Jenna's blond hair shining in the afternoon glare. She was wearing a red bikini with a thin bandeau top and skinny bottoms tied in little bows at the sides. The strips of fabric looked as if they might fall off if she rolled over too quickly or breathed wrong. On either side of Jenna's towel was a girl lounging on her own towel.

“Hey, there,” Elena said once she had strolled over to the girls. She did a little hot-sand dance in place as she spread her towel out next to the voluptuous girl to Jenna's right. Elena wiggled out of her tank top and shorts and lay down.

“What's up, Elena?” Jenna lifted herself up on her elbows and peered at her over the top of her oversized movie star sunglasses. “This is Caitlin and Marci. They're from the same high school in Boston. We're in Basque culture together.” Elena gave them both a little wave. Simply judging them by their looks, Marci and Caitlin appeared to be polar opposites. Marci was small and skinny with straight black bobbed hair that skimmed her chin. Caitlin was tall and buxom with a wide, toothy smile and loose ringlets-all curves and curls.

“We were just debating the whole topless thing,” Jenna said, nodding discreetly toward a cluster of Spanish women lying out in only their tiny bikini bottoms, and then toward another group of women reading French
Vogue
and looking just as bare, their brown skin almost entirely exposed to the sun and everything else.