by Kevin Craig
“The breakfast of champions.” He proudly holds up his catch.
“That stuff’ll kill you, dude.” I nod toward the coffee. “And breakfast is the most important meal. You should eat something real.”
“My word, is this croissant not real? What are they trying to pull, serving fake croissants? It’s an outrage. I’ll need to revolt.” He moves his bag to the floor, pulls out the chair, and sits down. He smiles this goofy smile. I laugh. “And coffee is king. Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. Yet. Diego. Nelson.”
“Which one is it? Diego or Nelson?” He takes a sip of his coffee and makes this face like he just experienced an orgasm or something. “Oh, my Lord God. This is the best coffee I have ever tasted. He called it café con leche. Remember that name. I need to get more of this. Must be a Spain thing.”
“My name is Diego Nelson. First and last. And that just means coffee with cream, dude. I take it you don’t know any Spanish?”
“Oh. Oops. I frigging knew that. I’m trying to learn Spanish. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course it means coffee with cream. My father would kill me. Still, it’s way better than anything I’ve ever had.”
“It’s the way Moms makes coffee sometimes.”
“You have two mothers?” Troy asks. I laugh.
“No, dude. It’s what I call my mother. Moms. Anyway, they heat the milk here. Moms says it’s way better, but I wouldn’t know. Hate the stuff.”
“You take those words back,” Troy practically screams. He stops buttering his croissant and points his knife at me like he’s going to stab me for insulting his drink of choice. Dude.
“You’re kind of funny.”
“I try, Diego Nelson. I try.” He finishes and puts the knife down. “I’ll let you live this time. Just, no more insulting the java bean please and thank you.”
“Oh, boy,” I say as Shania enters the room. It’s probably my imagination that the lights dim. “Here comes trouble.”
“One of us?” Troy says. “I hope she’s nicer than the one I flew over with. Wait until you meet Claire. Real piece of work.”
“Oh, great. Because Shania there is a real treasure. We should bury her.”
“Shania? Like Twain?”
“Yeah. But no. Don’t say that to her. She hates it.”
“But I was hoping for a girlfriend on the walk. Don’t tell me she’s not a worthy candidate.”
“You? A girlfriend. Really?”
“Hey. I resemble that remark, smarty. I don’t mean like that. I mean, someone I can kiki with. A bestie. Someone to gossip with. You know.”
“Kiki? No comprende? She’s probably not what you’re looking for, but yeah, I think I get it. I’m afraid she might not be the one, dude. She’d rather bite your head off than carry on an actual conversation.”
She’s almost at our table.
“Who else was with your group, then? Any other girls?”
“Nope. Just me, Shania, and a guy named Manny. Cool guy, but no other girls. Sorry, dude.”
“Damn,” he says. He kind of deflates right on the spot.
“Hey,” Shania says. “Good morning, guys.”
I try to hide my shock. The Twain speaks in non-screech. Who knew?
“Um,” I say, just so she knows I picked up on the change. “Good morning?” Yes. It’s a question.
“Hi there,” Troy says. He stands and offers her his hand. “I’m Troy.”
“Hey, Troy,” Shania says. Then she shocks me by following with, “I hope Diego here hasn’t informed you that I’m a bitch from hell yet. I hope Diego…” She turns to look at me as she shakes Troy’s hand. “…can forgive a girl and understand that we all have bad days occasionally. Especially when one is being forced to do something against her will.”
“Whoa, whoa.” I won’t let her off so easy. “Are you attempting to apologize? Because that doesn’t quite sound like an apology. That sounds a bit more like a passive-aggressive I’m sorry/not sorry. You’ll have to do better.”
“You’re nasty,” Troy says. But he laughs. He’s liking this. Twain cringes.
“Okay, Diego. Please forgive me for being a not-so-nice human being yesterday. I was having a really bad day and maybe I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“Maybe?”
“Okay, okay,” she says. “You drive a hard bargain. I should not have treated you like shit. I’m sorry.”
“Better,” I say. “An actual apology.”
“Girl, you deserve a medal for that,” Troy says. “Go reward yourself with this über-fine coffee. It will blow your mind. I promise.”
Shania has what looks like an aha moment. She looks Troy up and down. I can almost see her realization dawning. She just picked up on the fact that Troy is gay. Or I’m guessing, anyway.
“I’m going to like you,” she says to Troy.
“Café con leche, girlfriend. Go forth. You will thank me.”
Shania smiles, and okay… it’s a great smile. Her hard-ass self disintegrates in that smile. Hopefully, this is the Shania who joins us on the walk. I can deal with this Shania.
As I watch her walk away, Manny and Gilbert arrive and drop their backpacks. I notice another kid sit closer to the entrance. He’s with some lady. I’m guessing it’s another one of the kids and Gilbert’s other half. I can’t remember her name, but Troy confirms my suspicions when he waves at her and she returns it with a smile and a wave of her own.
“Hey, dude.” Manny sits beside me. He puts his fist out and I bump it. “Sleep well?”
“Not bad,” I say. “This is—”
“Troy,” Gilbert interrupts. “Hello, Troy. I see you’ve met Diego. And this is Manfred.”
“Dude,” Manny says. “It’s Manny. Please, stop calling me that. Nobody calls me Manfred.”
“Sorry, right. Manny.”
“Hey, Manny,” Troy says. I can tell he’s a bit gobsmacked by the way he says Manny’s name. Troy might be insta-crushing on my man Manny. He’s totally barking up the wrong tree if he thinks that’s going to happen.
“Troy,” Manny says as he nods hello. He’s oblivious to Troy’s attentions.
“Let’s get some food before it’s too late. Bus boards soon,” Gilbert says. He leads Manny away to the omelette station.
Troy watches them walk away. His mouth kinda hangs open.
“Dude, just no.”
“I know, I know. Story of my life. I’m used to it. A boy can dream, though, can’t he?”
“You out?” I think I already know the answer.
“Yeah. My parents are insane about it, too. P.S. If you need any condoms during our trip, I happen to have a backpack full of them. Dad seems to think I’m capable of conquering all the Spaniards.”
“Dude. Poor you. Ha ha. That’s a good one. So sorry, dude. That must have been an awkward conversation.”
“You have no idea, Diego. No idea.”
* * *
We’re ready to board the bus when Troy asks Meagan where Claire is. Claire is someone I haven’t met yet, the one Troy bitched about earlier. Apparently, she’s a monster. But who knows, yesterday I thought Shania was a monster. There’s hope for this other girl still.
“Oh, shi—” Meagan begins, but catches herself. “Oh, no. I hadn’t noticed. She must still be in her room. I’ll be right back.”
She runs out of the room toward the elevator. We all get up and half strap our backpacks over our shoulders. We move toward the hotel lobby where we stand and wait for Meagan to come down with Claire.
Gilbert starts to get fidgety. He keeps taking out his phone and looking at the time.
“We’ll have to make our way to the bus without them. Sorry, guys; let’s go.” He leads us into the street. I look both ways, but there are no buses in sight. “We have to
walk about a block to the station. They can meet us there; Meagan knows where the station is. Come on, guys.”
This is not going to end well. If this Claire girl is like this today, on day one, guaranteed it’ll be a habit. Girl’s gonna make us late every morning. I don’t like non-morning people. I can’t deal with them.
I look at our surroundings as we walk down the street. So much for seeing Madrid. In and out like thieves. Please, let there be air conditioning on this bus. A whole day on a bus is not my idea of a good time. Thinking I should try to sit with Manny. Or, hey, even Troy. He’s not a bad guy. Makes me laugh.
Chapter 8 — Shania Reynolds
Monday, July 1st – Day 3 – I Hate Myself and Why I Need to Punch Dillon in the Throat
I hate my life. There, I said it. Again. But today was bordering on okay. I mean, we did spend a good portion of the day on a bus. But I got to sit beside this guy, Troy. He’s awesome. And more importantly, he doesn’t want anything from me. He’s gay, so I know he’s not looking at my boobs or trying to play me to get into my pants. I don’t even have to think about crap like that with him. The guy’s a genius comedian too. I think I love him. I hope we get to walk together.
Damn, I sound almost like a happy person. Yuck. Which is why I want to punch Dillon in the throat. Ever have an older brother who is always (one thousand percent of the time) RIGHT!? Well, that’s Dillon. He’s right again. I tried really hard today. I was nice, and mostly nobody was douchebaggy to me. I do feel like Manny is trying to play me, though. He’s smooth. And totally hot. But not my type. IF I were trying to be honest, I would say that Diego is more my type. But that ship sailed when I was nasty to him on the plane. Guys remember stuff like that. Burnt bridges and whatnot. Which is why I can say with complete honesty, I hate my life.
We’re in a place called Ponferrada. I’m not shitting, there’s a castle across the street from our hotel. And not just any castle, either. The thing belonged to the Templars. Castillo de los Templarios. I said I wasn’t going to get caught up in this thing, but man. This guy lived there, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar. It’s from, like the 1100s or something. How can I not get excited by that?
I feel like I’m failing as a pissed-off, angsty teen. Dillon would so throw this in my face. I hate him.
We had our meeting earlier. We picked a quiet corner near the castle and just stood around talking. Mostly, today was just about telling us what to expect when we start to walk tomorrow. And a list of dos and don’ts again. They’re not even going to force us all to walk together. Main rule is that the shit hits the fan if we don’t meet at the designated place when we make plans to eat lunch together, and, more importantly, we can consider ourselves out of the program if we don’t show up at the designated albergue each night.
Tomorrow, we set out on foot for the first time. We will walk to the castle to say goodbye to it and then take off in the opposite direction. And walk all day long. Unbelievable. I’m so not ready for this. I should have just smashed some of Mom’s stuff or something. Not like stealing a car got her attention anyway. She still doesn’t know I exist. Maybe if I had smashed her precious shit she would have noticed me. But whatever.
Mother-daughter relationships are so overrated anyway, right? I mean, who needs them?
And now some nutjob is knocking on my door. Awesome.
“What the hell do you… Oh. It’s you. Sorry.”
“Caught yourself,” Diego says, laughing. “Almost snapped there. Good save.”
“Yeah, well. It is kind of late. What do you want, Diego?”
He looks at his feet. He shuffles a bit and it’s adorable. “Well, I just, you know, wanted to thank you for the apology this morning. Didn’t get to thank you earlier. There was always someone around, and we didn’t get to sit near each other on the bus or in the piazza. So I just wanted to stop on my way to my room and say thank you.”
“Um, well. Thank you back, I guess. It’s no big deal. I just realized I was a little nasty to you. But I was in a serious bad mood, crap with my parents. Like I said, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry. Really.”
“Thanks. You don’t need to apologize again though. We’re good. I just wanted to thank you. Moms is always saying that the hardest thing is to say sorry when you’ve been difficult for no reason. She lectures me on everything. She says I need to thank people brave enough to apologize for their actions.”
“Wow.” I leave the door open, but walk back to the bed so he feels free to enter the room. “You really sound like a momma’s boy, Diego. Careful, you might get a reputation.”
“That’s one reputation I wouldn’t be sorry to have, Shania. I am my mama’s boy. You don’t know Puerto Rican boys, do you? We live for our mamas. I’d kill for her if she’d let me.”
He makes up the few steps between us and stands at my bedside. His smile is so amazing. I will not like this boy. I will not like this boy.
“Well, I guess that’s a good thing. Thanks for stopping by. Really. It was hard, but I knew if I didn’t say something this morning it would be too late and I’d have to walk this whole shitty thing alone and furious. It was apologize or suffer. Thanks for making it easy for me.”
“No problem. You should go easier on yourself, though. You’re not the big bad witch you try to be sometimes. I can tell.”
Again with the smile.
“Well, thanks.”
“No sweat.”
We stand in awkward silence for what feels like hours, but I’m sure only half a minute passes.
“Well,” he finally says. “I guess I should go. Just wanted to stop by. Tomorrow’s a big day. I’m guessing we’re all gonna need to be friends for this. Not going to be easy, I’m sure.”
“No shit. If I get one blister, I’m revolting. I hope you’re with me.”
“Ha. Moms would skin me alive if I caused any crap on this walk. I already hurt her enough, thanks.”
Wow. How hot is it that he thinks so highly of his mother? I never met anyone like this guy before in my life.
“Catch you later, Shania. Maybe we can eat breakfast together if we come down at the same time, eh?”
“Sounds good, Diego. Thanks.”
“No sweat. You can chill. I’ll shut the door on my way out. Goodnight.”
He walks back to the door and as he’s about to shut it, I call out, “Goodnight.”
He pseudo-salutes as the door shuts behind him.
What a guy. Maybe I pegged him wrong before. He’s so sweet.
I set out my hiking shoes, put my other shoes away in the bottom of my backpack, get ready for bed, and turn out the lights.
Lying here in the dark, I can hear people talking in the street. I know what it is. It’s Camino pilgrims walking past the hotel, laughing and talking together. I saw some earlier when we sat in the plaza beside the castle eating pizza. I can almost imagine myself being one of them. Walking with my backpack, talking with the rest of the delinquents… maybe even laughing every now and then.
I almost can’t wait to fall asleep, just so I can get out there and be one of them. I swear, I’m folding like a lawn chair. Thanks, Dillon. I can hear your told you so from here.
Chapter 9 — Troy Sinclair
And so it begins. Day one of my Camino walk. I had two showers. I woke up way too early just to have my first one. I’m a creature comforts sort of person. Who knows what the bathrooms will be like along the way? Gilbert already warned me this is the last normal hotel. He said we would even be staying in dorms sometimes, with bunk beds as far as the eye can see. Not looking forward to that.
It’s like he’s been trying to prepare us all for the worst.
I’m in the hotel breakfast area. When I first got here, I noticed this crazy contraption. It squeezes oranges, but it’s this gigantic plastic thing, all orange and green and filled with gadgety cranks
and gizmos. Total awesomeness. It makes me feel like I’m in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Obviously, I ordered orange juice. I Instagrammed that crap. Likes out the wazoo.
I was the first one down here. We’re supposed to be on the road at six-thirty. I wanted to get something to eat and start writing in my journal before we leave. Plus, alone time. It’s a thing, you know. And I, for one, like it.
After my orange juice, which was just as amazeballs as the contraption it came from, I get a magical café con leche and walk out to the outdoor patio. I take a seat and, okay, so I just stare straight ahead in awe for several minutes. Yeah. That’s a castle in front of me. A frigging tenth-century castle, no less. I read all about it on Wiki. Truth? I even have a picture of it pinned to the corkboard above my desk at home. I’m a geek.
The oldest thing in my city is that lady on the corner of Yonge and Bloor who sings “Alouette, gentille alouette” for spare change.
There are ramparts and flags flying at the top of all the towers, even a drawbridge. And holes used by cannons and archers to defend the keep. Phenomenal. And I get to look at it while I sip nectar of the gods. I don’t think it gets any better. All I need right now is for a gorgeous available boy to come sit down beside me and serenade me with a Kylie Minogue song.
Annnnnd, cue the clowns. Who should appear but Manny. His afro is delightful. And a tank top never looked so hot. Gray is his color. He’s carrying a café con leche and a roll. And he looks terribly lost, poor thing. He drops his backpack on the patio stones beside the entrance and looks around until his eyes finally land on me. I smile. He returns my smile and walks over to my table, seemingly relieved. Yum.
“Why, hello, Manny,” I say, attempting not to sound too coquettish. Don’t scare away the straight boy. I swear this is going to have to be the mantra to my Camino. Why do all three of the boys have to be gorgeous and straight? It’s just not fair in the least.
“Hey, dude.” Manny takes the seat beside me. At first I think, Oh my God, he’s sitting beside me. Then I realize he took that seat so he could see the castle. “Holy crap, that’s amazing. Hard to believe stuff like that even exists. And we’re sitting here in front of it. I mean, wow. How in the hell is this punishment, Troy?”
