by Linda Gerber
I pushed my dripping hair out of my eyes and turned slowly to confirm visually what I already knew. Not more than ten feet away stood Mom and Dad, both covered in tomato puree. They were cheerfully talking to the plastic-wrapped camera Bayani (all goopy and red—except for his Yankees hat, which was also in plastic) was pointing at them.
Not good.
I spun around, but it was no use. There was no place to hide. I wouldn’t even have to look to know the expression on my mom’s face when she saw me. And she would see me. It was just a matter of time.
Mateo stopped spraying me with the hose. “Are you all right?”
I took a quick peek behind me before answering. Which was a mistake. Because by then, Mom was looking directly at me. And I was right about the expression.
I stared out the window and watched
the hills roll by. My skin still itched and stung from the tomatoes, even though I’d gotten a real shower back at Tío Alberto’s house. My insides stung worse. I couldn’t believe my mom and dad were being so unreasonable. They grounded me. Grounded! Like I was three instead of almost thirteen. The way Mom talked about it, I was supposed to feel lucky she hadn’t stuck me on a plane that moment and sent me to Gramma’s.
But I didn’t feel lucky, because she stuck me on the train instead. So while everyone else was hanging out in Buñol for the day, I had to go back to Valencia with Victoria. It was so unfair.
“This has been a quiet ride,” she said.
“Oh.” I pulled my attention from the passing scenery. “Sorry.” I meant it. Because if it was not fair that I had to go back to the apartment, it was double not fair that Victoria had to be the one to take me. I mean, she was my tutor, not my babysitter. But if she was mad about it, she didn’t let it show.
“Did you have fun?” I asked. “At the fight, I mean.”
“It was interesting,” she said. “And oddly satisfying.”
“I know! I never thought it would feel so good to throw food at people.”
“I haven’t released that much aggression in years.”
“Really?” I asked. “When was the last time?”
She laughed. “That’s another story for another day.”
I would have liked to make her tell me more, but by then the train began to slow down. We were coming into Valencia.
Since we both had our luggage with us, Victoria said we could take a taxi to the apartment. We were waiting for a cab near the taxi stand when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Mateo. My stomach went both melty and cold when I saw his name on the screen. I turned my back to Victoria and opened the text.
heard u had to go—lo siento—not as much fun without u—te veo mañana
That’s it, but that was all it took. I didn’t even know what all of it meant, but I didn’t care. It was enough to know he was thinking of me. He missed me. I imagined Mateo back in Buñol, ignoring Logan to send the text, and that made it even better. I practically floated into the taxi. I was so happy, nothing could bother me. Not Mom and Dad’s overreaction to the tomato-fight episode. Not Victoria deciding we should “make our free afternoon a productive one.” Not the idiot photographer who yelled my name as I was stepping out of the cab and snapped a picture while I was making a stupid face (practically blinding me in the process).
Mateo and I texted back and forth several times that afternoon until Victoria reminded me it was rude to keep texting when she was sitting right there.
Especially in the middle of a lesson.
Victoria left when my mom and dad got home. I let them lecture me about the tomato fight again (really—how many times did I have to say I was sorry?) and then I excused myself so I could go unpack my suitcase and set up my room.
I was just getting ready for bed when Mateo texted me again.
buenas noches y dulces sueños
I knew buenas noches meant “good night,” but I wasn’t sure what the rest of it meant. Still, it was enough to send me to sleep with a smile on my face.
My smile disappeared the next morning when I found out I was still restricted. My mom and dad weren’t going to let me go out with the crew for the day’s shoot. I tried to tell myself it didn’t bother me, being left behind, but I wasn’t very convincing. I always went on location with the crew. I guess Mom and Dad already had their B-roll footage, so they didn’t need me anymore. So much for my big debut.
The more I thought about it, the more upset I became, until I couldn’t even stand to be in the apartment with them. So I asked for permission to go down and read in the courtyard until Victoria got there.
My mom gave me a stern look. “To the courtyard and no where else, do you understand?”
I promised, and then escaped before she could see me roll my eyes and mimic her words. Or notice that I hadn’t taken a book with me.
In the courtyard, I found a stone bench to sit on overlooking a miniature fountain. I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sky, listening to the water gurgle and bubble. The sun warmed my skin and glowed red through my eyelids. In another hour or so, it would be too hot to be comfortable, so I might as well enjoy it while I could.
My mind kept going back to Buñol. I smiled, remembering Mateo with his bed head, standing in the hallway at Tío Alberto’s house. And the night before, lighting the tracas, watching the fireworks, lying back on the grass. A zing shot straight through me again as I remembered the way our heads touched. I’d never felt like that around a guy before.
I wondered if Mateo would come by the apartment after the day’s shoot. I had looked up the words in his message the day before. Te veo mañana meant “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Of course, he probably didn’t know I was grounded. How humiliating! I hoped I’d get to see him once the shooting was done. If I was lucky, there might even be more fireworks….
“Morning, Cass. How’s the form?”
I jerked in surprise, and my eyes flew open. Logan stood in front of me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. “Form?” I shaded my eyes to look up at him. “What does that even mean?”
He laughed and sat down on the bench beside me, nudging me over in the process. “You know, how’s the form…. What’s up? How’s it going?”
“Oh. It’s going okay, considering. What are you doing here?”
“Why? You want me to leave?”
“No. I mean, aren’t you going out on the shoot?”
He squinted up at the sun. “Nah. Left behind, same as you, I expect. Da says it’s back to lessons if I’m to stay on.”
Stay on? I turned to him. “So you’re…. back with the show for good?”
He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “Sure. I don’t know. I think so.”
“What happened with your mom? How’d you get her to change her mind?”
“I didn’t.” The easy tone had gone out of his voice, and it became guarded.
The pang of sadness I felt at La Tomatina returned. Back when Logan had been with the show before, we could have talked about anything. “Then what—”
“I didn’t change her mind. It was her new husband what changed it for her.”
“Oh.” I wished I hadn’t asked. His parents’ divorce had always been a sore subject with Logan. It sounded like it still was.
The silence stretched between us, filled with unasked questions. Finally, Logan bumped my shoulder with his. “I am glad I came back, though, Cass.”
The irritation from the day before melted away, and I bumped his shoulder in return. “So am I.”
Then my throat got achy and tight and I couldn’t say any more. I was glad…. but I also felt like crying. Because, now that Logan was really back, I knew it was going to hurt that much worse if my mom and dad decided to send me off to Ohio.
So I’d just have to make sure that didn’t happen.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go get ready for Victoria.”
I’m pretty sure Victoria was wondering what had happened overnight to transform me into the enthusiastic
, attentive student I became that morning. She must have thought her lecture about texting really paid off, because my phone buzzed at least three times while we were doing math and I didn’t even look at it once—even though I was dying to get a text from Mateo. I was determined to be perfect, though, so my mom and dad wouldn’t have any other reasons to get rid of me.
All that perfection must have been really annoying, judging by the look on Logan’s face. But if he thought it was bad sitting by a teacher’s pet, he should have felt what it was like being one. Even though I loved Victoria, kissing up to her all morning was making me nauseous.
By the time a knock came at the door, Logan and I both jumped up to answer it, welcoming the distraction.
“No,” Victoria said, motioning for us to sit back down. “You keep working. I’ll get it.”
I sank back onto my seat, listening to the click of her heels against the tiles in the entryway, the thunk of the lock sliding back, the door opening.
“What’s wrong with you?” Logan hissed, jabbing me in the side with his pencil.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?”
“Stop being such a priss. I don’t even know you.”
“Oh, like you would—”
But then I stopped when I heard the familiar voice from the hall.
“May I speak with Cassidy please?” Mateo asked.
“Well….” Victoria sounded unsure, like she was actually considering whether I should be allowed to see Mateo, given my incarceration.
“I need to see her,” he said. “It is important.”
He wanted—no, he needed to see me! I shot a triumphant look at Logan and leaned back in my chair so that I had a clear line of vision to where Mateo and Victoria were facing off in the entryway. “Back here!” I called.
Victoria shot me a look—probably disappointed that her perfect student had disappeared—but she stepped away from the doorway and let Mateo come inside.
I grabbed my pencil and tried to strike a studious pose as Victoria led Mateo to the kitchen. Glancing up from under my lashes, I said, “Mateo, how nice to—”
He didn’t even pause to say hi to Logan or me. “When did you record the video for your blog?” he blurted.
Disappointment elbowed in on my confusion. My blog? “I’m sorry…. what?”
He scraped back a chair and straddled it, facing me. “The video,” he said. “From Tuesday’s post. Near Plaza de la Virgen.”
It took me a moment to process what he was saying. He had told me he’d looked up my blog before I got to Valencia, but I didn’t realize he was still reading it. I might have smiled if it hadn’t been for the urgency in his tone.
“What’s this about?” Victoria asked.
“I tried to text,” Mateo said. “You have to see this.” He shot a quick glance around the room. “Do you have a computer I can use?”
Now I was really confused. “I can get my laptop,” I offered, pushing back from the table.
Once again, Victoria stopped me. “Mine’s right here.” She pulled her laptop from her bag and booted it up, then slid it across the table to Mateo.
He quickly typed in the URL for my blog, and even though I still didn’t know what was going on, I held my breath as the page slowly loaded.
Mateo scrolled down past the banner and the show stuff at the top of the page to my entry from the day before. He opened the video and started to fast-forward through it. Seeing myself in rapid-jerk action on the screen made me feel more than a little self-conscious. When the video me was standing next to the Turia Fountain, Mateo hit Pause.
“There,” he said, pointing at the screen. “There it is.”
Victoria, Logan, and I all leaned closer. It was that stupid van that had pulled in front of the Door of the Apostles. I squinted at the shadowed blobs near Mateo’s finger and shook my head. “What are we looking for?”
“There was a robbery at the cathedral,” Mateo said. “I think you got it on film.”
Victoria must have called my
parents. I don’t know. I was too shocked and confused and kind of excited to notice. Mateo and Logan and I played that section of the video again and again until suddenly my mom and dad rushed through the door, followed by Señor Ruiz-Moreno, followed by Cavin, followed by Bayani. They all crowded around the table and watched in silence as we played the video once again.
“It could be something,” Cavin said hesitantly.
“I can’t tell.” My dad shook his head.
“I could enhance the image,” Bayani offered, “if I can access the editing program.”
Logan elbowed me in the side. “Look at you,” he said, grinning. “Always causing a fuss.”
I was still a beat behind, and it took me a second too long to realize he was teasing. By the time I smacked him on the arm, my hesitation made him laugh. And that made me want to smack him again. I might have, too, if Bayani hadn’t started messing around with the video just then.
On the screen, the three dark blobs I had seen began to take shape. I stared as they turned into men. Two of the men were wearing dark blue jumpsuits and white gloves. It looked like they were handing something to the third blob, a man in a business suit, wearing dark glasses. “There,” Mateo breathed. “Contrabandistas.”
“What’s a contrabandista?” Logan asked.
“A thief,” Señor Ruiz-Moreno said. “A smuggler. These men are artifact smugglers.”
It could have been my imagination, but it felt like we all got caught in a freeze-frame for a minute. No one said a word. No one moved. It got so quiet that my shallow, quick breaths sounded like gusts of wind in my ears. My heartbeat was thunder.
And then all at once, the moment ended and chaos rushed in to take its place. Everyone started talking at the same time.
“… call the authorities.”
“… too dark to tell….”
“… the rest of the day off.”
“… could be nothing.”
I felt like I was outside the room, watching from a distance. A strange twist in my stomach told me I was in deep trouble. But this time it wasn’t my mom’s and dad’s anger I was afraid of. If those men were really robbers and they knew I caught them on video….
As if he could read my mind, Logan bumped my arm with his. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they didn’t see you.”
I nodded, afraid that if I tried to answer, he would hear the fear in my voice. I didn’t think I could deflect a tease just then.
From the corner of the room, Mateo caught my eye. I’m sorry, he mouthed.
I didn’t know if he meant he was sorry I had accidentally filmed a robbery, sorry he had mentioned it, or sorry for the drama it had created. It didn’t matter. None of it was his fault. It’s okay, I mouthed back.
I hoped I was right.
Travel tip: Always respect the local authorities. They do not have a sense of humor.
We spent the afternoon at the local police precinct. Señor Ruiz-Moreno went with us in case we needed a translator, but most of the officers we met spoke at least passable English. The first officer we talked to took my statement with a bored expression (which, from what I’ve read, is considered very bad international manners), but he perked right up when my dad showed him the video Bayani had enhanced. That first officer showed the video to another officer, and he showed it to someone else.
Officer Number One took us into a small, stark room and made us sit on uncomfortable chairs around a worn, wooden table. “You wait here,” he said.
The twisty feeling came back again. Maybe it was because of the silent looks my mom and dad kept passing back and forth. Maybe it was because of the two-way mirror that stretched along one wall of the room we were in. Or maybe it was because I knew I was going to have to explain once again how I had shot the video after sneaking out of the apartment without telling my parents. I could almost feel Ohio’s buckeye branches wrapping around me.
Finally, the door opened again and a tall, thin
man with gray-specked black hair and bright, black eyes swept into the room with a file folder tucked under his arm. He greeted my mom and dad each with a broad smile and a nod. “Buenos días. So very pleased to meet you. It is not every day I am entertaining American television celebrities.”
“Hola, Paulo,” Senior Ruiz-Moreno said.
“Hector. ¿Que hay? They told me you were here. And you”—he turned to face me—“must be our investigative journalist.”
He laughed at his own humor, and I couldn’t help but smile, even though I didn’t see what was so funny.
“You have done us a great service, niña. With the many cathedrals in Valencia, artifact smuggling is an evil we have been battling for years. Your recording may help us to—how do you say in America?—‘Bust up the bad guys?’”
This time I laughed. The twisting in my stomach loosened up a notch.
“Can you tell who it is in the video?” Mom asked.
The detective nodded. “The two men in the jumpsuits were easily matched in the database. The third, we cannot be certain. The image was a bit grainy, and of course he is wearing the dark glasses. But let me show you something.” He opened the file and pulled out a notebook-paper-sized photo. “Hector,” he said, sliding the picture across the table. “Do you recognize this man?”
Señor Ruiz-Moreno’s eyes widened for an instant, and he glanced up at the detective quickly. “Could it be Alejandro García-Ramírez?”
“It could.” Detective Paulo slid the photo toward my mom and dad. “Perhaps you have heard the name?”
My dad shook his head.
Señor Ruiz-Moreno explained. “You’ve probably heard of his holding company, AGR.”
“Oh,” Dad said, his face betraying nothing. “Yes.”
“Around here they call him El Jefe,” the detective said. “It means ‘the Boss.’” He returned the file to the folder. “For some time we have had reason to believe he has been involved in a variety of illegal activities, but we have been unable to prove anything. This”—he patted the folder—“could be the chisel we need to carve away his facade.”
