by Linda Gerber
“Bus,” Mateo said.
“I don’t have any more euros,” I told him.
“Oh, yeah,” Logan said. “I didn’t bring any money, either.”
“I have enough,” Mateo assured us.
“Okay. But how am I going to get out past all the cameras?”
Mateo frowned. “Service entrance?”
“We’ll borrow Bayani’s baseball cap,” Logan said. “And one of your dad’s jackets. Just until we get away from the building.”
“And at the beach?”
“No one cares who anyone is at the beach,” Mateo said. “It’s the perfect place to get lost.”
I hoped so. I sent them out of the room so I could put my swimsuit on under my clothes and then slipped into my dad’s room to grab his Windbreaker. Logan handed me Bayani’s hat when I met them in the kitchen.
I looked over to where Bayani was snoring on the couch. “How did you get it off his head without waking him?” I whispered.
Logan grinned. “Very carefully.”
“Are you sure we should do this?” I asked. It probably sounded like I was asking the guys, but really I was talking to myself.
“We won’t be gone long,” Mateo said.
“He probably won’t even miss us,” Logan added. “Watch this.” He walked over and stood next to the couch. “We’re going out for a little bit,” he said in a loud voice. “Is that okay, Yans?”
Bayani didn’t answer.
“He’s totally out,” Logan said. “Let’s go.”
Logan and Mateo left through the
front door to divert attention, and I slipped out through the courtyard and the back entrance. Even though I was wearing a ball cap with an American logo and was hunched in a Windbreaker when it was ninety degrees outside, no one seemed to be aware I was there. Which is what I’m used to.
We took the bus to the beach, and my mood lightened with every kilometer we put between us and the city. Until I asked Logan what he wrote in the note to Bayani.
He looked at me blankly. “I thought you were going to write the note.”
“I was getting changed. I thought you were going to write it.”
We both looked to Mateo, but he shook his head.
My carefree mood slipped a notch. I almost suggested that we should go back to the apartment. But then we turned a corner and there, outside the bus window, the wide, sparkling ocean stretched out before us. By the time the bus pulled over to the curb by the beach entrance, all thoughts of notes and Bayani and going back slipped away. The doors hissed open and a gentle breeze blew in from the ocean, bringing smells of salt and freedom.
It was a perfect day to be at the beach. The water was an impossible shade of blue, foaming prettily at the edge of the whitecaps that rolled in to shore. The sun warmed our skin. I left the Windbreaker and hat on the sand, and we kicked around the soccer ball for a while.
“I’m going in,” Logan announced, and stripped off his shirt and threw it onto the Windbreaker. Mateo did the same. I found myself trying not to stare, just like that morning back at Tío Alberto’s house.
Mateo grabbed me around the waist while I was distracted and started to drag me toward the water. I dug my heels into the warm sand and held back. “Wait! My clothes! I’ve got my suit on.”
Mateo let me go long enough for me to step out of my shorts and peel off my shirt, but the moment I dropped them onto the pile on the sand, he grabbed me again. I may have yelled and struggled, but of course I was loving every minute of it. He pulled me into the waves without much of an effort. I gasped as the cold water splashed up against my skin.
Logan charged in after us. We were about waist deep when he tackled me. I went down before I could take a breath, so I ended up with a mouthful of seawater.
“Wow, I’m sorry.” He helped pull me back up and patted my back until I stopped coughing. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I looked up at Mateo and winked and then turned back to Logan. “Thank you,” I said weakly. And then we pounced.
I’m not sure how long we were in the water. It could have been an hour. Maybe longer. We dunked each other and splashed and bodysurfed in the waves, and I kept feeling that zing! again and again and again. I wanted the day never to end.
But of course we had to get back before our parents were done at the consulate. So eventually, we stumbled out of the waves and collapsed onto the sand to let the sun dry us off. Next to me Mateo shook the water from his head and raked his dark hair back with his fingers. I sighed contentedly. If I could have chosen any way to spend one of my last days in Spain, this would have been it.
I wish I could say I completely forgot about Bayani and my parents and the whole circus I’d left behind at the apartment, but I would have been lying. I was able to put it out of my mind, though. For a while. A little worry bobbed to the surface as I braided my hair back and pulled my clothes on over my damp suit (not easy), but all I had to do was look out over the waves again and it sank back down, calm and quiet.
Until we went to lunch.
We were all starving after the swim, so we stopped for a quick bite at one of the tapas bars that dotted the beachfront. After the bright sun outside, the place seemed shadowy and dark and cool. We chose a table near the back that faced the bar’s wall-mounted television so the guys could watch the sports scores crawl across the bottom of the screen.
Someone had left a newspaper—one of those tabloid things—on the stool Mateo was going to sit on. He picked up the paper to put it on the bar and then did a double take as he glanced at the front page. “Ha! Look at this,” he said, returning to the table.
He spread the paper in front of Logan and me. And there I was. Several times. I recognized the first picture—it was the one of me coming out of the horchateria that had been in the other tabloid. But there was also a picture of me in the outdoor market, trying on sunglasses. Me, getting out of the cab with my suitcase. Me again, standing on the balcony outside the apartment hanging on to those stupid flowers.
“What does the caption say?” Logan asked.
“‘The many styles of Cassidy Barnett,’” Mateo read. And then he looked up at me, grinning. “They are calling you la chica moda.”
“Should that mean something to me?” I asked.
“It means a girl who is very fashionable.”
Logan laughed out loud. “Oh, sorry,” he said when I glared at him. But he didn’t stop chuckling.
“They say you have a ‘unique sense of style,’” Mateo read. “And that—”
“Hey, guys,” Logan said in a low voice. “Don’t look now, but I think we have company.” He rolled his eyes toward the front corner of the bar, where a paunchy bald guy was slurping down mushroom tapas and beer.
“So?” I asked. “It’s just some old dude.”
“He was watching us,” Logan whispered.
“He’s right,” Mateo added. “Look under his table.”
I snuck another peek at the old guy, and I could just make out what looked like a camera sitting on the chair beside him. “Do you think he followed us here from the apartment?” I asked.
Logan nodded. “Either that, or he recognized you here.”
“What are we going to do?” I hid my face behind my hand. “We can’t let him get pictures of us; we’re not supposed to be here.”
“Then let’s leave.” Logan pushed his chair back to stand, but I grabbed his arm.
“How do we do that? He’s sitting between us and the door. We can’t just sashay past him.”
“There’s got to be another way out,” Mateo said. “Maybe through the kitchen?”
He stood and casually walked back toward the restrooms. Logan and I followed. When we got to the employee’s entrance, we quickly ducked into the kitchen. The cook looked up from his cutting board and waved his knife at us.
“¡Niños! ¡Salga de aquí! Get out of here!” he yelled.
We didn’t stop until we pushed through the heavy back door and into the
bright sunlight once again.
I squinted and shaded my eyes. “Now what?”
“We should probably get back to the apartment,” Logan said. “Cass, where’s the hat?”
“Oh, man!” I groaned and turned toward the bar. “I left it in there. With my dad’s Windbreaker.”
“Bummer,” Logan said. “Come on.”
“No. That’s Bayani’s lucky hat. I have to go get it.”
“I’ll do it,” Mateo offered.
“No, I’ll do it,” Logan said. “Don’t all us foreigners look alike?”
“Well, don’t go back through the kitchen,” I said, pulling on his arm.
He turned to Mateo. “Take her up to the bus stop. I’ll meet you there.”
“But what if—” I started.
He waved me off. “Just go.”
Mateo and I didn’t get far before we saw the old guy again, walking quickly up the path toward us. Obviously, he had seen us slip out the back of the bar and followed us. At least Logan would be able to get in and out without any problem.
“What now?” I asked.
“Back the other way.” Mateo turned me around. And then he stopped. “Uh-oh.”
At first all I could see was Logan running toward us from the bar, but then I saw what Mateo was talking about. Behind Logan were two more photographers. “Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know.” Mateo grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
He ran from the path, pulling me along with him. I tried to keep up with him, but my feet were slipping in the sand and I had to grip my toes to keep from losing my flip-flops. Finally, I just kicked them off. The hot sand burned the bottoms of my feet. “Where are we going?”
He pointed up ahead to the concrete building on the beach that housed the men’s and women’s bathrooms. “They can’t follow you in there.”
By then, Logan had caught up with us. He didn’t even ask, but followed Mateo’s lead.
“He wants me to hide in the bathroom.”
“Good idea,” Logan said.
“But I don’t have any shoes on.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I held back. “Wait. This is stupid.” Mateo kept trying to pull me forward, so I yanked my hand away. “Stop!”
They each turned and looked at me. Mateo with concern, Logan with a kind of mild curiosity, like he wanted to see what it was I would come up with.
I looked back to where the photographers were closing in on us. Walking now, I noticed. Like predators when they think they’ve got their prey cornered. Well, Mateo and Logan didn’t have to be the prey. “If I go hide out in the bathroom, where does that leave you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Logan said. “They don’t want us. They want you.”
“Yeah, but now they’ve seen you with me.” I thought about what Cavin said. If the paparazzi didn’t get their story, they’d make one up. “If we keep running, they’ll think we’re doing something wrong.”
“We kind of are,” Logan reminded me.
“Cassidy….” Mateo nodded toward the photographers. They were just yards away from us now.
“Let me talk to them,” I said. “Then maybe they’ll go away.”
Mateo grabbed my hand again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You would—”
I yanked it away. “I wish everyone would stop trying to tell me what to do! I can handle this.”
“Señorita Barnett?”
I turned around. A tall, thin man was standing behind me, so close that I had to take a step back. His skin was unusually pale for someone who lived in a coastal town. Another, darker man stood next to him, his camera already raised, and the old guy from the bar was puffing up behind them.
“We’d like to ask you some questions.”
I’d never done an interview before.
Without my mom and dad, I mean. So I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that I didn’t want to get stuck hiding in the bathroom (yuck) like I’d been stuck hiding in the apartment. And I wasn’t going to leave Mateo and Logan hanging. I was trying to help them, but you wouldn’t know it by the way they were scowling at me. Like I had crossed over to join the enemy or something. Which was completely not fair.
I raised my chin and said, “What do you want to know?”
The questions started off innocently enough. When did I film the break-in, did I know what I was seeing, what did I do when we discovered what was on the tape. But then the pale guy started to get more pointed. What was I doing out so early in the morning? Why did I release the video online before going to the police? Did my parents put me up to it?
I looked to Mateo and Logan for help, but they just folded their arms and looked back at me. I had said I wanted to handle it, so they were going to let me handle it.
“Now, now,” the old guy said. “I am sorry, señorita. Luis forgets his manners.”
Right. Like this guy was any better. What kind of manners did it take to spy on someone?
“Which one of these young men,” he said in an oily voice, “is su novio? Your…. how do you say…. boyfriend?”
I’m sure my face lit up like a roman candle. “I…. we’re not…. I don’t….”
The dark man said something, and they all laughed. I don’t know what it was he said, but I caught one word: beso. Again, I don’t know much Spanish, but I knew that word from the songs I had downloaded. Beso means “kiss.” I don’t know how it’s possible that my face could have gotten any hotter, but by then it was smoldering. I turned again to the guys. Had they heard it? Could they see my reaction?
Logan looked back at me blandly. But Mateo. Mateo’s cheeks and the tips of his ears were turning bright red.
“That’s the one,” Old Guy said, pointing to Mateo.
I wanted to die from embarrassment right there. Except….
Why was Mateo blushing? Did he…. like me? Was he thinking about a kiss?
It will probably come as no surprise that I’ve never kissed anyone before. Other than my family, I mean. No biggie since I’m only twelve (almost thirteen). Besides, who was I going to kiss? I don’t meet a lot of guys on the road. Okay, I don’t meet any guys. Worth kissing, anyway. Not that I’d given kissing much thought, but suddenly there it was, stamped into my brain.
“We need to go now,” Logan said.
And, surprisingly, the photographers let us go without following. Which should have tipped me off that something wasn’t right. But I was too busy imagining the possibility that Mateo could be my first real kiss. It was hard to think about anything else.
It wasn’t until we got to the bus stop that we realized Mateo had lost all his money. My guess is it fell out in the sand when we dumped our clothes to go swimming. However it happened, we found ourselves with no bus fare and a four-mile walk into town.
“It’s not so bad,” I said, trying to be upbeat. “I’m sure we’ve all walked way more than this before.” Although not in flip-flops (which Logan had retrieved for me) and not with angry parents waiting on the other end.
As if that was the only thing we had to worry about.
By the time we reached the city, the sun was starting to inch its way lower in the sky. Mateo and Logan hadn’t said much the whole time we were walking. I could only guess it was because they were mad at me for talking to the photographer guys. I kept saying I was sorry, and they kept shrugging it off. But really? You’d think if it was “no big deal” like Logan kept saying, they could let it go.
As the buildings grew bigger and the sidewalks more crowded, Logan handed me the hat and jacket he’d retrieved from the tapas bar. “You better put these on,” he said.
I tucked my hair up under the hat, but it was too hot for the Windbreaker, so I just tied it around my waist. Logan watched me and frowned, but he didn’t say any more about it.
Which is just as well, since it wouldn’t have made any difference. We had just passed the Plaza del Ayuntamiento when we noticed how people were staring at us
. A lady close by whispered something behind her hand to her companion. They both watched us pass as if we were glowing neon orange.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Mateo.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Uh, guys….” Logan tugged on my arm.
I turned around and saw a policeman at Logan’s elbow.
“Cassidy Barnett?” he asked.
I’ve never been afraid of the police before, but suddenly a chill washed over me even colder than the ocean. “Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”
“Come with me,” he said. “We’ve been looking for you.” And then he gave Mateo and Logan a stern glare. “And you, guapos.”
Travel tip: In Spain, it is generally accepted for several people to talk at once. Expect to be interrupted.
Cavin was standing just inside the door with his phone pressed to his ear. “… has come home. Yes. She’s here now….” He cupped his hand over the receiver and mouthed, “It’s the network. They’re happy you’re safe.” He gave Logan a hard stare, and then he turned back to the phone. “No. I don’t know about an interview quite yet. The Barnetts don’t want…. yes, I understand.”
Bayani sat with his head in his hands. He looked miserable. Sick, even. He glanced up when I walked into the room, and you could almost see the tension rolling off him. My stomach curled inward. That was my fault.
I probably should have gone and hugged him. He looked like he needed a hug. But I couldn’t face him. Not after what we’d done. I hadn’t thought of how it would make him feel to find me gone. I hadn’t thought what our disappearance would mean to him. I hadn’t thought of anything but seeing that stupid beach.
Near the kitchen, Dad stood talking to a man in a dark suit. He broke away when he saw Mom and me and rushed over to our side. “Cassidy.” He hugged us both and then held me at arm’s length. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried we were? When we saw those reports about you running away—”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “I didn’t mean— Wait. What? I wasn’t running a—”
Señor Ruiz-Moreno was at our side. “Davidson,” he said, presenting the policeman who had brought me home. “This is Agente Agosto-Mares. He’s the police officer who brought them home.”
