Chapter Ten

Tickets bought, my team leaves the hotel with Abba. The humid air fills my throat. I almost expect to see a coil of steam when I exhale.

“The nearest metro station is about a block away,” Andy tells us as we wait to cross the street. “A guy at the hotel mentioned it after dinner last night.”

“Xavi, right?” Isa asks. “I saw you two talking. He and his sister were chatting with some of the other kids at dinner. They seem nice.”

During a sleepover, Laurel told me the best way to feel comfortable around other kids is to join in their conversation. I try to imagine what Laurel would say here.

“My friend thought Xavi was cute.”

Gibs laughs even though I didn’t say anything remotely funny. “She can get in line.”

As soon as the walk sign flickers on, Andy takes off.

“Hey, Mr. Andy,” Abba calls. “Where’s the fire?”

“Sorry!” Andy waits for us to catch up, then guides us down a wide pedestrian lane with cars rolling past on either side.

I look back toward Hotel El Búho. As the owl stares down at me, I remember the story Laurel and I came up with yesterday: the Big Chicken of Barcelona. I pull out my phone, zoom in, and take a quick photo.

A few runners jog past, their shoes slapping a rhythm against the pavement. The scent of fresh bread drifts from a nearby bakery as I glance up at the buildings beyond the car lanes on either side of us. My gaze snags on a red and yellow striped flag that hangs from a balcony. It whips back and forth in the same breeze that blows my hair into my eyes. I let my phone capture all the people, each building—recording everything—so I can watch it later.

Abba hands us each a two-week, unlimited-ride metro pass when we get to the subway station.

As we head down a set of stairs, Abba steps beside me. “Hakol beseder?”

I shrug. The light, the heat, all the people: There are so many things to see, hear, and even smell. I already feel tired.

“Did you bring your headphones?”

I grip the stairs’ railing harder. “Yes.”

“Use them if you need to, metukah.”

Abba is just trying to look out for me, but if I slide on my headphones, my team might ask why I’m wearing them. It’s not a secret, but my throat gets tight just thinking about explaining sensory overwhelm in the middle of a busy subway station.

As we gather with the others at the bottom of the stairs, I change the subject. “Do you remember how to use the train, from when we lived in New York?”

“I do.” But Abba doesn’t say anything else.

“He’s not supposed to help us, remember?” Gibs turns to Abba. “You just follow us around and make sure we don’t get hit by a bus or something, right?”

“Something like that.” Abba chuckles.

“We’ll be fine,” Isa says. “My family took the subway all the time in New York.”

They lead the way, toward a row of silver gates. At some point between the hotel and subway station, they put in an earbud, but just one. The cord dangles, a string of white against their black T-shirt. Isa feeds their pass into a slot in front of the gate, which whirs and spits the ticket back out. Then the gate opens.

The rest of us copy Isa, then follow them into the station. When the tunnel forks, Isa pauses for Andy to read off directions he jotted down on his clue sheet.

I trail behind at the back of our group, memorizing everything he says:

Blue line: L5.

Direction: Vall d’Hebron.

One stop between us and La Sagrada Família.

We get on the next train that pulls up. I find the emptiest corner, then press my back against the car’s smooth wall. Nearby, my teammates and Abba hold on to a silver pole for balance as the train shoots forward.

A minute later, a woman’s tinny voice crackles over a speaker. “Próxima parada: Sagrada Família.”

“Dang.” Gibs whistles.

“Yeah.” Andy shields his eyes with one hand. “The travel sites all said it was big, but…”

“… this thing’s massive,” Isa finishes for him.

I glance up. The church is both tall and wide, with four spires rising to dizzying heights. Construction cranes hover overhead, although I can’t immediately see what part of the building needs work. The bright blue sky stands out against the church’s off-white exterior. Some parts look old, the texture of a dried-up honeycomb, others newer, with smoother stone.

Tourists line up. There are so many more people here than in our hotel’s neighborhood. Voices rise and fall. The heat makes my sleeves stick to my arms.

I look down and study the smooth sidewalk tiles. My teammates’ voices join the buzz of tourists. I thrum my fingers against my leg, wishing I was back in my quieter hotel room.

A hand waves in front of my face. I blink fast, shake my head a little, then look up at Gibs.

“What?”

“Aren’t you gonna even look at it?” he asks as the line moves forward.

“I did.” And then I looked down to avoid overwhelm, but I keep that part to myself.

Abba shows our electronic tickets to a worker at an enormous wood door.

The moment we get inside, everyone freezes. My teammates’ eyes move from the pews ahead of us to the stained glass on the church’s windows. Stone columns rise hundreds of feet above me. My eyes travel up one big column, then back down another.

“Wow,” Andy whispers.

Gibs nods. Isa removes their earbud.

Tourists walk up and down pew aisles. Around columns and under stained-glass windows. It’s just like outside, with one big difference: The noise stays at a soft hum.

“Want to split up and see if we can find the other parts of the clue?” Andy pulls out his sheet. “And don’t forget to take pics.”

I look at Abba as we split off, wondering who he’ll follow. But he ambles toward the next row of pews, taking pictures with his phone.

I follow Isa to one side of the church, where light pours through the stained-glass windows. Shades of green and blue dance across the floor, the pews, even my arms.

La luz y el silencio. Light and silence.

Isa walks ahead of me, eyes on the ceiling. Thinking of Isa as they, them, and their hasn’t been hard, even if I don’t get how to fit them into my diary’s pronouns category. But knowing what Isa meant when they said they’re not a boy or a girl? That part is like our scavenger hunt clue: I understand each word on its own but not what it means as a whole.

Isa looks back at me and I pretend to study the ceiling, too. I should be looking for things like wall paintings and warrior chimneys, but the moment Isa turns away I aim my phone at my free hand. I flick my wrist. Warmth forms in my stomach and my arms tingle as the light dances across my skin. I turn my hand more slowly, savoring each blue and green shimmer.

Dr. Talia calls it stimming whenever I rock my body, flap my hands, or focus on something shiny. It’s a way of centering myself. I rock to calm down and flap to let my happiness out. Stimming feels as natural as breathing, but it still gets me weird looks.

I click off my phone and catch up with Isa, passing a man and a woman along the way.

“How the heck did Gaudí build this?” Isa murmurs. “Like, do architects have to figure out what materials to use, or do they just come up with the design?”

My gaze rises, taking in all of the dramatic architecture in a spectrum of colors. I honestly have no idea. All I know is Laurel would adore this, but there’s no sign of her team anywhere.

“Because this is amazing,” Isa continues, voice rising. I glance over at the couple behind us, worried they’ll shush Isa, or ask us to leave for being too loud.

But Isa’s next words are quieter. “My family goes to Mass every week and our church is nice, but this is next level.”

I nod. “If my temple looked like this, I’d be too distracted to pay attention during services.”

“No joke.” Isa grins.

As we head toward the center of the church, I spot a mosaic on the floor, in front of a raised platform. It reminds me of my temple’s bimah, except instead of Torah scrolls behind a curtain, there’s a crucifix.

The couple’s conversation drifts over to us as we walk.

“This never gets old, does it?” The man speaks English, his accent nasal and British.

“Never,” the woman agrees.

“I’m going to snap a pic of that floor tile in case it’s what the clue meant.” Isa heads away from me.

I keep my eyes on them as they crouch down to study the tile, but something feels off.

“I do hope we can make time to see other Gaudí sites this go-around,” the woman says.

My ears perk up at the Gaudí mention. I watch the couple out of the corner of my eye, keeping a few feet ahead of them.

“Then let’s,” the man says. “We can grab a bite, then make our way to Passeig de Gràcia. It’s a scenic walk, as I recall.”

I freeze, and the couple stops fast to avoid running into me.

One deep, calming breath, then I sprint over to Isa. “We need to find Andy and Gibs.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

I scan the church, pulse pounding in my throat. But the boys aren’t in sight, and there’s nothing calm about the words that tumble out next.

“I got the clue wrong.” My voice rises without my permission. “We’re not in the right place.”