Chapter Twenty-Two
People. Everywhere.
Flooding out of the station.
Taking pictures.
Horns honking.
Pigeons squawk, squawk, squawking.
Performers twirl in shiny costumes.
Meritxell points toward the familiar MERCAT: ST JOSEP sign. “The boquería has good food and drinks.”
People pack the boquería’s entrance, standing shoulder to shoulder, brushing past each other.
My hands shake as we cross the street.
“Hoo-wee.” Mrs. West fans herself in front of a restaurant at the edge of the market. “I think I’ll stay here and order a cold drink. Y’all have fun and come get me when you’re done.”
Panic grips my ribs and squeezes. She’s really going to leave us alone in this?
I slip my backpack off one shoulder and reach for my headphones. At least there’s one thing I can be in control of here.
“This way.” Meritxell seems to smile directly at me as she waves us forward.
My fingers brush against my headphone case, hesitating. Meritxell and Xavi quickly disappear into the crowd. The other girls form a single-file line and follow them, phones out and snapping photos. I slide my bag back into place.
Shopkeepers call out to potential customers:
¡Marisco!
¡Dulces y chocolate!
¡Jamón Ibérico!
Sweat beads along my back. The air feels thick.
I’m glad I just have to follow, because I can’t decide where to look. Noises warp into colors that pulse behind my eyes. Clicks, clacks, thuds, and slams come at me from every direction in oranges, browns, yellows, reds.
My phone pings against my leg, a vibration that stings. I silence it.
By the time we come to a stop, my whole body aches.
I reach into my backpack a second time, slipping on my headphones. The noise level drops. Immediate relief.
Meritxell pauses in front of rows of colorful drinks: a rainbow of juice cups. She and Xavi pay for a pair, then wait for us to choose.
“I tried these when my family was here last year,” Madison says. “Strawberry’s the best.”
Laurel reaches for one of the pink drinks.
Sophie-Anne reaches in the same direction, but hesitates, glancing at Madison and then back to the cups before choosing orange.
Laurel turns to me. “Which one do you want, Elle?”
I study the cups, trying to guess what flavor lines up with each color.
A hand waves in my face. “Helloooo?”
I step back fast, blinking Madison into focus.
“It’s kind of rude to have those on when we’re hanging out.” She points to her ears, then mine. “Can you even hear anything we’re saying?”
Isa told me no one would mind if I wore my headphones earlier this week. Now Madison’s saying the opposite.
“I can hear you.”
“O-kay.” One simple word, but it transports me back to our first night in Barcelona. My stomach twists. I look up and spot Meritxell, watching us.
I slide my headphones off. Slip them back into my bag.
“Did you want to get a drink, Elle?” Laurel asks again.
The other girls pay and we move on, stopping at a kiosk so Madison can buy chocolates shaped like a bouquet of roses.
Laurel buys a small jar of saffron for her mom at a spice stand, then Sophie-Anne orders a paper cup filled with jamón jerky slices. She offers it around. Madison and Laurel take some. Xavi takes a lot. I shake my head when she stops in front of me.
“Oh, sorry! I forgot you don’t eat certain foods.”
“That’s right.” The list fills my thoughts, each word parading behind my eyes. “No pork, no shrimp—”
“Your dad does.”
All of us turn to Madison.
“What?” I swallow hard, trying to keep the rest of my list down.
“He ordered shrimp paella when we went out for dinner. Or maybe it was prawn.”
“No he didn’t.” I take a shallow breath. “He wouldn’t.”
She shrugs. “Except I saw him.”
“Okay, y’all. It doesn’t really matter, right?” I turn, expecting Laurel, but it’s Sophie-Anne who spoke. Nearby, Laurel sips her drink, completely silent.
Needles again. This time they don’t just prickle, they burrow deep into my skin.
We stop in front of a tapas stand for Xavi. I had such good plans for today. I was going to talk to Meritxell, ask her about the Catalan language. Andy and Xavi were supposed to hang out.
Instead, I’m somewhere that’s too-bright, too-loud, too-many-smells. My throat’s too tight to talk to anyone, and Xavi ducks in and out of aisles, barely spending time with us.
It doesn’t really matter. That’s what Sophie-Anne said. But all of this matters to me, from the last-minute decision to change plans to Madison’s claim about Abba.
The sounds start building up in my head again. Soon, my ears pound in time with my pulse. Conversations buzz around me, but the words mean nothing.
“Are you okay?”
It takes me a second to focus on Laurel, but I can’t answer. Can hardly understand her.
She turns to Sophie-Anne and Madison, who’ve stopped to take photos of dried peppers hung up like decorations. They look over at me. Meritxell and Xavi stand nearby, watching, watching, watching.
Laurel takes my hand. It stings, but I don’t have the energy to pull away.
I keep my eyes on my feet, letting her guide me back to Mrs. West. We all leave the boquería together.
My pulse still pounds. I narrow my eyes to keep the light and colors out.
But sneakers still squeak on the pavement.
The hot air clogs my lungs.
Coins clink in performers’ cups.
So many different languages, spoken all at once.
Then, quiet, except for some indistinct, whispered words from Sophie-Anne.
Or maybe it’s Madison.
Air-conditioning.
Little by little, the world comes back to me.
I open my eyes a bit more. Dresses and skirts hang from every wall. Peasant-style blouses at the center of the shop, sandals lined up on a rack near the back. Our group is alone here, except for the store clerk.
“Is this better, Elle?”
Words make sense again. Relief floods through me. “Yes.”
“Okay, good.” Laurel lets out a long breath, shoulders lowering. “Want to look at some dresses while we’re here?”
What I really want to do is rock, but not in front of Mrs. West. Not in front of Sophie-Anne, or Madison, and especially not Meritxell and Xavi. When I don’t answer, Laurel waves me toward a row of dresses.
As she holds a purple dress up in front of a mirror, I touch a blue skirt’s gauzy, soft fabric.
“That’s super pretty, Ellen.” Sophie-Anne stops beside me.
“Yeah,” Laurel agrees. “That color would look great on you.”
“Are you thinking of buying it?” Sophie-Anne asks.
“No.” I frown. “Skirts are uncomfortable.”
I know this is an opinion, not a fact. Something Dr. Talia says I should try to distinguish when I’m having a conversation. Just because I don’t like something doesn’t make it bad.
“Oh.” Sophie-Anne blinks. “Okay.”
Before I can apologize—or decide if I even need to—Sophie-Anne’s already gone, heading over to Madison.
Nearby, Meritxell and Xavi talk in low tones.
“I think we will go now,” Meritxell says. “We don’t want to buy dresses. Especially Xavi.”
Xavi rolls his eyes, and I can’t help feeling he would’ve had a much better time with Andy.
“But thank you for inviting us.” Meritxell looks at me when she says this. My chest doesn’t flutter. All I feel is heavy. Tired.
The other girls wave goodbye, then return to their shopping.
Soon, Laurel drapes two dresses over one arm. Sophie-Anne and Madison head toward a changing area with their own selections. Laurel hesitates.
“I’m sorry today hasn’t been fun for you.” She keeps her voice down, like she’s sharing a secret. “Want to have a sleepover tonight, like we used to?”
“But we’re already in the same hotel room.”
“Well, yeah,” Laurel says. “But we can make it feel like a sleepover. Like, we can stream a movie or listen to music. Whatever you want.”
The knots in my stomach loosen. “All right.”
“I’m going to try these on.” Laurel holds up the dresses. “Come with me?”
A Saturday night sleepover, just like we used to do. I take a deep breath, letting the cool air settle in my chest. The quiet in the shop soothes me even more. I follow Laurel back to the dressing area, feeling lighter already.