“Okay, tell Claire too, please.”
“I’m not deaf. I can hear you. Everyone on the plane can hear you.”
“Thank you, Claire,” Meagan says. She looks from Greg to me and shrugs as if to say, what did I do? We all exchange knowing smiles as if to confirm to each other that Claire is a burden we’ll agree to carry together. Or maybe I’m just making that up. Then Greg’s beautiful face disappears.
Please, God, let there be a nice normal girl on this journey. One who is not homophobic and likes to talk. A lot. I need a bestie on this walk or I swear to God I’ll die.
I put my earbuds in, turn on my music, and, before the first song is over, I drift off.
Chapter 7 — Diego Nelson
Here goes nothing. Today we take the bus from Madrid to Ponferrada, with stops along the way to check out a few things. I guess it’s not all punishment.
Moms would kill me if she found out I skipped breakfast, so I’m the first one down here. We get on the bus at six. I couldn’t sleep, so here I am. Four-thirty in the morning, showered, and ready for breakfast.
I skip the coffee and go straight for the orange juice. The machine they have to make orange juice? Whoa.
Moms would be happy with my breakfast choice. An apple, yogurt, and a baguette with some weird jelly I never heard of. And, of course, a Spanish omelette. I can’t believe the hotel breakfast bar is open this early.
I’m sitting at my table in the corner with all my food before me when this guy walks in.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you with Gilbert, by any chance?”
“Um, yeah.” I tear the top off my yogurt, pick up my spoon, and start to shovel the yogurt into my mouth.
“Well, me too,” he says. “My name’s Troy. Mind if I sit with you?”
“Knock yourself out.” I point to an empty chair across the table and continue to eat.
“Thanks, man. What you in for?”
“Too soon, Troy,” I say. I smirk, but I kinda mean it too. I don’t even know the guy and I’m trying to follow Gilbert’s rules.
“Sorry. Guess you’re right. Meagan told us that’ll happen in group. Sorry. Forgot. I’m just gonna drop my bag here and grab something to eat.”
“Knock—”
“Yourself out. Gotcha.” He drops his bag on a chair and walks away. I watch him as I finish my yogurt cup and move on to my omelette. He gets the guy at the coffee station to make him a coffee. This seems to take a ridiculous amount of time. Then he grabs a croissant and butter and heads back to the table.
“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.”