The Spanish Club

Chapter 5

“What’re you thinking about?”

It was the second—possibly third—time Enrique had asked that, but Brianna just realized he intended the question for her. She attempted to make a vague but weird face at Stacia, hoping to provoke another round of the girl’s off-the-wall rambling.

But Stacia was gone.

Panic hammered inside Brianna’s chest as she scoured the Palace of the Jaguars for a dirty-blond ponytail. Winston surveyed a painting on the opposite wall and chuckled to himself. In a private corner, the sisters gossiped in whispers. She didn’t even see Dana. With no one left to do the talking, the temple shrank and closed in; it pushed her toward Enrique, the person she most desired and dreaded. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath quiet and soft on her cheek. Weakened, she stumbled back and slammed into the wall. “Where’s Stacia?”

“Why do you care?” He smirked. “Are you scared of me?”

Yes. “No. No.”

“Then tell me what you’re thinking. You’re always so quiet.”

Your lips, my lips. Touching. She blushed but said nothing.

He stepped back and his gaze shifted beyond hers, taking her happiness with it. Having caught his attention, she realized she couldn’t stay silent if she wanted to keep it.

“I guess I was just wondering…are your parents Mexican?” The stupidity inherent in that question slapped her as soon as the words left her mouth. Enrique raised his eyebrows and she cringed inside. “What I meant was…were your parents born here or in America?”

His face relaxed, the flirty self-assurance replaced by something unfamiliar. “My dad came to the States when he was eighteen, but my mom was born in Chicago. Some of my aunts and uncles and cousins still live in Monterrey.”

“Is that close?”

“No, it’s up north, not far from the Texas border.”

“Are you gonna try to see them while you’re here?”

He shook his head. “I already see them a couple of times a year.”

“So why are you taking Spanish? You sound fluent already.”

“Well, I learned Spanish from talking with my family, but I didn’t really learn it the way I’m learning it now, you know?”

She shook her head, curiosity pushing even more words from her mouth before she could second-guess them. “I didn’t know there was more than one way to learn a language.”

He leaned closer, and tiny flecks of hazel danced in his cider-colored eyes. “My father dropped out of school when he was twelve,” he whispered, “so he didn’t really learn how to read and write too good in Spanish. When he moved to the States, he learned English, went back to school, and now he can read and write in English better than Spanish. My mom only knows how to speak it. I already knew how to speak it, but I don’t know how to spell everything I say. I wanna be able to send letters to my grandparents and cousins. And relate to them better, you know?”