“Do you haff Hello Kitty tooth-brusshhh?”

Randy, my boyfriend Shane’s best friend, has spent the last fifteen minutes faking a really bad Arnold Schwarzenegger accent while making me list every single thing I’m taking on my trip.

He’s such a madman. I have no idea why he’s using the accent. Randy’s about as far from Arnold as you can get. With spiky, jet black hair, ebony eyes, and a huge build, he could pass for Samoan, even though he’s mostly Mexican with a Chinese grandmother. Maybe he just saw Terminator. But he won’t quit talking like this.

Not one to stay quiet when she knows an answer, my mom pipes up. “Oh, Kim hasn’t used a Hello Kitty toothbrush since she was eight.” I give her a sidelong glance, then pretend to think about it, playing along with Randy.

We’re hanging out in my parents’ living room. I leave tomorrow on the biggest trip I’ve ever taken in my life, and this is the last time I’ll see all of them for months. When I agreed (sorta) to stay home and go to state school, it was to save money. But my parents weren’t planning on this scholarship I bagged for best grades in Spanish. I did that one on my own. So, I’m headed to school overseas, and I’ll live with a family in the southern part of Spain, on an olive farm just outside the city of Granada.

Finally, I’m getting the college experience everyone else has.

Randy’s imitation has put my parents in stitches. Shane’s alternating between fidgeting and laughing, his laugh higher-pitched than usual. All afternoon he’s been running his hands through his russet brown hair. His hair’s freshly cut, in the style of the photo on the barber’s wall—three down, middle picture, a fade that’s longer on the top than the sides. It looks good on him. But with the exception of his weakness for nerd shirts like the one he’s wearing saying “Gamers don’t die, they respawn,” Shane always looks good.

I should be grateful that Randy’s making me go through my bags—even though he’s doing it in a wacky way—because he’s calming my nerves and at the same time fulfilling my compulsion to check and double-check everything before I go. But I’d really rather do this without an audience, since no one here needs to know that I packed a bullet. The personal kind, not the weapon kind—I’m not messing with the TSA.

Having an agent pull out a sex toy would be mortifying, though. I shudder.

Focusing on the toothbrush, I shake my head and snap my finger. “Darn. I totally forgot. I’ll just run to Hy-Vee Pharmacy since obviously they don’t have toothbrushes over in Europe. Never would have thought I needed one.” I gesture at the toiletries kit. “Oh, wait. It’s in there.”

“See, Linda, you don’t need to worry about her. She’s ready,” says my dad.

I give him a small smile.

Shane clears his throat and bounces his knee while he sits on the couch. He’s been unnaturally quiet because he doesn’t want me to go away. It messes up his plans.

And is he ever a planner. He’s an accounting major, which means he’s super orderly and meticulous. Like, he has a written five year plan for life after school, which lists me under “PERSONAL.” His goal is to get his CPA license and go work at a big accounting firm. He works out on a schedule. Consumes protein powder instead of food that you chew. Posts memes daily on his Instagram urging others to stay focused on their goals.

Me studying overseas wasn’t scheduled, and he doesn’t know how to deal.

Since kindergarten, when Shane punched stupid Tommy Nilson for pulling my hair and turned around and gave me a dandelion, we’ve been inseparable. He’s been my rock, my place to hang, my someone. “You okay, Shane?” I ask. “Need some water?”

“No. I’m good. Just kinda wondering what it will be like without you at school.”

I squeeze his bicep. “It will be okay. We’ll still talk.”

“Yeah …” he trails off.

Poor Shane. Except for this scholarship, I never would have imagined doing something without his input, because he’s so much better at organizing than me. I just do the best I can.

My mom’s exactly like him. Since I’m the only child, and I grew up before her weight loss business took off, she filled my calendar with after-school activities. I had something every night of the week, although none of it stuck with me. Hockey (no good, since I duck when the puck comes at me), gymnastics (no balance, so I fall off the beam), Mandarin (uh, just no), and after-school candy striping at the Lutheran Hospital when I was old enough (I hate the smell of disinfectant). All in all, although she’s pushed me into a well-rounded education that looks good on a résumé, I have no idea what I want to do. Really, I just want to finish school and get out. To where and to do what, I don’t know. Some place where no one will make me recite the list of things I’ve packed.

Around all these overachievers and body vigilantes, Randy balances us out. Next to Shane, he’s topsy-turvy and erratic—but erratically fun, and I love hanging with him.

Randy guffaws and pushes my shoulder. Then he scowls, getting back into his Austrian bodybuilder persona. “Pass-port?”

I point to my security belt laid out on the coffee table. “Check.”

“Do you haff das plane tickets?”

Holding up the printout, I say, “All set.”

“Clean under-pants?”

Like I’d ever show him those. I pull my hair over my face and gesture in the direction of my bigger duffel. “Yes.” With a puff, I blow my hair away.

“Lap-top?”

“Check. In my backpack.” I eyeball Mom and Dad. “I’ve set you all up on Skype, too.”

My mom straightens the pillow next to her on the couch. “I hope I’ll be able to work it. New apps make me nervous. I never know if I’m getting a virus.”

“It’s easy, Mom. Honestly, you’ll get it. You run a company.”

She sniffs and runs her hand through her stick-straight light brown bob. “I have staff.”

Randy continues, “Electronic doo-hickey to make your gadgets not fry in Europe?”

I bust up laughing. His stupid mock accent broke on that one. “Seriously, Randy? Doohickey? Isn’t it against bro code to not know the name?”

He steps back, offended. “Well, do you have it?”

“In the backpack.”

“Then, hasta la vista, baby.”

Everyone groans. “Oh my God, that’s the worst joke ever,” I say and then crack up uncontrollably.

He claps his hands twice like chop-chop. “You’ll be back.”

As I picture my upcoming semester in my mind, a flutter wings its way up my torso and out my fingertips. I’ve been walking on clouds ever since I found out I could study Spanish-English translation at the University of Granada. Finding myself giddy for no apparent reason. Smiling just because. Fantasizing about what I’d see, all the culture I’d soak up. I’ll go there for a semester, then return and finish up school in June.

But for now, something calls me to Spain. It sounds so passionate, with traditions and a bit of danger. I want to try squid for the first time. Inky, messy, squid. I’ll be off running with the bulls in Pamplona—and hopefully not getting gored in the process.

Unlike here. Iowa’s humdrum. Every city center features the same chain restaurants. Nothing’s too weird.

Honestly, the only damper on my upbeat mood is how Shane’s taking this. In contrast to my explosion of rainbows, ever since Shane found out I was going, a shadow of gloom hovers over his head like a cartoon cloud. He’s been a total Eeyore. I hope it’s only temporary, because his glum attitude makes me feel guilty for wanting to go, for wanting to make my own decisions. I don’t want to make him feel bad.

I just want to do something for myself for once.

I know everything he does and why he does it, yet he still doesn’t seem to understand me. He certainly doesn’t get why I’m going to Spain when I could just coast through my senior year. I was the child prodigy who started college at seventeen, and I’ll finish this year with the ever-so-practical business degree suggested by, of course, my parents. They figured my interest in Spanish was good for job applications.

But I just like the language.

Shane’s twenty-one like Randy, and I’m twenty, and we’ve all hung out for almost a decade and a half. That’s a lot of years of playing Mario Kart together. I always have a class with Shane. In fact, the one year I didn’t—junior year of high school—he asked me out. While Randy’s the third wheel of our friendship, I can’t imagine Shane without him, and we’ve been an inseparable triumvirate our entire lives. I’m breaking up the band by going.

But I’ll never know what’s out there if I don’t leave.

“You sure you don’t need any more socks?” asks my mother, arranging herself closer to Dad on the couch.

“Yes, I’m sure. And there’s a bus that goes into town or I can catch a ride with someone if I need something.” I sit by her. “I’ll figure it all out.”

Mom gazes at me with her green eyes probing. “I suppose it’s time we finally let you loose.”

“I’m twenty, Mom! It’s about time.”

My dad puts his arm around her waist. “You’re right, pumpkin. I think you’ll figure it all out.” While my mom is the hard-charging CEO pushing me to do better, he’s the one behind her, supporting me. I’ve never wanted to let either of them down.

Any of them.

Shane shifts in his seat across from us, stands, and clears his throat. “I have something to say before you go, Kim.” His chestnut eyes lock on mine.

I raise my eyebrows, fold my hands together, and perch at the edge of the couch cushion. “Okay.”

“I know you’re going to Spain to, like, find yourself or whatever, but you need to know how much you mean to me. When I was growing up, I played with you on the river bank by the park, and then we’d come back home and you’d beat me in Tomb Raider. You’d get better grades than I did, but you’d help me with my homework. You were homecoming queen to my king—”

Randy fake-wipes his eyes. “Nice speech, bruh.”

Shane glares at him then fixes his eyes again on mine. “As I was saying, before I was interrupted, when you were valedictorian, I was so honored at how you said you saw your future with me. I can’t imagine a future without you, and I’m going to miss you so much. Well,” and now he gets down on one knee before me and my heart plummets to my bellybutton, “I want to make sure you know how much I want to make that future real.” He reaches in his pocket, and with a shaky hand, pulls out a little black velvet pouch. Tipping it into his open palm, a tiny ornate ring falls out. It drops to the ground, and he picks it up with a sheepish grin. “It was my grandma’s. I love you. Will you promise you’ll come back to me?”

I cover my gaping mouth with my trembling hand.

Then I notice a collective intake of breath.

My head swivels to see my mom beaming, her eyes shining, hands in fists thrusting upward like victory. My dad’s chest puffs out so he resembles Mr. Incredible—or Arnold, since he’s the one with sandy hair and blue eyes. Shane’s eyes are still on mine, almost pleading. Over his shoulder, Randy heckles. “Oh my God, you’re making her Yoko Ono.”

And I laugh almost hysterically, grateful for the interruption because I don’t know what to say to Shane. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Yoko Ono broke up the Beatles,” Randy explains with a shrug.

Shane whips his head around, an eyebrow raised. “You interrupt my proposal with Yoko Ono?”

“Is that a proposal?” I ask, my eyes huge and my hand now quivering with major tremors.

“It’s a promise,” he says. “And if you say yes and want to start planning our wedding, that’s fine with me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I stutter. “I’m so surprised.” I catch the crestfallen look on his face and the collective silence in the room, waiting for me to answer. Everyone expects me to say yes, and of course I’ll say yes. He’s my boyfriend, after all.

A little voice tells me that I want to think about whether I’ll marry him, but I shut that down. I don’t want to say no. Not in front of everyone. This is all way too embarrassing.

“I’ll wear your ring, Shane, with honor.” My hand shakes so much, it takes me three tries to slip it on my finger, but I do and I kiss him. Everyone around us claps and cheers.

I’m not totally sure what I’ve agreed to.

A few hours later, after the sun has set, my parents’ porch lamp shines on us like a floodlight.

Shane presses his thin lips to mine and sighs into my mouth, the fruity taste of his gum imparting a saccharine aftertaste on my tongue. I lean into his kiss and wrap my arms around his waist, getting a whiff of Axe body spray. He’s comfortable like my old black cashmere sweater with holes in the elbows. Or that pair of yoga pants I never want to take off on the weekends.

“I still wish you weren’t going, Kim,” he mumbles against my skin as his lips travel to my jaw. Using his bit-down-to-the-quick nails, he pushes back my hair to nibble on my neck.

“I know. But it matters to me. I’ve never been farther than the Grotto.” My voice is soft as I trace my finger down the bump of his shoulder to the top of his beefy arms.

I pull back. My toe rolls a pebble marring the perfectly swept landing in front of my family’s manicured house.

“What if you go away and never come back?”

I give him a hug, which he returns, his thick arms holding me tight. “When you go to the gym, you say there’s no such thing as weakness, just an undeveloped muscle. I’m undeveloped, Shane. Like there’s some part of me that I need to work out. And I’m not gonna be able to do anything if I stay here. I’m gonna experience so much. It’ll be good. You’ll see.”

“Maybe,” he says with an unconvinced tilt of his head. He pulls away from me, and thumbs my lip, studying my face. “You mean a lot to me. That’s all. I can’t imagine how it would be if I lost you.” His laugh is self-deprecating, and he twists his wrists. “I wouldn’t know myself without you.” He smiles shyly, but it fades fast and his earnest eyes join mine. “So you’ll really wear my ring?”

I nod and give him a warm smile. “It’s from you. I’m so glad you’re my closest friend.”

“And you promise to come back to me—”

“Come on you two, break it up.” Randy comes out of the house, dangling the keys before Shane. “Let’s go, loverboy, before you get in more trouble. Have fun in Spain, Kim. I know you will.”

Shane’s eyes linger on me. “I’ll see you when you get back.” He turns around and says, “Oh, and one more thing. I hope it’s all you dreamed about. I hope you experience everything in Spain. Skype me when you get there, okay?”

“Okay.”

With one last squeeze and kiss, he gets into his Nissan, Randy in the passenger seat.

His engine roars to life, and he backs down my driveway. He waves and drives off, brake lights flashing red at the stop sign. The car turns, vanishing out of sight.

I head back into my room, avoiding my parents. I need a moment to sort out my head because too much has happened today. I’m used to getting things done fast—homework, meals, decisions—so I can go and do what I want after. But right now, I need some time to reflect.

When I go to sleep, the only conclusion I’ve reached is that Shane’s nervous to let me go.

But it will be fine, I’m sure.

As my mom and dad drive me to the airport in the early morning, I sit in the back seat, trying not to bite my nails, blinking my eyes rapidly.

Spain. Shane. Plane.

All of my worries rhyme, which makes it particularly annoying for them to run through my head.

I stare out the window at the soybeans.

My mom took the time off to go with me to the airport, which means a lot. Since she’s the boss, she can take off any time she likes, but she never does since she likes to keep to a schedule. Every day, like clockwork, she works out the prescribed amount of time, thinks sugar is sleepy seeds of the devil, and records every calorie in her mouth.

Guess that’s why I drink so many iced caramel mochas.

In contrast, my dad, who carried my bags out and drives like he’s entitled to use two Iowa country lanes at once, has all the time in the world. When he talks to me, he really listens. Lots of eye contact.

But that’s because he’s a psychiatrist and his favorite subject is me.

I’m kinda wondering what it’s going to feel like to have no schedule other than class a few days a week. Not know anybody. Use Spanish in real life for the first time. What will I do to fill up my time?

And what the heck do I do with this ring on my finger?

I type out a last-minute email on my phone to my best friend Maggie, who lives in California with her forest ranger boyfriend in Yosemite National Park.

---

To: Maggie Washington

From: Kim Brown

Date: August 31

Re: Spain!!!!!

---

Mags, I just wanted to let you know I’m headed to the airport. The place is supposed to have Wi-Fi, so Skype when you can please!

But before I go, I have news. Shane gave me a promise ring. Can you believe it? Let me know when you’re online, because I HAVE to talk to you about this.

Wish me luck!

Love,

Kim

---

As I finish typing, my mom turns around. “Should we start planning now? Or wait until you get back?”

“Planning what?”

“Your wedding, of course. With Shane.”

My stomach cramps, and I take a deep breath. “I think maybe wait. I mean, it’s just a promise ring.”

“But honey, all the best places will be reserved if we don’t get in a deposit now. Do you want me to do some scouting while you’re gone?”

Thuh-thump goes my heart. I twiddle with the ring. It feels new and heavy on my finger. Lucky it fit right. “No. You should wait—”

“I’ll just look around a little bit. No reservations yet.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.”

“It’s so good that we have the money saved for your grad school. We can use it on your wedding.”

Scrambling up, I lean over between the front seats and look right at her. “Wait. What? I still want to go to grad school.”

“Oh, honey. You’ll have your degree. You don’t really require further diplomas—”

A vein bulges on my neck. “I very much do need it. I stay home and go to state school, and then I can go to grad school somewhere else. That was the deal—”

“Relax, Kim. It was just an idea. We don’t have to use it. We’ll talk about it when you get back.”

My blood pressure does not go down. “You really think I don’t want to go to grad school?”

“I’m not really sure you need it. I mean, so many people have MBA’s, who don’t use them.”

I never said I wanted to get an MBA.

There’s no way I’m winning this argument, and I don’t want the last memory of my parents before I get on the first plane of my life being a fight. I sit back in the seat and try to control my breathing.

A few minutes later, my dad breaks through the quiet, keeping his eyes on the road. “Kim?”

“Yeah?” I say through gritted teeth. Guess I haven’t calmed down yet.

“Your mom and I are sure proud that you ended up with a guy like Shane. Ever since you were kids, he’s been here.”

“I know.” I hug my arms around myself, needing to hold on to someone and having no one. “He’s great.”

We’re almost to Departures. It can’t come soon enough. I love Mom and Dad, but I need to just go. My dad asks, “You have your passport?”

“Yep.” I have my finger on the door handle.

What’s it like to be on a plane?

“Credit cards?”

“Yep.”

Will my ears pop?

We pull up to the international terminal, and I push the car door open as fast as I can. But I pause before getting out.

What if I get sick? What if I get claustrophobia? What if they lose my luggage? What if the plane crashes?

I’m thinking it’s safer in the car, but I take a deep breath and tell my panicked thoughts to take a hike.

My dad puts the car in park, gets out, and opens his arms. “A hug for your mom and dad?”

Even though Mom and Dad annoy me, they’re still my parents. I get out of the car and wrap my arms around him. “Aww. Yep.”

As he snuggles me, he says, “Then you’re ready to go to Spain.”

Hours later, I shove my mystery paperback in my backpack and step off the Iberia Airlines plane into a different world. One of whirling color and vibrant people.

Tummy? Excited and gurgling. Neck? Sore from sitting up for hours. Feet? Itching to get moving.

Just by stepping on a plane, I’ve finally been somewhere and done something. My passport has its very first stamp! When the customs official placed a stamp on it with a design of an airplane landing and “Entrada Madrid-Barajas,” I almost took a selfie with him.

I pick up my bags and exit to the waiting area.

The email had told me, “One of the de la Guerra family’s children will meet you at Madrid-Barajas. She’ll have a sign with your name on it and will drive you to their family home in Andalucía.”

Scanning the horde of people hugging and kissing, reuniting from their journeys, I look for my ride. A de la Guerra girl. Likely with dark hair.

That describes almost every woman here.

Off to the side, a few dozen people, mostly chauffeurs, hold cards with names on them.

Gómez

García

González

Pérez

Singh

Martínez

Brown.

Brown. Oh, that’s me. Kim Brown from West Des Moines.

My eyes shift from the card to the person holding it. Nimble fingers grip the name card. Those fingers lead to strong, veiny hands. Sinewy forearms with a few beaded and leather bracelets. A handsome, lean chest ensconced in a dark blue button-down shirt rolled up to the elbows, which is neatly tucked into dark blue jeans with a fantastic leather belt. Those jeans, oh my golly gosh. He looks good in them. And by good I mean good. Stylish dark brown leather shoes complete his refined appearance. But then I look up.

And I almost faint.

Dear Lord. I have a Calvin Klein model holding a card with my name on it.

Wow.

Tousled dark hair, not long enough to put in a ponytail, but stylishly overgrown goes every which way, perfectly mussed, like he’s just returned from bedding a fair maiden and sweet-talking her parents into giving him half the farm and a few cows. A five o’clock shadow that people would pay money to photograph makes its way along a strong jaw up to the hollows under his shapely cheekbones. He has a cleft chin. I’m a sucker for a cleft chin.

And his lips. My god, his lips. Full and lush. Parting on an exhalation.

Then I catch his eyes. Deep, dark brown, rich and staring at me.

I can’t breathe. I can’t say anything.

Giving him a hesitant smile, propelling myself forward, he meets me halfway.

“¿Eres Kim?” He pronounces it like Keem.

His voice. Deep and husky. A bedroom voice.

I stare back at him, flustered, not sure what to say. “Yes, I mean, sí.”

Four years of Spanish, don’t fail me now.

Shaking my hand firmly, then kissing both of my cheeks lightly, he gives me a little bow. “Bienvenidos a España.”

Behind us, off to the side, red lights flash from the baggage area for a different flight. A siren goes off and the conveyor belt starts releasing luggage to waiting passengers.

My heart’s walloping in my throat. I’ve never been kissed on arrival anywhere, and I’m stunned by how good he smells. Like man, but not sweaty man at the gym. Rich, alluring manly man.

Could I eat him up? I want to.

He switches to thickly-accented English. “It is an honor to meet you. My name is Gustavo de la Guerra Cantor. Allow me to carry your bags.” He picks up my two bags like they weigh nothing, and says, “Follow me.”

I touch my fingers to my cheeks where he kissed me.

Welcome to Spain, Kim. This is going to be an adventure.