Free It Never Rains in Colombia by W.H. Benjamin

had been there all along. “What about my bike?”
                  “It's a write-off,” he said, “you totalled that thing with your BMX stunts.”
                  “Oh no,” she cringed, “I can't just leave it there, my granddad got it for me.”
                  “No, it's fine. Mei said she'd take care of it,” Sophia reassured her.
                  Silence descended upon them. When Harlow had first come into the kitchen she had confronted a silent tension that had increased under the strain of their forced chatter. She was so preoccupied with her own problems that she hadn't noticed. All the time she had been eating, she had sensed that he was restraining himself and felt that he was colder to her than before. Her mind was so consumed with trying to work out what had happened to her bike and why Roberto had been so awful to her that she had forgotten she had a home to go to. Sophia excused herself from the table and Christian followed to show her to the bathroom. She could hear them arguing in Spanish; raised voices and harsh tones that carried downstairs.
                  When he returned, he avoided her eyes.
                  “Do you want some dessert?” he asked, clearing away the plates before she even had a chance to answer.
                  “Let me help?” she insisted, springing up from her seat, using the crutches, as he leaned past her to reach for a plate. He gathered the four plates up, putting three of the glasses, some still partly filled with orange juice, on top of each other. As he stacked them, Harlow noticed the food on Sophia's plate was untouched.
                  He lifted the plates, “It's okay. Relax.”
                  She watched his back as he walked to the large sink across the room on the wall to her left. He began clearing the food off the plates. She started making her way over to him when a loud beeping sound emanated from the table. Turning back, she saw her phone light up: 1 message, Sophia. “Can't stand him let’s take the train please! I'll tell you later xx.”
                  She was simultaneously crestfallen and curious watching the back of his curly brown hair, wondering what was going on. He seemed really nice. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to help her.
                  “Hey,” Sophia appeared in the doorway. “Ready to go?” She asked brightly.
                  “Uh, yeah,” Harlow replied, feeling disorientated by the sudden shift in her friend's mood. “Hey, Christian, where's the nearest train station?”
                  He turned around looking surprised. “I get car sick. So don't worry about dropping us, I would prefer the train anyway,” Harlow explained.
                  He washed the soap off his hands and began wiping them on a dish cloth. “It's not far. Just go all the way down the road, turn right, walk until you see the bus stop. Then you'll see the station across the road.”
                  “Thanks,” she said, getting up and pocketing her phone. “I'll get my stuff.”
                  “Oh, ok,” he nodded.
                  As she left the room with Sophia, she wasn't sure, but it seemed to her that he looked saddened by her words.
                  Sophia rushed up the stairs. When they were in the bedroom, Sophia went to the right side of the bed and snatched her bag up from the floor, she took the pile of her clothes from the table adjacent to the foot of the bed and stuffed them in. Harlow tried to busy herself, moving slowly, waiting, lingering for an explanation.              
                  Sophia handed her a blue plastic bag. “Here. I'll tell you later. I just need to get out of here.” Harlow shook the bag, “Where did you get this from?”
                  “He left them