Free Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2) by Jessica Peterson

glances at me. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
    “Not really. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t handle stress very well, especially when it comes to my grades. So much of my future depends on my thesis. It’s hard not to worry about it when I’ve been stonewalled again and again by every palace and museum I reach out to. And I really do want to come back to Madrid for graduate school. It’d be so much easier to do that if I already have a solid foundation of research done—research I hope to do this semester.”
    Rafa nods his head. “For a big city, Madrid can be a very small place. Sometimes it’s a good thing. We are protective of our history, if not always proud of it. But other times? Not so much. I’m sorry you haven’t made much headway. Perhaps today we might change that—in the end, Madrid rarely disappoints.”
    I look at him, my gaze tracing the slopes and angles of his profile. Sharp nose, square jaw, shapely, full lips. “You really love it here, don’t you?”
    “I do,” he replies. “It’s home. I was on the road for close to a year. I missed my city. I really missed my bed.”
    “Yeah,” I say, the words coming before I can stop them. “I miss my bed, too. A lot.”
    “Nothing like your own bed, that’s for sure,” he says. He looks at me. “Are you homesick?”
    I look down at my hands, my chest tightening with a familiar ache. “Yes and no. Some days…some days, I guess, are better than others. I really love Madrid, and so far it’s been an awesome experience. It’s nice to get away for a while, you know, a change of scenery. But yeah, I definitely miss some things.”
    Like my family. Not the family I have now—broken, angry, sad. I miss the family we were . Things were always good with us. Better than that. I used to think they were perfect. But now I know that perfect doesn’t exist.  
    “Where is home for you?” he asks.
    “Atlanta,” I say.
    “Georgia,” he says. “I’ve play—I’ve been there. I remember going to a concert at the arena where the basketball team plays.”
    “Philips Arena. I know it well.”
    Very well. Mom, Dad and I used to go to concerts there together all the time. The memory of us together, singing along to our favorite country star at the top of our lungs as mom snuck me sips of her beer, makes my chest hurt.
    “It’s a cool spot,” I say.
    Silence settles between us again. I twist my hands in my lap.
    “Speaking of your home,” he says at last. “Are you going to tell me what happened last weekend?”
    A knot tightens in my belly. I really, really don’t want to talk about this right now. But really, it’s awesome of him to help me out like this; the least I can do in return is explain why I ran out of his apartment like a lunatic.
    I take a warrior breath.
    “I’m sorry,” I say, letting it out. “For the way I behaved. You have every right to be mad.”
    “I’m not mad.” He looks away. “Well. Perhaps a bit put off. I’ve never had someone run out on me like that.”
    “I’m sorry,” I repeat.
    “I was concerned,” he says. “Maddie, you were crying. In my bed . And then you just took off. I called Rafa and had him call Vivian to make sure you got home okay. I understand you may not want to talk about it, but you can’t disappear on me like that. It’s rude, for one thing, and worrisome for another.”
    I swallow. “I’m really sorry. I acted like such a shit last weekend, and you—you’re being so cool, letting me tag along like this today. I’m sorry, Javier, I am. But I can’t—I really can’t talk about it right now. The why, I mean—why I was crying. And even if I could, you wouldn’t want to hear it. So much bullshit…” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that.”
    “It’s all right,” he says, gruffly. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
    I’m not. I’m so not okay. And I think he knows that.
    But I’m not about to spill my guts to Javier on the way