Free Spain or Shine by Michelle Jellen

one else had spotted him. Even Jenna, with her finely tuned boy radar, had missed him.
    As the night progressed, she caught glimpses of him. He stuck near a knot of local guys, his comrades for the evening. She noticed several girls squeeze their way into the cluster of boys, hanging conspicuously close to the cute one.
    Jenna marched out onto the little dance floor in the center of the room. Within seconds, a boy with thick shiny curls was showing her some flamenco dance moves. Although Jenna’s feet and hands flopped awkwardly, she didn’t seem to care. She just twirled and pranced around the dance floor, letting out one of her wide, head-thrown-back laughs.
    After a while Jenna took a break and wandered over to Elena and Marci at the bar. As Jenna and Marci talked about the boy with the curls, Elena imagined how much easier life would be as Jenna. She pictured how she would be if she were as confident as Jenna. That version of herself would walk right up to the Spanish guy and introduce herself. She’d slink close enough to brush his arm with hers, but she wouldn’t hover. He would tell her his name and ask her a question, and then she’d make one of the flirtatious jokes Jenna was always making.
    â€œHola,” a low voice cut through the air around her, the weight of it pulling her back down to earth. Elena turned to find the very boy she’d been envisioning standing beside her, close enough to touch. She hadn’t even noticed him approaching her. He was saying something.
    â€œOh, hi,” she managed to squeak before he had to repeat his greeting again.
    â€œI’m Miguel,” he said in clear English.
    â€œElena,” she said, though her voice came from someplace outside herself. Her name sounded strange. She didn’t feel like herself.
    â€œElena. That’s a Spanish name, no? Are you Spanish?”
    â€œUm no, well yeah, sort of.” This had to be the worst conversation in history. She wondered why he was even talking to her. She stared at the collar of his shirt to avoid meeting his eyes. “Actually, my mom is Spanish. I mean she’s American, but she has Spanish heritage. So I’m part Spanish.” She’d recovered, sort of.
    He looked as if he was about to ask her another question when Jenna joined the conversation.
    â€œHey,” she said, grabbing Elena’s arm but beaming at Miguel.
    â€œHello.” He nodded politely. “This is your friend?” he asked, turning toward Elena.
    â€œOh, sorry. Yes. This is Jenna.” Jenna’s hand was already stretched out to meet his.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Jenna asked, tilting her head to one side.
    â€œMiguel. Nice to meet you.” His eyes were stuck to Jenna. Elena could feel herself disappearing.
    â€œMiguel, that’s a nice name. Are you a local?” Jenna asked, leaning in toward him and looking interested.
    â€œYes. I live in the part of town called Gros. It is on the other side of the river. Where are you ladies from?”
    â€œOh, we’re ladies, are we?”
    Miguel chuckled softly and looked down where he scuffed the floor with his shoe. Elena just stood there as Jenna carried on a conversation with this boy named Miguel that sounded much like the one Elena had scripted in her head. It seemed as easy as breathing for Jenna. Miguel was chuck-ling now at something Jenna had said. Suddenly, his interest in Elena became clear. He had obviously approached Elena as a way of getting close to Jenna, who had been standing just beside her. She was ashamed she hadn’t seen this coming, particularly after the situation with Joe Cipriani. How could she have fallen for that move twice?
    â€œWell, it was a pleasure meeting you both,” he said finally. “Perhaps I will see you again.”
    â€œI hope so,” Jenna cooed. Elena managed a smile.
    He started to walk back over to his friends. Before he had even reached the group he was