Ellen Outside the Lines: Chapters 21–33

"After I make a quick detour to get my iPad. Inspiration never sleeps, regardless of the time zone."

Gibs's words are a little garbled, his mouth full of custard.

Andy looks away, and guilt flares in my chest.

The other girls pay and we move on, stopping at a kiosk so Madison can buy chocolates shaped like a bouquet of roses.

Laurel buys a small jar of saffron for her mom at a spice stand, then Sophie-Anne orders a paper cup filled with jamón jerky slices.

"He ordered shrimp paella when we went out for dinner. Or maybe it was prawn."

So many different languages, spoken all at once.
Then, quiet, except for some indistinct, whispered words from Sophie-Anne.

As she holds a purple dress up in front of a mirror, I touch a blue skirt's gauzy, soft fabric.

I know this is an opinion, not a fact. Something Dr. Talia says I should try to distinguish when I'm having a conversation. Just because I don't like something doesn't make it bad.

"This is nice,” I say as the video switches from interviews to a montage of tumbling passes.

Except the longer I force my body to stay still, the antsier I feel.

Laurel splays her fingers in the air.

Flustered, I look back at Gibs.

Isa's voice stays low, but it sounds different now. Vulnerable.

My head swirls with things I thought I knew, facts that should've been irrefutable. Now it doesn't feel like I know anything for sure.

What'd I say about shafting that quiz on imperatives for basketball last semester?

We get off at the next stop, then take a funicular train out of the station.

It crawls up a steep hill, and the city comes into view below us.

Sophie-Anne points to a lookout area that juts out of the fort's wall, with all of Barcelona as the backdrop.

"I tried to explain during the group dinner, but..."
I trail off. My words sound flimsy.

While the rest of us wait for the light to change, Gibs makes a beeline over to the statue.

"There's nothing to talk about." Andy's voice is clipped.

Panic lodges in my throat, tight, nauseating.

"You practice your Judaism by following kashrut and so does your ima. Back in Georgia, I mostly do, too. But keep in mind that no one follows the rules all the time. You eat food that isn't certified kosher. You text Laurel on Shabbat. You also handled money to pay for your donut last weekend."

"And while I appreciate your candor, what I'd most like to know right now relates to sharing clue answers."

"Honestly, it's akin to copying homework. There's no grade associated with this trip, but I'm afraid there must still be some form of consequence."

My eyes trace the wall decal's curling tendrils to one end of the room, then back to its blossoming petals.

Emmaline makes her way up to him, brandishing a pen and notepad.

“That's a very good point. Perhaps I can incorporate some of this into my lessons next year."

I slip on my headphones and the noise blissfully lowers.