repeated, in my terrible American accent.
“You guys are so cute,” said Ximena, dipping a carrot stick into a little tub of hummus.
“So, did you grow up in Madrid?” I asked. Besides dancing, and horses, and
Les Mis,
the thing I love most in the world is traveling. Not that I had ever done any traveling—yet. So far we’d only gone to the Bahamas once, Florida, and Montreal—but my parents are always talking about taking us to Europe someday. And I plan on becoming a professional traveler after I’m done being a Broadway star.
“No, I didn’t grow up there,” answered Ximena. “I mean, I spend summers there—except for last summer, when I did the ballet intensive here in the city. But I didn’t grow up there. My parents both work for the UN, so I kind of grew up all over the place.” She took a bite of the carrot stick.
Crunch.
“Rome for two years. Then before that we lived in Brussels. We lived in Dubai for a year when I was about four, but I don’t remember that at all.”
“Wow,” said Summer.
“That’s so cool,” I said.
Ximena tapped on the glass she was drinking from with her carrot stick. “It’s okay,” she said. “But it can be kind of hard, too. Moving around. I’m always the new kid in school.”
“Oh yeah,” Summer said sympathetically.
“I survived,” Ximena answered sarcastically. “I’m not about to complain.” She took another bite of her carrot stick.
“So, do you know other languages?” I asked.
She held up three and a half fingers as an answer, since her mouth was full. And then, after she swallowed, she elaborated: “English, because I always went to American schools. Spanish. Italian. And a little bit of Mandarin from my grandmother.”
“That’s so cool!” I answered.
“You keep saying
that’s so cool,
” Ximena pointed out.
“That’s so uncool,” I answered, which made her laugh.
Luisa came over to Ximena and asked her something.
“Luisa wants to know what you guys would like for dinner,” Ximena translated.
Summer and I looked at each other.
“Oh, anything is fine,” Summer said very politely to Luisa. “Please don’t go to any trouble.”
Luisa raised her eyebrows and smiled as Ximena translated. Then she reached over and pinched Summer’s cheek affectionately.
“¡Qué muchachita hermosa!”
she said. And then she looked at me.
“Y ésta se parece a una muñequita.”
Ximena laughed. “She says you’re very pretty, Summer. And, Charlotte, you look like a little doll.”
I looked at Luisa, who was smiling and nodding.
“Aww!” I said. “That’s so nice!”
Then she walked away to start dinner for us.
“My parents will be home about 8 p.m.,” Ximena said, waving for us to follow her.
She showed us the rest of the apartment, which looked like something out of a magazine. Everything was white. The sofa. The rug. There was even a white Ping-Pong table in the living room! It made me a little nervous about being klutzy—which I have been known to be—and accidentally spilling something.
We made our way down the hall to Ximena’s room, which was probably the biggest bedroom I’ve ever seen (that wasn’t a master bedroom). My bedroom, which I shared with Beatrix, was probably one quarter the size of Ximena’s bedroom.
Summer walked into the middle of the room and made a slow spin as she took it all in. “Okay, this room is actually as big as my entire living room and kitchen combined,” she said.
“Oh wow,” I said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “You can see the Empire State Building from here!”
“This is, like, the most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen!” said Summer, sitting down in Ximena’s desk chair.
“Thanks,” Ximena said, nodding and looking around. She seemed a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I mean, we’ve only been here since this summer so it doesn’t quite feel like home to me yet, but…” She plopped down on the bed.
Summer pulled the rolling chair up to the
“You guys are so cute,” said Ximena, dipping a carrot stick into a little tub of hummus.
“So, did you grow up in Madrid?” I asked. Besides dancing, and horses, and
Les Mis,
the thing I love most in the world is traveling. Not that I had ever done any traveling—yet. So far we’d only gone to the Bahamas once, Florida, and Montreal—but my parents are always talking about taking us to Europe someday. And I plan on becoming a professional traveler after I’m done being a Broadway star.
“No, I didn’t grow up there,” answered Ximena. “I mean, I spend summers there—except for last summer, when I did the ballet intensive here in the city. But I didn’t grow up there. My parents both work for the UN, so I kind of grew up all over the place.” She took a bite of the carrot stick.
Crunch.
“Rome for two years. Then before that we lived in Brussels. We lived in Dubai for a year when I was about four, but I don’t remember that at all.”
“Wow,” said Summer.
“That’s so cool,” I said.
Ximena tapped on the glass she was drinking from with her carrot stick. “It’s okay,” she said. “But it can be kind of hard, too. Moving around. I’m always the new kid in school.”
“Oh yeah,” Summer said sympathetically.
“I survived,” Ximena answered sarcastically. “I’m not about to complain.” She took another bite of her carrot stick.
“So, do you know other languages?” I asked.
She held up three and a half fingers as an answer, since her mouth was full. And then, after she swallowed, she elaborated: “English, because I always went to American schools. Spanish. Italian. And a little bit of Mandarin from my grandmother.”
“That’s so cool!” I answered.
“You keep saying
that’s so cool,
” Ximena pointed out.
“That’s so uncool,” I answered, which made her laugh.
Luisa came over to Ximena and asked her something.
“Luisa wants to know what you guys would like for dinner,” Ximena translated.
Summer and I looked at each other.
“Oh, anything is fine,” Summer said very politely to Luisa. “Please don’t go to any trouble.”
Luisa raised her eyebrows and smiled as Ximena translated. Then she reached over and pinched Summer’s cheek affectionately.
“¡Qué muchachita hermosa!”
she said. And then she looked at me.
“Y ésta se parece a una muñequita.”
Ximena laughed. “She says you’re very pretty, Summer. And, Charlotte, you look like a little doll.”
I looked at Luisa, who was smiling and nodding.
“Aww!” I said. “That’s so nice!”
Then she walked away to start dinner for us.
“My parents will be home about 8 p.m.,” Ximena said, waving for us to follow her.
She showed us the rest of the apartment, which looked like something out of a magazine. Everything was white. The sofa. The rug. There was even a white Ping-Pong table in the living room! It made me a little nervous about being klutzy—which I have been known to be—and accidentally spilling something.
We made our way down the hall to Ximena’s room, which was probably the biggest bedroom I’ve ever seen (that wasn’t a master bedroom). My bedroom, which I shared with Beatrix, was probably one quarter the size of Ximena’s bedroom.
Summer walked into the middle of the room and made a slow spin as she took it all in. “Okay, this room is actually as big as my entire living room and kitchen combined,” she said.
“Oh wow,” I said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “You can see the Empire State Building from here!”
“This is, like, the most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen!” said Summer, sitting down in Ximena’s desk chair.
“Thanks,” Ximena said, nodding and looking around. She seemed a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I mean, we’ve only been here since this summer so it doesn’t quite feel like home to me yet, but…” She plopped down on the bed.
Summer pulled the rolling chair up to the
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