The Spanish Club

By Danielle Burnette

2014/2015 Reader Views Literary Awards Runner-Up for Best Young Adult Fiction

When Brianna unearths a family secret, the life she’s known unravels. She trusts no one except Dana, her best friend. But Dana will move away at the end of the summer, leaving Brianna to face her senior year friendless and alone.

A last chance to bond with Dana lies in a summer trip abroad with the Spanish Club. Yet the promise of a once-unattainable first love, another painful secret, and Mexico—gripped in World Cup fever—threaten to rip the girls apart for good. As their lives hang in the balance, Brianna must find the strength and forgiveness to reconcile the friend she once was with the new person she desperately wants to be.

An honest coming-of-age, The Spanish Club chronicles the universal struggle to define oneself within the boundaries of friendship and love—even when the ones you trust break the rules.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danielle Burnette
• Release date: Apr 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311578242

Danielle Burnette

Danielle Burnette lives with her husband and children in northern California. She loves sushi, an overcast day at the beach, Paris, and martial arts movies, although not necessarily at the same time or always in that order. Her first contemporary Young Adult novel, The Spanish Club, placed second in the 2014/2015 Reader Views Literary Awards. Her first short story was published in the Winter/Spring 2015 edition of Lunch Ticket. Between penning more works of short fiction, she is currently editing her second novel. Visit her at www.danielleburnette.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

No decent place should be dead like this. Not in the middle of the summer.

Any other time, Brianna Garrett would welcome an easy exit from playing the sober lookout, but Dana Tate, her best friend, seemed too wound up to return to their hotel yet. It's not completely empty, Brianna said, nodding discretely at the four thirty-something men huddled over their food at a nearby table. The grime spotting their coveralls and thick-soled boots suggested they worked the late shift at some factory. The foursome comprised the only life in the bar aside from the bartender, whose graying stubble made him look even older than the men.

Are you serious? They're too ancient to count, Dana replied.

Well, maybe it's quiet here because people in Mexico City don't like to stay out really late. Why don't we come back tomorrow?

Who knows when we'll be able to sneak out again? And anyway, I hope we find somewhere better to go to. I mean, looking at this place, you'd never believe it's a Saturday night. We probably should've walked further down the street instead of just popping into the first place we saw. Although I still can't believe no one's asked us for ID. Dana's eyes sparkled with mischief. Isn't this cool?

Despite their both being a year too young to vote, Brianna thought the supposed coolness of the situation paled in importance to the wall clock's minute hand, which marched steadily toward midnight. The flight south from Chicago hadn't burdened them with a time zone change, but she felt jet-lagged all the same. She unthreaded some hairs from her already unraveling braid and gave them a few tugs, hoping the slight discomfort would make her more awake and more interested. It didn't.

Stop pulling your hair out, lil' sis. We won't stay long, and I won't drag you anywhere else tonight. Dana gathered her Afro-centric braids into a ponytail, making her long neck even longer, pulling her cheekbones even higher, and then released the braids back to her shoulders with a sigh. Her natural beauty made her look ripe for discovery as a model, until she put on her usual dissatisfied frown. "It's just that after being on that plane all day—and not even being able to sit with you—I had to get out. You feel me, right?"

Brianna tucked her hands in her lap, safely away from the frizzy halo around her head. I do.

Good. I promise we can leave as soon as we test out our Mexican eligibility and get something to drink.

It's late. I don't need anything.

Of course, you do. It's not like we can drink the water in our hotel room.

I know, but I really don't want anything.

You've got to be thirsty.

"All right, fine. Can you buy me a bottled water then? Agua embotellada."

Beer would help you sleep faster, Dana said in a teasing singsong.

I'm being serious. For real. I'm too tired to drink—

Okay, okay. Just relax. Now how do you say bartender in Spanish again, lil' sis?

"Camarero," Brianna replied with near-perfect enunciation.

Camaro?

"No, he's not a car. Camarero."

Like the African country? Dana asked, pointing to the pair of televisions mounted over the bar.

Beneath footage of jumping, screaming, sweat-drenched men in yellow and green jerseys appeared the caption Camaroon Gana. The off-camera announcer called Cameroon's soccer win unexpected and historic because it marked the first time a top-five ranking team would be eliminated in the World Cup's first round by a low-tiered team. Brianna couldn't catch what country the losing team came from, but by the prevalence of fair skin and blondish hair amongst its players, she guessed them to be European.

Not exactly, she finally replied.

Well, close enough is good enough. Most people know English anyway, don't they? At least a bartender should know what 'beer' is.

Before Brianna could remind her how to say bottled water in Spanish, Dana jumped up from their table. Rather than stand directly in front of the bartender, she stood at the opposite end of the bar, waved a long arm, and practically mooed, Camaroo, at the poor man, drawing snickers from the seated foursome, which she answered with a coy shrug. The bartender laughed and called back in Spanish that he would help her in a minute. Dana threw Brianna a confused look and then tried again to get the bartender's attention until he tipped his black hat at her and held up a single finger to request her patience before turning to fill four glasses with alcohol. As Dana plopped on one of the stools with an audible sigh, the real reason for the name of the bar, La Cantina de los Hermanos Azulados, dawned on Brianna.

Bathed in blue from its indigo stucco walls to its royal-hued tables and chairs, Brianna assumed that the bar's name only referenced the color of its décor. But then she noticed that the bartender's hat matched those pictured in the bar's sole poster. It showed two men—outfitted in black trilbies, sunglasses, and suits—perched on a boat of a car below the movie title The Blues Brothers. Mr. Garrett had the same poster hanging in the basement den on his wall of favorites. Of all the places her friend could have dragged her to, why did the first need to remind her so much of home, the one place she didn't want to think about?

She folded her arms on the table and nestled her head on top of them, wishing she could trade the hardness of the wood for the plush cotton of her hotel room pillow. She closed her eyes, and Enrique's sexy grin rose from the depths of her brain, beckoning her with the promise of pleasant dreams. His lips were full and juicy and pink, always glistening with a perpetual layer of Chap Stick. His hotel room, like those of the rest from St. Francis High, lay down the hall from hers and Dana's. Brianna wondered if he was already asleep, or still awake like her. Just as REM came within reach, a shot of cold wetness on her neck jerked her upright.

Didn't you sleep on the plane like everybody else? Dana asked. She placed two open beer bottles, dripping in condensation, on the table and reclaimed her seat across from Brianna. Or did you waste time getting geeked up on crosswords?

I didn't get a chance to nap.

What do you mean? Who did you end up sitting next to?

Where's my water? Brianna asked, sidestepping the question.

Oops, I forgot.

Brianna resisted glaring at her best friend. How cool and convenient it must be to just hear what you wanted to. If only she possessed such a talent, especially three and a half months ago. Now that you proved we can drink, let's get out of here.

I'm not wasting my first Mexican beer. And you're not either. Drink up.

Dana took a swig and stared across the table expectantly, but Brianna pushed her bottle away. When she did drink—which happened way more often than the zero times she wanted to—she usually sneaked sips of some kind of throat-burning liquor from a pink floral teacup until she could dump it unnoticed into Grandma Tate's African Violet. Brianna suspected that Dana's drinking habit had followed her from Atlanta to Chicago. But the tradition of drinking tea from her grandmother's favorite porcelain cups started out as payback after a grounding for missing a nine-thirty curfew near the end of their sophomore year. To Brianna, it seemed as good a time as any to leave that part of those Saturday-night sleepovers behind.

Remember when we promised to tell each other everything again? For real? Brianna asked, to which Dana nodded. Well, I hate drinking. I hate the taste, the aftertaste, the smell, the headaches the next morning. Always have. And I don't want to drink anymore. At least not until I'm twenty-one. And maybe not even then.

Dana took another long swallow, her brow furrowed in thought. You've always hated it?

Yeah.

But you waited almost three years to tell me?

Yeah.

Why?

I don't know. I guess it didn't seem like a big deal until now. Brianna squirmed in her chair, the rest of the truth needling her because she didn't know how to explain it.

Fine, whatever. Dana sipped her beer nonchalantly. I won't ask you to drink with me again until you turn twenty-one.

Cool. Brianna mentally kicked herself for not saying something before. Why had she been so afraid of disappointing Dana? So can we go now? We're probably the only ones here who spent all day on an airplane and still need to get up early.

We don't need to get up that early.

I do. We're supposed to leave for Teotihuacán at eight, and I need time to shower, try to get some of the frizz out of my hair, get dressed, and eat breakfast. I need to get up by six.

Six? Are you nuts? Who needs two hours to get ready to walk around in the sand? You do realize that's like half of our day tomorrow, wandering around in the desert, getting sand in our shoes.

It's not just some random desert, Dana. There'll be pyramids there—

You never stop saying.

—and you know I'm slow in the morning.

I thought that was just a weekend thing.

I'll turn off the alarm really quick. You won't even remember you woke up.

Dana snorted. No way. Once I'm awake, that's it, so you can't set the alarm any earlier than seven. I'm not getting up at the crack of dawn just because you have to get all prettied up like a little munchkin now. Which, by the way, doesn't just suddenly wipe out three years of being invisible. Especially for people like you and me. Enrique'll still look right through you and your skimpy little munchkin uniform, you know.

For a long moment, the bar truly felt empty, the television providing the only break in the tense silence between them. Dana took long gulps of her beer and studied the bottle's label, carefully keeping her eyes averted. Frustration seared Brianna's core and all thoughts of sleep vanished. She didn't want to spend the next eight days in Mexico defending herself and recycling the same argument over and over. But what else could she do?

You won't even be here next year, so why do you care so much? Brianna shot back.

Thanks for reminding me, her friend said as her face crumpled.

Brianna stared in disbelief at the defeated slouch across the table. Never before had Dana cried, not even when her grandfather almost died in a car crash at the end of sophomore year. Anxious to stop any tears from starting, Brianna moved to a chair next to Dana and hugged her.

"I don't want to see you turn into one of them, all makeup and no brain, Dana said. You're too smart for that."

I know, and I won't. But I don't want to be a placeholder in the senior yearbook with only the Spanish Club under my name. It'll just be me at St. Francis, just me, and I need something other than me. I have to try something different next year. I wanna dance.

Sneak into a club or something. My cousin'll still let you in.

That's not the same thing, especially without you. You know, most of the squad is probably nicer than you think.

Most. Probably. I love your blind confidence.

It's not blind, it's the truth. Brianna hesitated, and then decided to risk annoying Dana with another confession. Stacia actually came over and sat with me on the flight down here.

You had a free seat right next to you? Dana asked, frowning. Why didn't you come and get me?

I…I thought you were asleep.

You could have checked for sure. If you had come up my way, you'd have known I was awake the whole time. I can't believe you sat with a munchkin instead of me.

Brianna cringed, uncertain of what to say. After the flight attendants had passed out blankets and dimmed the lights, the teachers suggested to the students that they try to nap on the way to Mexico City. So, of course, Dana wouldn't sleep. But what appeared obvious now hadn't entered Brianna's mind then, as it had been totally taken by the dance team captain who'd chirped up a storm next to her.

I'm sorry, Brianna said softly, but can you quit calling us munchkins? You promised you would.

I did. Dana's words carried a contrite tone, the closest she would come to a direct apology. What's the politically correct name for all the very short dance team members?

Dance team member. Or, just dancer. And not all of us are short.

All of you are shorter than me.

So are a lot of guys.

Oh, God. Dana tilted her head with a pitiable expression. My height is too disruptive, isn't it?

My dear child, Brianna said and clasped her friend's hands. You must strive hard not to let your desire for self-expression lead you off the promising path of a Christian life.

The girls choked up with laughter, remembering Sister Simone Pius's advice after Brianna accidentally yanked the school cafeteria's announcement board off the wall. A few weeks into the start of freshman year, she had leaned against the board while waiting in the lunch line, worrying that she still didn't have anyone to sit with, unaware that her hair had broken out of its barrette and snagged the pushpins tacking up the announcements. Only two people helped Brianna disentangle herself from the board and a roomful of mortifying laughter. Only Dana did so without calling Brianna's hair disruptive.

Every time they laughed about it made her happy it had happened. High school had been a lot less lonely since that day.

While they were still laughing, the bartender came over and tapped Dana on the shoulder. "Mira, Camerún, he said, pointing at the television, alguien dio una paliza a su compañero."

Huh? Dana said.

He said someone got beat up, Brianna replied and looked up at the television.

From the Spanish-speaking newscaster, she gathered that a few of the soccer players from Cameroon were hospitalized after a fight with fans of the team they defeated earlier that day. The details presented sounded sketchy, especially in a second language she couldn't claim fluency in, but she heard the word racismo too often to feel comfortable. Then the sharp seriousness of the newscaster's face was replaced by the graininess of a witness's video, judging by the shakiness and odd angle of the footage. A jumble of accents—African, European, American, and indiscernible others—clashed as a tight mob of bodies crammed together in an apparent standoff, until a bottle arced into the crowd from off-screen. The crackling of glass set off screaming, and the video's image lost focus before going out altogether.

Horrified, Brianna wondered which city the fight happened in. Pasadena? Orlando? Perhaps her hometown of Chicago? She knew nothing about the World Cup beyond the United States hosting the tournament and the coast-to-coast spread of the games, and she bet that Dana knew even less. Yet, the bartender kept questioning Dana about the players, oblivious to the wide-eyed confusion on her face, until Brianna told him, in Spanish, that she and Dana were Americans.

"No puedo esperar para les ganamos esos gringos," one of the nearby foursome muttered with disgust, as though he would be personally beating the American soccer team.

"De acuerdo," one of his friends said and clinked glasses with him.

"Ay, los sientos, señoritas," the bartender said to Dana and Brianna with a contrite hand over his heart. Then he scolded the table of men for their rudeness, prompting them to throw angry looks at the girls.

Dana's eyes narrowed as she linked arms with Brianna. Are they talking smack about us?

I think it's time to go, Brianna replied. They left the beer unfinished and hurried back to the hotel.

As they got ready for bed, Brianna reluctantly set the alarm for six forty-five. In the dark, she laid on her side and watched her best friend's profile rise and fall. Would they still be able to gab on the phone late at night after Dana's move to Atlanta? Grandma Tate, strict in every other imaginable way, let Dana have her own phone line early sophomore year, but there would be no guarantee Dana's parents would be even that lenient. Nothing about next year would be the same.

You know, you're going to have to get used to me getting up early if we're going to be roommates at the University of Chicago, Brianna said.

They rent two-bedroom apartments in Chicago, Dana mumbled.

Apartments we can afford? Without crossbars and roaches?

That's what my parents' money is for. They owe me for making me move and ruining my senior year…on top of them being them.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Brianna and Dana didn't make it downstairs until after eight-thirty. As soon as they stepped into the hotel lobby, Miss Yancy, the younger teacher on the trip, gave them bananas and pushed them on the small tour bus where everyone else waited. Brianna glimpsed Enrique smirking at her from beneath his Chicago Bears cap as she stumbled down the aisle, and embarrassment churned her empty stomach. Her hands sneaked up to her hair which, to her dismay, she found already working its way out of her carefully slicked-back braid into the crown of frizz it preferred.

Now that we have all decided to get out of bed, the other teacher, Mrs. Fritz, announced, looking pointedly at Brianna and Dana, we can finally head out.

Like the whole country's gonna shut down if we're a little late, Dana mumbled to Brianna as they sat down.

The bus lurched away from the curb, and Brianna slumped against the window. There was nothing like fresh humiliation to start the day. She fought the urge to peek at her classmates; did she really need to see Enrique still laughing at her? Then again, Dana was probably right. She'd need to be at least a blip on his radar to garner his attention for that long.

Just eat the stupid banana, Brianna thought as she peeled away the bruised skin and wondered how to avoid the huge sections that didn't look an edible yellow.

Mine's not as bad as yours, Dana said. Want a piece?

No, thanks. I'll just close my eyes when I eat.

As if cued to make things worse, blond hair spilled over the front of their seat as Stacia peered down at them. Too bad you guys were late. Breakfast was unbelievable.

She proceeded to describe each and every dish in tortuous detail. Even as Brianna felt Dana's patience eroding and her own stomach growling, she found Stacia's bubbliness contagious. On the flight to Mexico City, Stacia had carried the conversation between them by rambling about everything and everyone, jumping from one unrelated subject to another with barely a breath to rest in between. Brianna learned not only that Stacia's boyfriend chose watching a soccer match over spending one last pre-Mexico night with her, but that he always cried—secretly—while watching Pixar's Up. The dance team captain had also heaped a load of praise on Brianna's dance skills, making Brianna like her even more.

Here's your mp3 player, Stacia continued, handing the device to Brianna. "I loved The Pharcyde, they're like Digital Underground with a strip of acid in their latte. I think my favorite song's a tie between 'On the Down Low' and 'Ya Mama'."

Dana gave Brianna an instant rundown of her thoughts with one raised eyebrow. You let the leader of the munchkins borrow the mp3 player I gave you for your birthday? And now she thinks she knows classic hip-hop? Uh-huh. Don't even get me started on the acid thing.

As Brianna quickly slid the mp3 player into her jacket pocket, she hoped her smile didn't look too eager. Really? I'm surprised—I mean, I'm glad you liked it.

Do you wanna see my music? Stacia asked.

Maybe later. I'm not really in the mood to listen to anything right now.

Did you happen to bring that crossword book with you?

Brianna shook her head and mentally kicked herself for ever buying that stupid book at the airport. Why didn't she get something cooler instead, like one of those celebrity gossip magazines? Because, of course, she considered them a waste of money, and she loved word games. Still, maybe she should throw the book away before Enrique saw it.

That's too bad, Stacia said. I'm bored.

You could try counting the lines on the road and see how high you can go, Dana said with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Oh, I hate stuff like that, Stacia replied. It puts me to sleep.

A broad, saccharine smile took over Dana's face, but Brianna pretended not to notice.

Hey, Stacia said, her eyes growing wide, you guys wanna play Truth or Dare? We can probably get everybody to join in.

Dana threw another readable look at Brianna. Clinique for brains. I'm going to take a nap. Without another word, she moved into the empty seat across the aisle and laid down, sending a clear message. If Stacia wouldn't shut up, Dana would shut her out.

They're like magnets that naturally repel each other, Brianna thought. Maybe it was a good thing Dana would never get a chance to watch a dance team halftime performance.

You guys didn't get much sleep? Stacia asked Brianna.

We stayed up talking for awhile.

Katie and Lil' Bit went to bed as soon as we got to the hotel. Stacia dropped her voice to a whisper. They have special silky blindfolds and matching hats for sleeping in.

Brianna stifled a giggle and peered around Stacia at the two sisters seated in front of her. It seemed like a mirror divided the aisle between them and their game of Go Fish; each sat Indian-style, their long, mahogany hair pulled back in identical ponytails. For the past two years, Brianna had shared history class with Katie, the older one, without ever exchanging a word with her. Unmoved by their teacher's non-textbook knowledge of historical gossip, Katie spent most of the class writing notes to pass to her friends in the hallway. When she did bother looking up, she sat erect as if balancing a stack of books—or a tiara—on her head. Dana often called the Homecoming Princess the very reason popularity contests shouldn't exist.

It took them almost two hours to get ready this morning, Stacia said. They had to wash their faces with three different creams and put on five layers of makeup.

Brianna felt embarrassed by her own long morning routine, which produced nowhere near the result of the sisters' efforts.

And then after all that, their parents called and riled them up. Katie said her folks were afraid they'd skipped out on the flight. Unbelievable, right? I mean, how does it get flipped so that your parents force you to go on a vacation without them?

Brianna's stomach tightened. A few weeks before the trip, she almost decided not to come. Did the sisters mind the trip as much as they minded their parents paying for it? Not that even the richest teenagers at St. Francis could point to any other option for money, but sometimes it seemed better not to let people think they were doing you any favors. Even parents.

A deep snore ripped from Dana as if to second Stacia's notion. Her head hung awkwardly against the window and a line of drool rolled out of the corner of her mouth. Then a steady stream of snoring erupted, and everyone laughed as they realized it came from Dana.

Brianna resisted the urge to wake her friend, who would only grumble about not caring what other people thought, and took a tentative