I massaged the heel of my palm into my forehead. I couldn’t remember why I had wanted to talk to Becca last night, while I was so-called “sucking face” but I did know that sober me wanted to know more about her time in the program. God, every time I heard that word—the program—I started thinking I was in some sci-fi dystopian book.

It was still early, so we grabbed some cheap cappuccinos to go from the vending machine in reception and went for a walk down the hill toward the country road. Now the sun was higher and the birds were chirping. A dog barked from behind a neighboring stone house.

“So, why have you come back here three times?” I asked her as we leaned against a low wall and watched a few black hogs root around for acorns in their pen across the street. “I can’t believe I even got through the first day.”

“It is exhausting,” she said before taking a sip of her drink. She had very long pale eyelashes that contrasted with her striking storm-colored eyes. “But you’ll get used to it. My first time, I only did a week. This was back when the program was just starting and they weren’t sure if it was going to be a success or not.” She looked at me in earnest. “It was seriously the best week of my life. I’d bonded with everyone—Anglos and Spaniards—like they were my long lost family. Have you ever been to a camp as a child and bonded so well with your mates that you never wanted to leave?”

I shook my head. I had wanted to go to this riding camp that had haflinger ponies when I was young but my parents said they couldn’t afford it. The truth was, I just wanted to get away from their fighting, but having my own pony for a week would have been the icing on the cake.

“Neither had I,” she said with a smile. “But I imagine that’s what it’s like. I made amazing friends during that time, people I am still close with. I…” she looked down at her coffee cup like it was fascinating, “I even fell in love.”

In a week? I nearly laughed until I studied her elf-like face. Oh, she was serious.

She shot me a sideways glance. “I know what you’re thinking, but this place will change you and change the way you think. For someone like me—I’m an only child to a single mum—this made me feel like I belonged.”

“So you fell in love,” I mused. “With who? Are you still…together?”

She laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. This place will make you bond but in the end, it’s never really to be. It’s rare to meet someone that’s from around where you live. The man I fell in love with was from New Zealand. When our week was up, I went back to Edinburgh and he went back to Auckland. Nothing we could do about it. We still keep in touch, through Facebook. He had a girlfriend for a while. I miss him and in some ways, I think we’ve grown closer. But that’s life.”

She chewed on her rosy lips. “Anyhoo, all is well that ends well. I signed up for two weeks the next year. Fell in love all over again.”

“New guy?” I asked, surprised at this soft-spoken girl.

“A Spaniard this time,” she said. A dreamy look passed over her eyes for a split second. It was enough to make me smile. “His name was Xavier, he was from a town called Tarragona. He had a girlfriend but…she was forgotten fairly soon.” She caught the frown on my face. “I know, that sounds callous. But this place does things to you. Believe me, you’ve already been caught up in it.”

Mateo? I thought for a moment. No, she meant Dave. Of course.

She went on, “You’ll see. End of this week, you’ll learn who has hooked up with who. It’s like…you isolate a bunch of adults in the middle of the Spanish countryside and all the rules get thrown out the window.”

I finished my coffee down. For some reason the conversation was making me uncomfortable. “Sounds like it gets messy.”

She nodded slowly. “It can. But most people try and protect their hearts. I think that’s only natural. No one expects anything when they come to one of these places and if they do, they learn from it. I know I did after Blair—that was my Kiwi love. Xavi was just for fun. And this time? Well, I don’t know. After everything I’ve said, I don’t actually come here to find love. It just happens.”

“Why do you come here?”

She turned so the sun was at her back and her face gazed at me through shadow. “To belong.” She looked back to the crest of the hill. “Shall we head back? Don’t want to miss breakfast. That’s one thing I’ve learned as well. Always eat as much as you can. You’ll need your strength. And drink lots of water. And when all else fails, talk about music. Everyone loves to talk about music.”

I kept that—and everything else she’d said—in mind as we walked back up the hill.

Misery loves company.

To my pleasant surprise, almost every other person at Las Palabras was hungover. If this was what belonging felt like, then I was feeling it full-throttle.

Becca and I had sat down at a table with a green-looking Angel and a quiet Eduardo. It was Becca’s choice of tables and the more I watched her over breakfast and her interactions with Eduardo, the more I started to get an idea that she was setting her fairy dust on him.

I saw Mateo come in but he barely acknowledged me before going to sit with Beatriz, Polly and some bearded man called Skip. I wondered if Mateo was hungover too—if he was, he was making it work for him. He hadn’t shaved again, so the stubble was rough and dark and, combined with his tousled, messy hair, it made me want to do bad things to him. He was wearing another suit—a light grey one this time that complimented his dark skin. I wondered if all he had packed was suits. Surely he knew that this place would have been more casual than that.

I heard Becca clear her throat from beside me. I looked up in time to see Dave entering. He saw me and broke into a crooked grin which then quickly evolved into the casual head nod. Typical.

When breakfast was over and I was managing to keep the fruit I had consumed down (no way was a meal of meat and cheese going to cut it) I took a look at my schedule for the day. My first one-on-one was with Mateo. I barely looked at the rest. My smile could have broken my face in two.

I waited in reception by checking my emails, while Mateo finished up his breakfast. Jocelyn hadn’t sent me anything yet but Josh did. It was short and sweet. He was glad I was having fun. He’d just drawn something that he thought was good enough to enter into a contest (he’s an illustrator, like, an awesome one, and hopes to illustrate a graphic novel or comic book one day) and he said it’s been hard with me gone, mainly because our mother has taken to harassing him twenty-four seven about getting a better job than the line order cook one he already has.

I sighed, feeling bad for Josh. Ever since Mercy moved out and got engaged to her self-righteous prick of a fiancé, Charles (but you have to say it with a nasally English accent), my mother has been focusing her efforts on me and Josh. The thing is, housing prices and rent is so expensive in Vancouver that both Josh and I have nowhere to go but home. Part of me always entertained the idea of Josh and I moving out together, but since I’m a student with a shitty part-time job, that idea never gets very far.

“Who is Josh?”

I spun around in my seat to see Mateo standing behind me, scrutinizing my computer screen. Thank god I hadn’t written anything to my brother about him.

“He’s my brother,” I said quickly, heart racing and head still thumping. Why was I so nervous all of a sudden?

“Did you say anything nice about me?” he asked.

What? I frowned.

He shook his head, the grin spreading across his face. “I am just making fun. Come, let’s go talk. Where do you want to do it?”

Um, on the floor, against the sink, in the bed?