My smile tugged down from a rush of melancholy. I reached up and touched his jaw, brushing along his beard with the backs of my fingers. “Seems a shame we couldn’t have started this up earlier.”

“Yes,” he murmured, kissing my forehead. “But good things take time. As much as I hate having so little of it with you like this, I wouldn’t have given up any of the other days. They all counted. They all brought me closer to you. They all showed me what I wanted.”

I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him closer to me, enveloping him in a kiss, sucking on his soft lower lip. I got his shirt off then he took off his pants and deftly rolled on a condom. With the moonlight streaming in behind him, he looked like a work of art, a silhouette of finely tuned grace and muscle.

The two of us lay on the bed as he turned me over on my side and pushed in from behind, one hand holding mine above our heads, our fingers laced together. He was right about Spaniards fucking and making love at the same time. It was hot and fervent, my body craving him insatiably, his grunts loud and animalistic in my ear. At the same time, it was intimate and safe, and each moment we were with each other, brought closer and closer to the edge, I felt myself falling and falling and falling in love with him.

When we came, we came together, and as the waves smashed through me, obliterating my reality for a star shining moment, I wished he wasn’t wearing a condom so I could absorb him into me. I still wanted more, wanted all of him.

I really was greedy.

We only slept for a few hours that night, after the moon disappeared from the sky. The rest of the time we were fucking, making love, exploring each other’s bodies in hopes that the night would never end.

But eventually the sun came up and a rooster from a distant farm reminded us that our last full day together was here.

The next day—the last day—was all about stealing time. In the early morning hours, Mateo kissed me goodbye and went back to his room. Even though Sara had seen us together, we still had to be discreet. She couldn’t quite prove anything just because she saw him drop by at night and go into my room (and maybe heard us doing it like animals), and even though I could tell it wouldn’t matter to Sara, it could matter to someone else.

So, on the last day, we had to pretend that there was nothing going on between us. It should have been somewhat easy to pretend; after all, I had been pretending one way or another for the last month. But it wasn’t. My skin felt bereft at the absence of his; my heart ached painfully when he was so close but so far. All we had were knowing looks across rooms and sly smiles to connect us.

It wasn’t really fair, the way things worked out. I was so wrapped up with the matters of my body and my heart for Mateo that I was missing out on the sadness around me. Maybe that was a good thing in the end, but everywhere I looked, I saw the quiet sorrow in everyone’s eyes, Spaniard and Anglo, at the impending farewell. We had all bonded so well and so hard that I knew everyone was hurting inside, feeling as if their lives weren’t going to be the same the next evening.

Each one-on-one I had was bittersweet. I had Beatriz, who was unusually emotional and kept wiping a tear away with her dainty fingers; Angel who wouldn’t stop talking about all the things he would miss; and Antonio, who kept on making me laugh with his knock-knock jokes, which in turn made me realize how much I was going to miss them.

At lunchtime, I sat with Mateo, Polly, and Eduardo. Halfway through the meal, Jerry stood up in the middle of the dining hall and sang us a song a cappella. It was shocking, actually, how well a dweeby goof like Jerry could sing, and made some of the tears around the room fall again. The song was in Spanish too, and Mateo told me it was a famous farewell song. I gathered that already from the hushed tones and the sweet, crystal sound.

It was hard not to continuously touch Mateo. I had to keep reminding myself where I was. Because our table was at the back of the room and we had our backs to the wall, we were able to hold hands under the table from time to time. It steadied me, to feel his skin, the pulse in his veins. It both reminded me that he was real and he was here now and that he’d soon be gone.

After lunch, Jerry cancelled the last free time and handed out pens and small pads of paper with the program logo on it. He told us we had a half an hour to go around the room and enter phone numbers into our phones, if we had them, or write down emails. Then afterward we would all go out on the lawn for a group picture.

With the pen in my hand I immediately looked up at Mateo. I tried to swallow. “I guess we should exchange information.”

He nodded, eyes glittering at me. “Of course.”

He wrote down his email and tapped it with his finger. “This is private.” He then wrote down his phone number. “iMessage will work overseas. You can text me anytime you want.”

That struck me like a hammer to the chest. Texting. We were going from seeing each other every day and fucking to seeing each other never and texting.

“It is going to be all right, Vera,” he said, his voice lower. “Remember my presentation that impressed you so.”

“You’re saying we can write our own destiny,” I said, feeling too jaded and stubborn in the moment to believe it.

“I am saying,” he said carefully, “that this is not the end of the story. Not the way I am writing it.”

“Hey, I’d love to get your guys’ info,” Eduardo said, walking over and interrupting us, “and Facebook if you have it.”

I took a step back from Mateo, conscious now that we may have been standing too close, and looked at him for his response.

Mateo gave him a tight smile. “I don’t have Facebook, if you can believe it. I’m too old for that.”

“I can believe it,” Eduardo said good-naturedly. Even though Mateo brought the joke on himself, I swear I saw a shadow pass over his eyes, darkening them.

I exchanged information with pretty Polly, who also seemed to be going through emotional turmoil, having to leave Eduardo and all, then went around the room, exchanging emails, Facebooks, and phone numbers. I talked to pretty much everybody.

Even Lauren.

I didn’t approach her and she didn’t approach me, but I ran into her when I was coming out of the women’s washroom. I was going to let it go, to just forget everything and leave this place without having to talk to her. But I couldn’t.

“Hey,” I said to her as she brushed past, ready to say something to put her in her place.

She slowly turned around and gave me a caustic look. But through her glitter-coated glasses, I saw her eyes were completely red and puffy, and the corners were wet with tears.

“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling an uncalled for bout of concern. I couldn’t help myself.

She sniffed and shook her head. Then, as if she remembered who she was talking to, her back straightened, her expression becoming hard. “Are you okay?” she retorted.

“No,” I said honestly.

She gave me a blasé look. “Well. Then you know.” She turned and pushed open the door to the bathroom. I could hear her muttering, “Of course, you could mind your own business,” to herself as she went.

Huh. I guess the Brony ended up having a sexual preference after all, and it was Lauren, the slut-shaming feminist. It seemed as if hearts were breaking all over the place. I thought back to the first piece of advice I had been given by Gabby when she dropped me off at the bus. “Don’t fall in love,” she had said. She knew exactly what happened in Las Palabras, every single program. It kind of made me wonder why this wasn’t a reality TV show.

Soon, when people’s emotions were more in check, we all gathered together on the lawn for the group picture. It was pure chaos. Eduardo, Angel, Sammy, and Froggy Carlos all lay down at the front like they were posing as centerfolds in a 70’s Penthouse, while the rest of us were all squished together, laughing, touching, hugging.