Dina turns to me with a frown. ‘What?’
‘I’m pretty sure your place is on the way to school. My mum could pick you up.’
‘I don’t need your charity,’ Dina grumbles, finally pulling her hand away from mine. I’d got used to the warmth of her fingers in mine. Our hands seemed to fit together a little too perfectly. I try not to let on how unsettled I suddenly feel without her touch as I pull my hand away from the armrest too.
‘Giving you a lift is not charity. I’m just offering. You don’thaveto accept. We’d be going that way anyway.’ I try to sound casual about it.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Dina says, and I know it’s probably the most I’ll get from her right now.
Things are different between me and Dina in Madrid. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re away from home. Or maybe it’s the conversation we had on the plane, but we don’t bicker over everything. In fact, we barely even speak to each other. It doesn’t help that every time I so much as look at Dina, I feel my heart start to beat faster and my skin prickle with heat.
Even Gwen and Nadine pick up on the weirdness, though thankfully they don’t ask too many questions. Because if they did, I would probably have to tell them the truth. And the truth is that, against all the odds, I’m pretty sure that I’ve developed a crush on Dina. I want to blame it on the heat of Madrid, or the overexertion of walking across the city in the ceaseless sunshine, but if I’m being honest with myself, my feelings for Dina probably started way before this trip. Butit’s difficult to have feelings for someone that you find just a little bit intolerable. Though with Dina’s new revelations on the plane, she seems softer, more vulnerable. Herself, in a way that she never has before. Like I’m finally seeing Dina as a full person; not just the prickly, ever-tardy girl with the wrong school uniform and the haughty attitude.
Still, it’s not like I can do much about my crush. I already know that there’s no universe where Dina returns my feelings. She tries to one-up me still whenever Ms Nichols asks a question about Madrid, and utilises her Spanish conversational skills at every opportunity, always followed by a cursory glance at me, like she’s challenging me to try to show her up. For once, I don’t.
After two days of sightseeing, we get a free day to ourselves to do whatever we want. Nadine and Gwen are desperate to hit the shops, but I’ve already got my outing planned. So I say goodbye to them at the hotel lobby and make my way to the football museum that Jen told our team about a couple of days ago. It feels nice to be away from Ms Nichols’s watchful gaze.
I queue up in line to get my tickets when a familiar voice makes my stomach drop.
‘What are you doing here?’ I turn around to find Dina a few people behind me in the queue. I should have known she would come here.
‘Same thing as you, I’m guessing,’ I say, trying not to look at her too directly.
‘I didn’t think this would be your thing,’ Dina says.
‘Because we’re not on the same football team,’ I reply drily.
She frowns. ‘Well … fine, but if you’re going to be in there, don’t bother me.’
‘Fine, as long as you don’t bother me either.’ I was already planning on trying to stay out of her way anyway. But once we get into the museum, the two of us constantly run into each other: we arrive at the display for Messi’s original jersey at the exact same time, frowning at each other across the clear display case, and somehow, we find ourselves alone in the audiovisual room as they talk us through the various World Cups. I can barely pay attention because I’m a little too busy studying Dina. She’s wearing a dark green T-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled up in a short ponytail, out of her deep brown eyes. Eyes that seem to keep flickering towards me, making me turn away and pretend to be concentrating on the audio narrator. One thing I do pick up on is the fact that the narrator has told us about five different men’s world cups, but absolutely nothing about any women’s world cups.
‘Isn’t it ridiculous that this is an entire museum about football, but there’s not a single thing about women’s football?’ I blurt out, finally looking at Dina properly. Dina takes so long to respond that I’m sure she’s going to pretend that she didn’t hear my question at all and that’ll be that.
But then she says, ‘Right?’ with so much indignation that it feels like we’re on exactly the same page. It makes my heart leap to my throat. ‘I mean, it’s like women’s football doesn’t even exist. An entire movie about world cups, but not a single video about the women’s World Cup?’
‘And all of these legendary players, but not even a mention of a female player!’ I say, throwing my hands up. ‘Where is Marta’s jersey, or any mention of Homare Sawa’s legendary hat trick at the last World Cup?’
‘You’d think that women didn’t even play football,’ Dina grumbles.
‘I really thought there’d be … something. Especially since Jen recommended it.’
‘I like the shirt room,’ Dina admits. ‘I mean, it’s cool to see all of these players and their shirts. I bet when they started playing most of them had no idea how much they’d be admired around the whole world.’
‘Yeah, I bet they couldn’t imagine something they wore being in a museum one day,’ I add.
‘Being gawked at by teenaged football fans,’ Dina says with a smile that makes my stomach do somersaults. Dina barely ever smiles, which means that when she does, it lights up her whole face.
‘Do you … want to get some food?’ I ask, trying to sound as casual as I can. ‘I’m starving.’
Dina stares at me for what feels like a full minute, like she can hardly believe I’ve asked that question. I can hardly believe it either. I’m preparing for her to turn me down with one of her signature scowls.
But then she says, ‘Um … OK. Sure.’
And I feel my stomach twist again. But not with hunger this time.
We end up buying calamari sandwiches from a food truck and eating in a nearby park. I scarf mine down in a matter of minutes, not sure if it’s the hunger or the fact that I’m so nervous I needed something to do. But then I’m left to fill the time with conversation as Dina nibbles at her sandwich slowly and carefully. I try not to stare at her lips the whole time, which is easier said than done.
Surprisingly, our conversation doesn’t veer off into an argument. We talk about football, the museum, our team, Jen. Everything and anything. It feels like a conversation between friends. Conversations that we’ve been bottling upall this time that we’ve been needlessly competing against each other.
