a one-night stand before they’d even properly kissed. Lilly’s fault. Or maybe the baseball cap’s. Either way, Kira wasn’t sure how to undo it. More sangria, maybe. She raised her mug. “To Barcelona.”
He smiled. She looked at his cracked tooth and nearly forgave him for his terrible sister. “Yes, Barca.”
The bar was nearly full now, cool kids shouting in multiple languages. “They know how to have a good time.”
“We’re lucky, aren’t we?” Jacques said abruptly.
“How so?” She hoped he wasn’t going cheesy, I’m so glad we found each other—
“To be so privileged, live in peace, have the money to do what we like, all the knowledge in the world on a computer in our pockets, bip bip boop—”
“You are aware that’s not how they sound—”
Lilly came back, poured herself a fresh cup of sangria. “I always feel better after a nice piss. How about you, Kira?”
Kira ignored her.
“What were you talking about, anyway?”
“The benefits of late capitalism,” Jacques said.
“Oh yes, Americans never think about capitalism, do they? Early, late, or in the middle. It’s just the foul water they drown in.”
“Don’t see you volunteering at the soup kitchen tonight, Lil.” Kira sipped her sangria, promising herself this cup would be her last.
“It’s not about volunteering, it’s about a just society. So poor people don’t depend on charity to survive.” She spat the word like charity was the worst idea possible.
Kira flashed to Ayla, the seven-year-old she’d been visiting all spring at Boston Children’s. A tiny girl with ringlets and big brown eyes. Barring a miracle, leukemia would kill her. She didn’t need a just society, she needed someone to hug her and paint her face like a tiger’s.
Only someone who had never volunteered could dismiss the notion so airily. Kira was almost starting to enjoy Lilly in her awfulness.
Jacques said something in French. Lilly snapped back, stood, walked off again.
“I tell her I know what she’s doing, it won’t work—”
“Are you sure she’s your sister?”
He laughed like the question had surprised him. “Unfortunately yes. Listen, I have an idea. Let’s go to another place, called Helado—”
“Doesn’t that mean ice cream?” She’d seen a sign on La Rambla.
“Frozen, yes. It has a dance floor. You like to dance?”
“Now and then.” She loved to dance.
“Then yes, really great music, the best, I think.” He waved to Lilly, Come over—
“Can’t we just ditch her?”
“It’s not worth it, trust me.”
* * *
The lights outside hit Kira harder than she expected.
Lilly pulled a silver cigarette case from her purse. “Brother?”
Jacques shook his head. A small victory, anyway. Kira had only kissed a smoker twice. The sour acrid taste had made her vow never again.
“I’d ask you, Kira, but I know Americans hate to smoke, they want to live forever.”
“You’re gonna look great with a trach hole in your throat.”
Jacques led them left and right, through the narrow streets of the Gothic Quarter, the old neighborhood east of La Rambla—the famous pedestrian boulevard—where the city’s bars and clubs were concentrated. Kira thought they were headed toward the harbor, though she wasn’t sure. No matter. She had her phone, as well as a city map. Rebecca always insisted Kira and Tony carry maps. In case you lose your phone. Though Kira couldn’t imagine losing her phone. It was never more than a couple feet from her even when she slept.
Anyway, Jacques wasn’t exactly leading them into some deserted alley. The streets grew more crowded as they walked, men and women clustering around tiny bar fronts, leaning out windows, drinking beer in the heat.
* * *
After fifteen minutes or so they crossed a street that was two lanes wide, a superhighway by Gothic Quarter standards. Kira wasn’t sure but she thought maybe they’d left the Quarter behind; these streets were just as narrow but not quite as busy.
“Five minutes,” Jacques said.
Sure enough, after another five minutes, they came to a windowless three-story brick building. The thump of bass leaked through its walls. She couldn’t have found this place on her own. The club had no sign, only a single red bulb in front of a black-painted door. A trim man in a blue T-shirt stood in front, a discreet bouncer.
The man said something to Jacques as they approached.
“Forty euros, twenty for me and ten each for you two.” Jacques reached for his wallet. “Let me pay.”
Normally Kira would have insisted on paying her own way, but she was still annoyed with Jacques for spoiling their date.
Behind the black door, a cashier sat in a glassed-in booth. Jacques handed