see you later // Pablo Gavi

Chapter 1

𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒔.

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐖. Both my parents are English, and that is their first language, but have a lot of Spanish and French background. My mother's parents were French and my father's were Spanish. I was born in Spain, where my parents were living at the time, in Bilbao, on the Bay of Biscay. We lived there in that crammed little city apartment until I was about twelve. I learned English from my parents and Spanish from everyone else, so therefore, I am considerably fluent in both languages. When I was twelve, though, my parents decided that fourteen years was too long for them to stay in once place, for before I was born, they were always moving around, and had already lived in England, Ireland, France, Germany, Switzerland, and, of course, Spain. They loved France the most, and moved back to Montpellier, where they lived before I was born.

So here I have been, for six years, in Montpellier. I had to learn French, but already being bilingual, it wasn't too hard to become trilingual. Not to mention that I just seem to have a strange natural knack for learning languages.

It was hard leaving my best friend, Alondra Candella, behind in Bilbao, but we stay in touch, and for all these years, have still remained relatively close friends. She has grown up to be a beautiful girl with curly brown locks and tan skin, and probably the hottest boyfriend (according to her) that any girl could ever ask her. So her life seems great.

Here in France, I have two other close friends, that go by the names of Agnes Albarca and Charlotte Bonneville. All three of us have nicknames for each other, though- They call my Em, Agnes is called Aggie, and Charlotte we call Charli.

Overall, I'd say my life is good. I have just graduated high school, and I have career goals of becoming a physical trainer someday. I am planning to go to college- the same one that Charli and Aggie are going to, I think, which is pretty exciting.

I don't have a boyfriend or anything. I've been single all my life, but I'm happy like that. A lot of guys have asked me out in my lifetime. Especially Spanish guys, for whatever reason. I guess I'm just not a French boy's type?

Either way, it does not matter to me, because boys and sex and getting drunk and romance and eventually married and having kids have never been even the slightest bit of my concern. Sure, I've had crushes on a few guys in my lifetime, but I've always just brushed that up, regarding all of that sort of stuff as silly, ridiculous stuff that I will not concern myself with unless I really have to.

I just want to get a good job, be successful, and have a good, fun life. At least, that's the plan. And getting myself a man will likely just get in the way of all that.

Or at least that was what I was thinking. That was the plan. But I guess things don't always go the way you want them to, and believe it not, that's not always a bad thing, either.

I just finished high school, and it is July 15. I wake up late on this summer morning, tired from last night, in which me and my friends got drunk and had a fun time, all in the name of celebrating Bastille Day. Yeah, right.

Well, that's another thing about me, that I would say might just contradict that thing I just finished talking about- you know, being successful in life with a good job and everything. I love fun. I love parties. I love being drunk. And when I don't get enough of that, things start to get just a tad bit hard.

But that's not a huge problem for me. Because I get by. A party once a month is good enough for me, because even though I love people, they honestly, too, exhaust me, in a way. So I might love it a little too much, but personally, I think I'm balanced, at least enough. It's not like it's extremely unhealthy or anything. Actually, it's not even close to that. I think.

I roll out of bed on this particular morning, and get out of bed, wrapping a bathrobe around me. I step over all the boxes on the floor in my room that I've had since I was twelve. I'm planning on moving out to my own place now that I'm an adult, and I think I can do this. I want to move to a place a little nearer to the college I'm planning on going to, and right now, I'm looking at a nice little apartment with only twenty rooms. It seems pretty cute and well kept.

I walk into the kitchen, where my mother is sitting at the table, spreading some jam on a piece of white bread. "Good morning," I nod to her. When we're at home, we always speak English, that being my parent's native language. I, personally, though, out of the three languages I know, prefer Spanish, because that is my native language. I am a citizen of Spain, and only Spain, and I'm proud of it.

It's kind of funny, too, though, because whoever I talk to, they always say I have an accent. English people say I have an accent. So do the French, and even a few people said in Spain that I had a bit of an accent, too. Generally, though, I have pretty good pronunciation and grammar in all three languages.

"Good Morning, Ember. Your father is home today."

I look at my mother in slightly surprised confusion. "Why? And where is he?"

"He's in our bedroom, getting ready. This evening, he has a meeting with some friends and coworkers, and you know him. He likes to be ready for things hours before, whenever he can be. But there's a bigger reason he's missing work."

I sit down at my seat at the table, taking an apple from the fruit bowl, and take the knife she was using to spread jam, and start cutting pieces off of it casually as I ask, "What do you mean? What else is going on today?"

"Well, we actually need to talk to you about something pretty important."

I raise my eyebrows, my interest now peeked. "What is it?"

Just then, my father walks in, saying, "Well, did I get here in perfect timing, or what?"

"Sit down, Noah," my mother says. "It's good. We can just talk to her about it right here, right now."

Now I'm really confused and interested. My father gets settled. He's wearing his usual suit and tie. He has a very professional career, so it's not often that I see him wearing any sort of casual clothes anyway.

"So, Ember, since you're eighteen now and everything, we understand your plan is to be moved out by the end of the summer, correct?" my father starts with.

"Yes, that is my plan."

"And you already are decided on what college and where you will be living and everything?"

"I know what college, and I'm pretty sure about where I'll be living."

"Well, good. Me and your mother are planning on moving back to Spain, probably mid-October or so."

He says this so casually, I almost don't even register the words for a second. Once I do, though, I lean across the table to look at him with wide eyes, saying, "You're just, going? You know how much a love Spain! Why? And where on earth in Spain are you moving to, anyway? Don't tell me you're going back to Bilbao!"

"No, no, Ember. Just calm down. We figured you'd have a reaction something like this, so we just need to talk it over. But we're thinking of maybe moving to Barcelona."

Barcelona!

Oh. My. God!