Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2) by Jessica Peterson

to answer that for you.”
    “Your special someone?” I say, grinning.
    He rolls his eyes. “This way, please.”

Chapter 7
    Maddie

    Javier leads me around the corner and taps the knuckle of his first finger on a (much) smaller side door. I trail my eyes over a maze of medieval brickwork while we wait, the bricks washed in a sooty, dripping ash leftover from centuries of rain, humidity, and pollution. It forms a sort of ancient tie-dye, tinged at the edges with green moss. This place is old . On my family’s beach trip to Charleston last year, I remember marveling at a pink row house that was built in 1723.
    The monastery came into being hundreds and hundreds of years before that, during a time when the plague was a real thing and architects were mathematical badasses, working to rediscover the theorems and equations of the Ancient Romans, the Ancient Greeks. I wonder how many architects and artisans worked on the place. Every brick, every stone and cross and column was designed and made by hand, constructed using methods unchanged since the middle ages.
    The door swings open, revealing a woman who greets us with a dazzling smile. She’s the kind of gorgeous that stops traffic. Tall, tan, with rambunctious, caramel-colored curls, she’s got a wide mouth and big eyes.
    So this is the girl , I think. Javier’s girl.
    He’s got good taste. Expensive taste—I look down to see a Cartier Tank watch on her wrist—but good taste nonetheless.
    Like most Madrileñas, she is dressed to the nines: dark jeans, flowy silk top, a pair of sassy heeled boots. I’ve always wondered where Spanish women find the time to always look so damn good. Being a college student, I practically live in yoga pants; I bet Javier’s girl would rather shave her head than wear yoga pants, even while doing yoga.
    “María Carmen.” Javier steps through the door, offering her a quick, awkward kiss on each cheek. He’s jumpy all of the sudden; nervous. It’s kinda cute. “Como estás?” How are you?
    Javier , she says. I notice she keeps her hand on his shoulder. It’s been a while! I am glad to see you. How was the tour?
    I blink. Tour?
    It was great. But long. He smiles, shyly. You look beautiful, Carmen.
    She offers him a blinding smile in return. Thanks. You look well, too.
    He looks at her for a minute, still smiling, then turns to me. “Carmen, I’d like you to meet Maddie. She is a friend of Rafa’s, studying at San Pedro for the semester.”
    I hold out my hand. “Mucho gusto, Carmen.”
    “It is lovely to meet you too, Maddie,” she replies in stilted, formal English. Her eyes sweep over me, so quickly I almost don’t see it.
    “Maddie is putting together a thesis in historical preservation,” Javier continues, waving me inside. “I thought she might enjoy seeing the monastery, and perhaps talk to you about the foundation’s work? Carmen is one of the curators here. She specializes in Renaissance art.”
    “Really?” I say. “That’s so cool!”
    Carmen’s smile broadens. “Welcome, Maddie, I have no doubt you will love what you see. Please, come in, some of Javier’s band mates have already arrived.”
    “Have they introduced themselves, I hope?” Javier says.
    “Oh, yes,” Carmen says. “I already knew Leo, of course—“
    “Sorry about that.” Javier smiles.
    “But the others said hello. Very friendly band mates you have.”
    A familiar, musty smell— old —hits me the second I step inside the door. The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I follow Javier and Carmen through the tiny entrance hall.
    It’s all I can do not to gasp, or jump up and down like the crazy person that I am, when we come out on a wide gallery. Ardent afternoon light streams through the wavy, hand-blown glass of the windows, turning the terra cotta floor tiles into a shining pool of red. Every inch of wall space is covered in ornate frescoes, flowers and animals and a lot of Jesus, drawing the eye upward to a ceiling of dark