Orientation

The girls actually did get comfortable at school right away. As advertised, the other students were open and friendly. It was only the third day when Julie came home beaming. “Mom, Matty Shepard invited me to sleep over on Friday night! Can I go?”

“Sure,” I said, glad that she wanted to go. “Who’s Matty?”

“She’s from Iowa,” Julie said, “and she’s been here two years already. She lives in Majadahonda.” This was another suburb about 15 minutes west of Pozuelo.

Sleepovers were a big deal at the American School. Though many of the kids lived near the school, in Pozuelo or Aravaca or Humera, there were some who lived in Madrid and others who lived much further west. If your sleepover took place on a Friday night, you could take the bus home with your host, and your parents would only have to make one trip to pick you up.

I talked to Matty’s mother on the phone and got directions so I’d be ready to get Julie that Saturday morning after the sleepover. When I found my way out to the Shepards’ townhouse I met the smiling Matty, an auburn-haired tomboy, and her friendly parents, Martha and Jack. “We’re a little different from the average expats here,” Martha said. “We came because of my job.” Martha worked in systems with a big financial services firm; Jack had come along for the experience of living in a foreign country. “I work in television production, but I’ve only been able to pick up a little freelance work here,” he told me. “But with all my free time I’ve been able to do things like be the president of the PTA at the school.”

Julie appeared from upstairs, looking tired but happy. We headed out and drove through the half-dozen glorietas—roundabouts—that routed traffic back toward Pozuelo.

The next week Julie wanted to invite another new friend to sleep over. “Can I ask Anna to stay here Friday night?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“I want to ask a friend, too!” Lisa said.

“Okay,” I told her. “Who?”

“Can I ask Amy?”

“Why not?”

So on Friday night I met two more girls: Anna Levine-Gronningsater, a skinny, freckled New York City kid who’d just moved to Madrid with her family, and Amy Fisher, whose family had been in Húmera for four years. The kids all played happily, running between the yard and the attic playroom, until I decided to take them out for pizza.

Since the kids always craved American-style food, we went to the Pizza Hut near the school. The booths were small, so Julie and Anna took their own table right behind the little girls and me.

Amy chattered endlessly while we waited for our pizzas. “We’re from St. Louis,” she said. “My older sister is in fourth grade now. My dad works for a big company. We have a really big house! I have a maid who stays with me when my mom and dad go out. She’s from the Philippines. I’m doing so well in school! My teacher likes me the best. I’m the best in my Spanish class, too.” Lisa was paying close attention, but Julie and Anna were rolling their eyes at the constant bragging.

“Do you know how to say butterfly in Spanish?” Amy asked the older girls. They blanched. They had only studied Spanish for a few days! “It’s mariposa,” Amy said helpfully. “How about highway?” She peppered them with questions she knew they couldn’t answer. Finally Julie started to get mad. “We just moved here! We’re only in beginning Spanish!” she said.

A light bulb went on over Anna’s head. “What level of Spanish are you in?” she asked. Amy’s eyes went wide. “I’m in advanced beginner,” she said.

“You’ve been here four years and you’re only an advanced beginner?” Anna said, with a note of triumph.

“Well, uh, I was going to move up this year, but Alfredo thought I ought to stay in advanced beginner for a little longer . . .” But Julie and Anna were already sporting smug grins, having put their little pest in her place.