I hide behind a bench, waiting until the coast is clear. When I finally emerge, the world around me seems slightly more navigable. In the distance, I see the bright green lights of an establishment overlooking the port, and somewhere in the numbed recesses of my brain I seem to remember an Irish bar on the itinerary. With no other option, I follow the light.
Inside, Preston, Pam, and Chastity are on barstools munching on peanuts and laughing heartily over something; not, it seems, in the least bit concerned as to my whereabouts. Fuming, I stalk towards the bar and let loose my verbal wrath directed at the first person who will listen. Unfortunately, it is Preston, the one person who, I learn in retrospect, was worried about my absence and had attempted to get the others to turn back. But I refuse to hear his defense and instead turn to Chastity to unleash a similar tirade. Rose takes advantage of the opportunity to sneak back to her Irish man, and Preston looks around him in disgust.
“Whatever,” he declares, gesturing dismissively, “That’s it. I’ve had it. I’m going back to the apartment.”
Chastity and I are not in the least bit concerned, as we are thoroughly enjoying our drunken shouting match. Our fight continues until we’ve forgotten what we’re fighting about in the first place, at which point we get hit on by a sketchy man, have a good laugh, and decide that Preston had the right idea with going back to watch “Friends.” So we make a business transaction with Irish Mike (he gives us his credit card in exchange for Rose, on the condition that each will somehow be returned to their rightful owners in the next 24 hours), and head homeward.
We're halfway down the port before we think better of it.
Back inside the pub, the tour guides admonish us. "Trying to sneak off, eh? You girls better get ready; it's almost time to leave for the club."
"Sorry, we just came back to get our friend. Have you seen her? She's the short, brown-haired…"
No explanation is even necessary- they're already pointing to where Rose is lip-locked and grinding with her boy. It's time to stage an intervention.
Chastity and I each grab an arm and hustle her into the bathroom despite her and Mike's cries of protest.
"Let me go!!" She's screaming as we bust through the doors. The women in line look at us in horror.
"It's ok," I explain, while wrestling Rose into a corner. "She's really our friend."
"No I'm NOT!" Rose bellows. "Let me back in there! I was gonna get head!" She adds in a confidential whisper.
"Ok, this girl is 16 years old. She wants to go home with some college guy that she's never met before. Do any of you think that's a good idea?" Chastity appeals to the other women, who are unanimously opposed.
"There, you see?" I tell Rose, who yells again, "But I was gonna get HEAD!"
"Now Rose, I really don't think that's a healthy attitude," lectures Chastity, putting her hands on her hips to make her point. Wrong move; Rose breaks free and makes a dash for the door. This time, however, the women help us block her. We drag her back to a more secure spot between the sinks and the hand-dryer.
"Hey, hey, what's going on in here?" I turn around to see a new, and very male, addition to our bathroom drama.
"Aha!" I point him out for the other ladies. "See, that's Mike. That's the guy." They make "Ahh" and "Oho" noises while eyeing him up and down suspiciously.
Mike looks only vaguely concerned that he's the topic of women's bathroom discussion. His sole focus is getting Rose back into his clutches.
"Now listen," he waves his beer toward us. "You two have interrupted what has been an increasingly pleasant night. Now I think it's time for you to let this, this" his beer spills over the floor as he gestures emphatically, "this nice young lady rejoin me for another dance."
Rose is all for the idea, but Chastity and I stand our ground.
"I wonder," Chastity says, taking a step so that she is between them, "If you have any idea just how young this lady actually is?"
"Ahh...." Mike is temporarily relieved from answering this question with the arrival of one of his homeboys.
"Duude," they slap hands. "What's up?" The blonde kid asks, his glazed eyes wavering from woman to woman.
"We're playing a game," Chastity tells him. "Where Mike tries to guess Rose’s age."
"Ok, well she said that she's.... in college.... and she's taking a year off..... I didn't quite understand all of it but that means she has to be at least 19. Which is, you know, a little young but it's not like the end of the world or any..."
"Oh, Mike. She’s 14.”
Mike's reddened face pales. His friend staggers. The women look smug.
"I hate you! I HATE YOU! I WAS GONNA GET HEAD!" Rose’s rallying cry echoes across the harbor as we drag her and her scuffling feet down the planks of the port. At the intersection of La Rambla, we take a second to try and talk some sense into her.
"Rose. You are NOT going to get head if you go back to him. Not after he, ah, found out how old you are." Chastity chuckles, and I can't help but be proud of her brilliance. If only she were this discerning with her own suitors.
Rose's eyes flicker furiously, but then she relents, her body going slack under our grip.
"Fine," she sighs. "You guys are right."
Amazed at this moment of rational and sobriety, Chastity and I exchange relieved looks and let her go. In an instant, she is off like a shot and darting between traffic across the street.
"Rose!" We shriek and take off after her, blocked at the intersection by cars who have skidded to a halt to avoid hitting her. Between angry shouts and car horns we can hear her triumphant cackle fading into the distance, and as we stand on tiptoes we can barely make out the wild-haired form fleeing up the street.
"Where is she even going?!" Chastity yells as the light finally changes and we sprint toward La Rambla.
"I have no..... idea!" I gasp between breaths. "Here, you take that side of the sidewalk and I'll take this side.... we'll try to herd her in the direction of the apartment!"
Finally, we manage to catch her thanks to a belligerent prostitute who Rose has collided with during her getaway. The hooker, after having slapped Rose, was surprised to find that Rose knew Spanish, especially the type of lingo that they are still exchanging when we get there.
Thanking the whore for her help, we shuttle an exhausted Rose home, buying her a lollipop at a street-side stand as a peace offering.
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