“How about one with Dad actually dancing?” urged Sarah.
“He is dancing,” said Natalie. “That is your father dancing.”
Tom had, in fact, begun to respond to the music by swaying back and forth. Realizing this, he stepped quickly away from the dancer.
“Yup, that will do it,” said Aidan, now standing just behind Sarah. He handed the Dork Sack back to his father, then leaned closer to Sarah.
“Nice move,” he whispered. “I got ’em.”
The next morning, Sarah and Aidan left the hotel right after breakfast, having promised their parents that they would return by eleven a.m. when the family was due to leave for yet another historical tour. They walked directly to the consulate, reaching it shortly after the doors opened at nine. Manning the security station inside the entrance was the same guard they’d spoken with the day before. He smiled when he saw Sarah, and made a little bow.
“The Spanish student!” he said. “Bienvenido, señorita.”
“Likewise,” she said, blushing.
“Likewise?” said Aidan.
Ignoring him, Sarah unzipped her backpack and took out the two passports Aidan had removed from the Dork Sack.
“Here you are,” she said.
The guard studied the passports, then handed them back. He went through Sarah’s backpack, then directed her and Aidan through the metal detector.
“That way,” he said, pointing toward the counter. “The woman behind the counter will help you.”
“Thank you,” said Sarah, smiling brightly.
“Con mucho gusto,” said the guard.
“Likewise!” said Aidan.
“Shut up,” said Sarah.
The line at the counter was shorter this morning; there were only four people ahead of them. Behind the counter was a clerk, a serious-looking woman who wore her red-dyed hair in a tight bun. She was stamping some documents. The eagle in the archway was just in front of the counter, a few feet ahead of where Sarah and Aidan waited in line. Sarah looked up at it, then down, but all she saw beneath the eagle was a large man in a brown suit, now second in line.
“I don’t get it,” she said quietly to Aidan. “What’s supposed to be beneath the eagle?”
Aidan was studying the floor.
“Beneath your feet,” he said.
Sarah looked at the floor. It was made of marble tiles, each about two feet square, grayish-white with black veins running through them in random-looking patterns.
“Yeah? So what? It’s a floor,” she said. “Big deal.”
“We’re not under the eagle yet.”
The line moved forward. Now the man in the brown suit was talking to the clerk; behind him was a young woman, and behind her stood Aidan and Sarah, last in line.
“Okay, now look,” whispered Aidan, pointing at the tile directly under the young woman’s sandals—and directly under the eagle.
Sarah looked, then frowned.
“What?” she whispered.
“That tile is different from the others,” he said. “Don’t you see? It’s not as worn down, and the color’s a little lighter. And the dark lines are…sharper.”
Sarah studied the marble tile. “So one of the old tiles broke and they replaced it. So what?”
“Maybe,” said Aidan. “Maybe not.”
The clerk finished up with the man in the brown suit. The young woman ahead of them stepped up to the counter. Aidan and Sarah moved forward, now directly under the eagle. There still was nobody in line behind them.
“Quick,” whispered Aidan. “Give me a piece of paper.”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me.”
Sarah unzipped the backpack, poked around inside for a moment, and withdrew a spiral notebook. She tore out a blank piece of paper and handed it to Aidan.
“Do you have a pencil?” he said.
“What are you doing?”
“Just give me a pencil,” said Aidan, snapping his fingers.
“Okay, okay.” Sarah rooted around in the backpack and produced a pencil. Aidan took it, then glanced back toward the guard station; the guard was talking with two people who’d just entered.
Perfect.
“May I help you?” said the clerk.
“Distract her,” Aidan whispered to Sarah.
“But what should I—”
Aidan pushed her toward the clerk. “My sister has a question,” he said.
“Right,” said Sarah to the clerk. “I’m…I’m studying Spanish, and I need to interview a Spaniard. I mean a Spanish. I mean a Spanish person.”
The clerk eyed Sarah doubtfully.
Aidan tugged on the backpack. Sarah clung to it, jerking it away from him.
“Let go,” he hissed.
“Why should I?”
Aidan drew open the backpack’s zipper farther, while at the same time he pulled on the backpack’s strap. The clerk shook her head impatiently. Americans.
“Don’t pull!” Sarah said to him. “You’re going to—”
Aidan tore loose the backpack, but it tipped and dumped its contents.
“—spill it,” said Sarah. “Nice move, moron.”
“I’m sorry,” said Aidan, not sounding at all sorry. “I’m going to pick it up now.” He dropped into a crouch and cleared off the tile in the middle of the backpack’s spilled contents: a Kleenex travel pack, three packs of gum, four tubes of mascara, some coins, hair ties, hair clips, a hair scrunchie, and the hair spray that Sarah carried everywhere. The counter prevented the clerk from seeing him. Aidan looked back; the guard remained occupied screening the two arrivals.
As Sarah stammered out a vague story about her needing an interview, Aidan placed the document onto the cleared section of tile. The dark lines on the tile showed clearly through the thin paper. Aidan moved the paper around, rotating it one way, then another. Suddenly, he stopped.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly.
“What?” said Sarah, looking down at her brother.
“Just getting this picked up!” Aidan said, still too loud. He stuffed a few items into the backpack.
Sarah turned back to the clerk, who was craning forward to peer over the counter. Sarah sidestepped to block her view of Aidan, who was now using the pencil to trace the lines in the stone.
“Sir!” Aidan jumped as the guard’s stern voice called to him from the security area. “What are you doing?”
Aidan looked up; the guard was walking quickly toward him.
“What are you doing?” the guard repeated.
“Picking up what I spilled,” said Aidan, now stuffing things into the backpack.
“With a pencil?”
“Oh, that,” said Aidan, looking at the pencil in his hand as though he’d just noticed it. “Ah…I’m tracing.”
“You’re tracing the floor?”
“The grain in the marble,” said Aidan. “It’s very…interesting.” He continued tracing.
“Sir, this is not a museum or a cathedral,” said the guard. “Please, no more tracing. Collect your things, please.”
“But I’m almost done,” said Aidan, working frantically.