Chapter Two

I nervously entered the Elite Model office off of La Rambla, looking down nervously at my outfit of choice. I was wearing purple skinny jeans, a grey sweater with a simple pattern, heels, and only a necklace for jewelry. I knew simple was best, because they would essentially want to see me as a blank canvas.

My appointment with one of the directors, Antoni Martell, had already been made, and I was slightly early just in case.

I was called back right on schedule, and found myself in a modern office. I sat across from Antoni on one of the minimalist chairs after exchanging quick kisses on each cheek.

“I see you have been living in São Paulo for most of your life, Laia, but you are fluent in both Spanish and Catalan, which is very good. May I see your portfolio?” he questioned. I nodded, handing over the black leather binder that contained pictures of the shoots I did back in Brazil, and several other locations. He flicked through the photos and several stills from runway shows, looking at each closely.

“Well Laia, it looks like you’ve done a lot,” he said at last. I nodded anxiously. “Would you do a walk for me right now?” he questioned, gesturing to an empty part of the office along the wall.

I nodded; glad I had worn heels, and quickly fell into my runway walk. After walking the length back and forth he stopped me, and I returned to my seat. He thumbed through my portfolio once more, a mysterious smile on his face. At last he looked up, and offered his hand, “Welcome to Elite Models, Laia.”



Vera, Aisha, and I wandered down the busy street, eyes wide. We were so beyond lost we were sure that we were never going to find the culinary school for orientation.

We had been wandering through the city since lunch, not even sure if we were in the right part of town anymore. The thought of missing the first day was weighing heavy on all of us. The possible consequences scared us all, so we kept going. We at last came to a stop, all thirsty and hot.

The alley we had turned down was empty, though we could see the parallel street to the one we had walked off of was very busy.

With hope, we entered the crowded street.

Vera groaned loudly, “This is the street we live on!” We all slumped in defeat. We all knew the school was close, but at the same time, we had yet to find it. “We should just ask someone for help,” I said at last, and I saw the other two were in agreement with me. We were desperate at his point, and since I was the only one who spoke Spanish, I knew it was up to me. I just hoped I wouldn’t ask someone who refused to speak Spanish instead of Catalan.

Surveying the crowd around me, I looked for the best candidate. The man with a nationalist shirt was out of the question, as was the mother of four.

Most people walked by, occupied with something, and seemed completely unapproachable. I took a few steps forward, almost colliding with a woman who’d just exited one of the various shops along the busy pedestrian street. “Lo siento!” I exclaimed instantly.

She was tall. I glanced down, and saw the heels – at least three inches, not including the slight wedge. The added wedge only boosted her height more.

A glance over her, and I felt intimidated – stylish clothing, perfect hair, and a stunning smile.

“It’s no problem at all,” she answered back, her Spanish surprisingly accented as well. She glanced at the two behind me, smiling at them as well. “Um, can I ask you a question?” I continued, gaining some confidence. She nodded, removing the slightly oversized black frames from her face to look me directly in the eye.

I held up the piece of paper with the address of the school, “Can you tell us how to get here?” The woman smiled, “Better, I can take you there. I’m going in that direction.”

I felt my shoulders slump in relief, “Thank you so much!”



The three girls followed me down La Rambla, all talking in English. I smiled, understanding only some of what they were saying, but getting enough to realized they must have been walking around in circles for hours. I could understand, since the city had a maze-like feel to it.

They were all heading to the culinary school further down the street, and they must not have figured it would literally be on the same street, just the other side from where Luciana, the girl who spoke Spanish, explained where they lived.

Eventually Luciana caught up with me again, “Muchas gracias. I have no idea what we would have done.” I waved my hand dismissively, “It’s no problem at all. So the three of you are culinary students?” I asked, and she nodded to confirm my suspicions.

“So where are you from?” I questioned. “I’m from Canada, the other two are from elsewhere,” she answered.

I spotted the small front of the culinary school and smiled, “There’s Coquus right there. Here, take my number and when you’re free give me a call and I’ll give you a tour of the city.” She looked up at me in surprise, “You would do that?” I grinned, sliding my sunglasses back down, “Of course. Just call later and we’ll set up a time to go for a tour. Depending on the day, we could even go see a football match.”

She thanked my profusely, as did the other two girls as I waved and continued down La Rambla.



Orientation was flying by.

I stood in one of the various classrooms as we finished up talking about various school policies, my newly acquired items in hand. I had several sets of uniforms, and also a new knife set.

I looked down at the clothing items, the ones that everyone had. It consisted of a red jacket and black and white checkered pants. My name was stitched on the breast pocket in yellow thread, perfectly emulating the Catalan colors in a subtle way. Next to me, Vera bounced excitedly. At last the professor giving the lecture drew it to a close, and they spilled out of the front, and headed back to their apartment, which they discovered was only a half mile down the street, courtesy of the woman who had helped them earlier, Laia.

As soon as we got back to our home, we all tried on our uniforms, modeling and taking pictures of each other. I grinned, posing with a spatula as Vera beside me modeled a baking sheet.

I then remembered that I was supposed to call Laia, and nervously dialed her number.

‘Hello?’ she answered on the second ring. “Um hi, this is Luciana, from earlier?” I replied, hoping that she would remember me. “Oh, buenas días. How was orientation?” she asked, her voice turning far more casual. I relaxed, glad she remembered me. “I was hoping that your offer for a tour was still on at some point,” I said.

I heard her laugh, “Of course. There’s a football game tomorrow in the afternoon if you’re free.” “That sounds great,” I answered, since our classes didn’t start until next week.

Finally we were going to start immersing ourselves in the city of Barcelona.