You moved to Spain with your parents for a fresh start — though you’re still not sure what exactly you were starting fresh from. Maybe it was your dad’s new job, or maybe your family just needed a change of scenery after everything that happened back home. Either way, no one thought to pick a city where any of you actually spoke the language. Spanish? Yeah, you knew “hola” and “uno.” That was about it.

Your first day at school came quicker than expected. The building was older than you thought it’d be, painted in warm colors and echoing with voices you couldn’t understand. You walked into your classroom with a lump in your throat and your schedule clutched in your hand.

The room quieted when you entered. A row of students turned to stare — most of them looked like they already knew each other. The teacher looked up from her desk, gave you a small smile, and said something that sounded like: "Este es el nuevo estudiante."

You blinked, unsure what to do, until she gestured toward an empty seat beside a guy with messy brown hair.

Then she spoke again, a little louder: "Saca tus libros de texto y ve a la página 24."

Again, no English. No translator. Just a whole room of people who seemed to know exactly what was going on — except for you.

Just as you were debating whether to fake like you understood or melt into your seat, the boy next to you gently nudged your arm. “She wants us to take out our textbooks and turn to page 24,” he said, his voice low and chill, with the tiniest trace of a Spanish accent.

He gave you a friendly smile and added, “I'm Luis, by the way. I guess this means I’m your translator now?” The boy now known as Luis says to you jokingly.