Chapter 5 - "Don't speak Spanish to me."

My first day of university didn't really feel like my first day of school. Maybe I was more grown up and naturally felt more confident; maybe I was still buzzing from my date with Nathan the night before; or maybe I just realized that every single person here was in the exact same position as me. Nobody knew each other and it was perfectly acceptable to just start a random conversation with a nearby person about where you were from or what you were studying. I quite liked that. I couldn't imagine another situation where I'd meet or talk to so many different people in such a short amount of time.

Spanish was my first class and as soon as the teacher walked into the room, I knew it was not only going to be completely different to my Spanish classes at school, but also completely different to how I'd imagined.

On the numerous occasions that I'd envisaged life at university, I'd pictured myself sitting in a huge lecture theatre with hundreds of other people whilst the lecturer taught us grammar and vocabulary on the huge screen. Right now, I was sitting in a small classroom with about ten or fifteen other people and a teacher who was speaking Spanish at about one hundred miles per hour without stopping to take a breath. I was so paralysed with shock at how different this was going to be that for the first few minutes all the words went straight over my head and she could have been talking Japanese for all that I understood of it.

Glancing around, some people looked just as shocked, which was comforting, but others were simply nodding along with the teacher. I had to remind myself that I was studying at a decent university; I may have been the strongest in the class at school, but now that I was at university I was amongst the best of the best. Everyone here had been the strongest in their class and some were inevitably going to be much better than me.

I forced the tension out of my shoulders and focused my attention on the teacher. Although I couldn't understand every single word, I tried to fill in the gaps to get the gist of what she was talking about.

"I can tell this is going to be intense," a girl next to me murmured once the teacher had paused for breath and was writing something on the board.

"I know. I feel like I'm way out of my depth."

"You're not the only one."

A boy at the far end of the classroom then raised his hand and asked a question in what seemed like fluent Spanish. He didn't even seem to be thinking about the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"Fuck my life." The girl next to me groaned. "I think I'm gonna drop out..."

Classes at university lasted only forty-five minutes, but this one dragged by. I sat silently in my seat, praying the teacher wouldn't pick on me to answer a question. Luckily there didn't seem to be much class participation today, perhaps because it was the first lesson and the teacher was spending the whole time talking about the course and what we'd be studying.

Towards the end of the forty-five minutes, she handed out some sheets and told us to work in pairs, or rather 'parejas', to complete the grammar exercises. I was thankful to be working with the girl who seemed as terrified as me at this whole new approach to Spanish; if I'd have been with one of the more fluent members of the class, then I'd have been too self-conscious of my ability to contribute much to the exercise, despite grammar being one of my strengths.

We chatted together about the exercises, in English since that was how grammar was taught at school, until the teacher passed us.

"En español, chicas." She smiled.

We smiled back, guilt all over our faces no doubt, and then used pretty much basic Spanish to complete the rest of the sheet. Hopefully after a few lessons I'd become more comfortable and would be able to speak Spanish at the level that I knew I was capable of.

"That was tough," the girl said to me as we filed out of the classroom at the end of the lesson. "I wasn't prepared for that."

"Me neither," I replied. "Some people are so good. That guy was practically fluent."

"Oh, he lives in my block. He's lived in Spain for eight years, so he pretty much is fluent."

I frowned. "So why is he at university studying Spanish if he can already speak it?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Easy credits, I guess. I'm Anna by the way."

I smiled. "Izzy. What do you have next?"

"German," she replied. "That's at one. How about you?"

"Italian," I said.

"Ab initio?"

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to it. At least I'm not expected to know anything for this class."

She laughed and shortly afterwards we parted ways. I hoped to have some of my other classes with her, since it was nice to have a like-minded friend already. Taking out my map, I began to navigate my way to my Italian classroom.

As predicted, Italian was much more relaxed. There were only about ten people in the class, and rather than there being about twenty different classes for Spanish in order to accommodate the sheer amount of people studying it, this was apparently the only Italian class.

I was immediately more comfortable since everyone in this room was already at the same level as me. We knew the odd few words, but not enough to form a conversation. The teacher was a bubbly, Italian woman, who came into the room with a cup of coffee, gushing about how windy it was outside in a musical Italian accent. I liked her instantly.

The forty-five minutes flew by. We played a couple of simple games and learnt how to say our names and where we lived. As I headed back to my block afterwards, I felt ten times more positive than I had done after Spanish.

"Hey, Guapa," Jack said as I entered the flat and passed his door.

I did a U-Turn and went into his room instead of going to my own. Shuddering, I shot him a glare. "Don't speak Spanish to me. I don't think my brain can take any more."

He grimaced. "Was it that bad?"

"I felt like the worst person in the room."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Well, put it this way. Some of the people in that class are fluent."

He turned pensive. "Hmm. I wonder if my French class is gonna be like that."

"You'll be fine," I told him.

He laughed. "You're telling me I'll be fine? You're the one who's just come in here complaining about how awful Spanish is."

"But you're confident. You aren't scared of being shown up in front of everyone."

"You just need to get over that then. If you're scared then you'll be tense and you'll end up forgetting simple things. Just chill out and you'll realize that you actually know more than you think."

"I live in hope," I muttered glumly.

"Aw, cheer up. It's your first day! First days are supposed to be rough. In fact, the first few weeks are supposed to be rough."

"Wow. That fills me with confidence."

"No need to be sarcastic." His mouth curved into a playful smirk. "They're supposed to be rough in order to sort the wheat from the chaff. They get rid of all those dossers who only come to university for the partying. You're not a dosser. You're a hard worker who actually wants a degree."

"Yeah..."

"Why don't you go and talk to your boyfriend to cheer yourself up?"

I nodded and plodded off down the corridor; it was only half past one so Nathan would be at work, but I might be able to catch him on his lunch break. When I loaded up my laptop, I had three missed calls from him on Skype, all within the last ten minutes. Was he even allowed to use Skype at work? I hoped he wasn't rebelling against the system already. I quickly dialled him back and he answered instantly.

"Why are you using Skype at work?" I asked.

"It's installed on my computer for interpretation purposes," he explained. "I can phone fluent natives if I need advice on idioms or whatever."

"Will you get in trouble for talking to me on it?"

"Nah. It's my lunch break. My office door is shut. Nobody will know," he whispered, winking.

I smiled. "Good."

"So...?" he urged, raising an eyebrow. "How was it...?"

"It was awful. I want to drop out."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic. Give me the facts."

I began to explain about Spanish and how different it was to what I'd been expecting. Nathan listened patiently but shook his head when I said that I felt like one of the weaker students.

"Bella, there are over two hundred people studying Spanish at that university in your year. You've only met about twelve of them. For all you know, you could have been randomly put with the stronger students. There'll be plenty of students who are much weaker than you. You know how good you are."

"Even if that's true, then it doesn't make a difference because I'm still in a class with the stronger people. They make me feel so self-conscious, Nathan."

"Self-conscious? Are you worried they're gonna judge you?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I just don't feel confident enough to speak it."

"Would you judge someone Spanish on their ability to speak English?"

"No, of course not."

"Exactly. So why would they do the same to you?" he pointed out. I remained silent, digesting this. Nathan took advantage of my silence and continued. "Bella, you have to see the positive side of this. Learning Spanish with students who are better than you will only make you improve in the long-term. You'll learn a lot from them, new words and new ways of phrasing sentences, and over time when you become more confident, you'll find that you're pushing yourself to improve in order to keep up with them."

"I guess..."

"If you were with people who are weaker than you, then you'll be in your comfort zone and nothing will be there to push you. You're never gonna learn anything. You'll just be going along with what you already know. How could you possibly improve?"

"You're so wise."

"I know."

I pasted on a smile. "Well, Spanish was pretty bad. But I really enjoyed Italian."

"Well, there you go. Every cloud has a silver... Wait. What did you just say?"

"I said Spanish was bad, but I liked Italian."

His eyes widened. "You're doing Italian?"

It was at that point that I realized I hadn't told Nathan this. How had I possibly kept it quiet? Had we really been talking so much over dinner last night that it had slipped my mind?

"Erm, yes," I answered hesitantly.

He breathed out a sigh and sat back in his chair, shadows of pain cast across his face. Immediately, I began to worry.

"What? Have I done something wrong?" I asked.

"Yes. You've just told me that you're studying Italian over Skype. Have you any idea how turned on I am right now?"

Tension drained from my shoulders, and a smile of relief formed on my lips. "You seemed mad."

"I'm sexually frustrated. I want you so much right now. Italian! You're doing Italian! How did you not mention this beforehand?"

"It was a last-minute decision," I admitted sheepishly. "I planned to tell you last night but I guess it slipped my mind." He stayed quiet for a bit, frowning as he thought something over. "What's the big deal? Do you find me speaking Italian as sexy as I find it when you speak it?"

"No. That's not it."

"Oh. Thanks."

He laughed. "I mean, yeah, it's sexy. But that's not why I want you so much at the moment." He paused and thought intensely about something, his brow furrowing as he did so. "Italian is like... It's a huge part of my life. When I moved to Italy, I changed. I stopped being that tearaway that I used to be and I became a mature adult. It means a lot to me, both symbolically and physically. I can't explain how it makes me feel to know that you're learning the language. It's like you're devoting part of your life to me in a way. I don't know. Maybe that sounds stupid."

A faint pink flush coloured his cheeks. Nathan was always cool and collected, capable of being serious but often a joker. I didn't think I'd ever seen him embarrassed. My heart warmed in recognition of him sharing something that was so personal to him.

"It doesn't sound stupid," I said. "It makes perfect sense. I'm touched that it means so much to you."

He gave me a small smile. "I didn't think it were possible to love you even more." I felt my eyes watering at how sensitive this conversation had become. Nathan's eyes, which had been soft and tender, suddenly turned wide and panicked. "Have I upset you?"

I shook my head and wiped my eyes, smiling. "No. You've made me happy. I just wish you were here with me right now and that we were having this conversation in the same room rather than over a computer."

"Same. Believe me."

We sat in contented silence for a few moments before Nathan spoke up again.

"I think I'm gonna come down on Friday night."

"Friday night?" I repeated. "I thought you were coming on Saturday morning?"

"Yeah. I've changed my mind."

"But you said you'll be shattered after work," I reminded him. "I don't want to put you out, Nathan."

"You're not putting me out in any way. You're going out Friday night, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I can stay in with you. You'll be too tired to go out."

"Don't be daft. The whole reason I was gonna come down on Saturday rather than Friday was because of your plans to go out. I'll come with you."

"You'll be shattered. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love for you to come. But I don't want you to be exhausted."

"I'll be fine. We can spend all of Saturday morning in bed."

He didn't say it flirtatiously but the suggestion hung in the air between us, especially after our sensitive conversation.

"Yeah. That sounds good," I replied.

"My lunch break is almost up." Regret tightened his jaw. "Speak to you later?"

"Definitely. Arrivederla."

A grin spread across his face. "Ah, Bella. Your accent is perfetto. But I'm afraid that arrivederla is a formal way of saying goodbye. I reckon we know each other well enough to be informal." He winked.

I laughed. "See, you say it's sexy that I'm learning Italian, but for all you know I could end up sucking at it."

"Sucking at some Italian might not be a bad thing."

I cocked a brow. "You'd be so lucky."

"I don't think it comes down to luck." His trademark smirk had me clenching my thighs.

"I thought your lunch break was over?"

He laughed again at my obvious attempt to derail the conversation. "I'll talk to you later."

And even after we'd hung up, I felt more positive than I had all day.

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Thank you for reading :)xx