September - Malasaña, Friday night.
Laura saw the guy with the good boy face as soon as she walked into the pub. Perfectly styled hair, rolled-up shirt sleeves with that studied casualness that screamed "I tried hard to look like I didn't try," and that toothpaste commercial smile. Disgusting to Laura.
"That's Marcos," her friend Inés whispered to her. "He studies Law. Well, he just started recently, like you."
"Well I've never seen him, thank God."
But Inés wasn't listening anymore. She was looking at Marcos's friend, a guy with dark eyes and a crooked smile who was looking back at her. Laura rolled her eyes. Great. Another night playing third wheel.
Marcos had also seen Laura. Or rather, he'd seen her hair: a tangle of black curls that seemed to have a life of their own.
"She looks like a water dog," he told his friend Dani, who was already crossing the place toward the girl's friend. "And she's brunette, I don't like brunettes at all. I prefer blondes."
"Don't be a dick," Dani laughed. "She looks interesting."
"She looks like the type who'll argue with you about the color of the sky. Like a hippie, you know what I mean."
He wasn't wrong.
"Marcos, that girl's not bad at all. She's gorgeous, go talk to her, dude."
The four of them ended up at the same column, of the many scattered around the pub; because Dani and Inés became inseparable in approximately twelve minutes. Laura and Marcos studied each other like boxers in opposite corners.
"What do you study?" he asked, because the silence was getting ridiculous.
"Law. You?"
"Same."
Perfect. They'd have to see each other more often.
The electronic music was pounding against the club walls when Dani pushed Marcos toward Laura, as if accidentally on purpose.
Marcos approached with his self-assured Catalan smile, but before he could open his mouth, Laura interrupted him, pointing at his Barça shirt.
"Seriously? You come to a club in THAT shirt?"
"It's vintage, from the Rome final. Any problem?" Marcos responded, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, that Madrid has more European Cups and better taste."
"Ah, a Madrileña. I knew there was something that didn't add up."
"Where are you from?" Laura continued, because apparently they were condemned to this.
"Barcelona. You?"
"Well, from here, from Madrid."
Marcos smiled smugly.
"Ah, a Real Madrid fan then."
"Obviously. Although I could have also been an Atleti, Getafe, Leganés, or Rayo fan..."
"I'm a Barça fan."
"That explains a lot," said Laura.
"Like what?"
"Like that air of moral superiority you Catalans all carry. The shirt thing doesn't explain it, in case you didn't get it."
Marcos laughed, but sarcastically.
Inés, Laura's friend, exchanged an alarmed look with Dani.
Marcos let out a laugh seeing how Dani looked at him with concern.
"Do you like to travel? I just got back from Thailand. Next month I'm going to Iceland."
"What a waste of money. What you spend on planes you could save for something useful. Or are you messing with me that you have money?"
"Something useful? The experience and what I've lived I keep forever. Says the one who probably has a piggy bank," Marcos mocked. "Living is experiencing, not accumulating cents."
"Living is being responsible. You're one of those who spend 200 euros in one night, right?"
"So what? That's why I worked this summer, to enjoy myself, not to stare at money in an account."
Laura rolled her eyes.
"Typical. And do you come here often? Because I prefer daytime terraces, having coffee in the sun."
"Coffee in the sun? What are you, a retiree? The night is when the city comes alive. The best plans start after midnight."
"The best plans start at eleven in the morning with natural light and fresh air."
Dani whispered to Inés: "This is like watching a train wreck in slow motion." "I can't look away," Inés responded, mesmerized.
Marcos continued: "Let me guess. You look like you're going for hippie, so you're one of those whose house is a mess, right? Clothes everywhere, unwashed dishes..."
Laura crossed her arms.
"And you look like a right-winger. I bet you're one of those posh guys who organizes his socks by color and collects expensive perfumes, like the one you're wearing today."
"Mental order starts with physical order."
"Excessive physical order is a sign of neurosis," Laura responded, agitated.
"Better neurotic than chaotic," Marcos responded somewhat rudely.
"Chaotic? I'm creative. Spontaneous."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Disaster is the word you're looking for."
Laura pointed at the beer Marcos had in his hand. "And what do you eat? Let me guess. Sushi? Salt-baked fish? Hundred-euro-per-kilo steak?"
"I eat everything. I'm a human being evolutionarily designed to be omnivorous, in case you didn't know. It's in the science."
"I'm vegetarian and science also says a plant-based diet is more sustainable."
"And does the Bible say anything about that or just about fish and loaves?" Marcos shot back sarcastically.
"Ah, also an atheist. That's all we needed. Of course. Let me guess: you think the universe created itself and there's nothing beyond. Or are you one of those flat-earthers?"
"I believe in what I can see and prove. I don't need to invent imaginary friends in the sky."
"They're not imaginary. There's faith, hope..."
"There are comforting illusions for those who can't face reality."
Inés grabbed Dani's arm. "We should separate them before the police arrive." "Wait, I want to see how this ends."
Laura took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. But she couldn't keep quiet, so instead of trying to find peace, she attacked him again.
"Inés told me you like theater. I bet in your free time you go to half-empty theaters to see plays nobody understands."
"Theater is pure art. What do you do? Watch commercial movies at the cinema while eating popcorn?"
"Cinema is the seventh art. And yes, I love popcorn. And superhero movies. They're trendy, in case culture doesn't reach up there."
"Superheroes. Of course. Entertainment for simple minds."
"Better than watching people yelling on a stage for three hours."
"It's called classical theater, ignorant."
"It's called boredom disguised as culture, pedant."
Marcos shook his head, smiling in disbelief.
"We have absolutely nothing in common. Literally nothing."
"Thank God," Laura responded. "I couldn't stand spending five more minutes with you."
"The feeling is mutual, Madrileña."
"Perfect, Catalán."
They stared at each other, furious, with the thundering music in the background and colored lights dancing over their tense faces.
Dani sighed with relief.
"Well, at least it's over."
"Over?" Inés gestured with her chin. "Look."
Neither Marcos nor Laura had moved. They were still there, face to face, like magnets that repel but can't completely separate.
"You're impertinent," said Laura.
"You're unbearable," Marcos replied.
"Why are you still here then?" she asked.
"I don't know. I guess because of Dani. Clearly not because of you. Why are you still here?" Marcos asked.
Neither had an answer. And that, perhaps, was the only thing they agreed on.
"I guess you don't meet someone so backwards every day, and that fascinates me so much I'm paralyzed," she said with a malicious smile.
"Backwards, you say? Says the one who probably voted for the left. And you? Podemos? Sumar?" Marcos counterattacked.
"Podemos, yes. Any problem?"
"None. Explains your hair. We from Vox have you in our sights."
Laura glared at him.
"Explains your slicked-back posh face that's never taken the metro."
"I take the metro every day, for your information."
"I bet in first class."
"The metro doesn't have classes, Einstein."
"It was a metaphor, Sherlock."
Inés and Dani returned at that moment, completely oblivious to the cold war developing beside them.
"How are you two getting along?" asked Inés with that hopeful smile Laura knew too well.
"Great," said Laura and Marcos in unison, without looking at each other.
The night continued with more beers and more tension. At some point, the conversation turned to music.
"And what do you listen to?" asked Dani, naively.
"Mainly rock," said Laura. "Ramones, Nirvana, some Spanish punk."
Marcos snorted.
"Of course. How original."
"Excuse me? Who asked you?"
"Nothing, it's just the most predictable musical taste in the world for someone who wants to seem alternative."
Laura looked at him with pure hatred.
"And what do you listen to? Maluma? Rosalía on loop?"
"Amaral, Vetusta Morla, some indie..."
"Indie. Perfect. You're a walking cliché, I bet you like La Casa Azul."
"Better than being scary Spice."
"Better than being pretentious on legs."
Inés and Dani exchanged glances. This was going to be a problem. Inés bet on them from the first moment.
When they left the pub at three in the morning, Inés and Dani left together in a taxi. Laura and Marcos stayed on the sidewalk, looking in opposite directions.
"Well," said Marcos, "it's been... interesting."
"For me it's been horrible," Laura corrected.
"That too."
"I hope I never see you again, old-fashioned."
"The feeling is mutual, water dog."
Laura gave him the middle finger as she walked away. Marcos smiled at her back, though he didn't know exactly why.
September - Two weeks later.
Laura received the message from Inés on a Tuesday afternoon: "I broke up with Dani. Don't ask. I'll tell you later."
She felt bad for her friend, but also felt guilty relief. She wouldn't have to see that idiot Marcos anymore.
Marcos received the news from Dani with a "damn, dude, I'm sorry" and thought exactly the same thing: at least he wouldn't have to put up with the hysterical curly-haired girl anymore.
They lasted exactly five days without thinking about each other.
October - Complutense University, Monday morning.
Laura arrived late to Civil Law because the metro had been delayed (life's ironies). She ran into the classroom and dropped into the first free seat she found. Then she smelled that perfume. Expensive. Unnecessarily expensive for a Monday at nine in the morning.
She turned her head. Marcos.
"Are you following me?" he whispered.
"Ugh... Disgusting! This is the Law faculty, genius. We study the same thing, remember?"
"What bad luck for me."
"For me, you mean."
The professor started the class and both pretended to pay attention. But really they kept glancing at each other. Laura took out her laptop and opened her notes document. Marcos did the same. For the next fifty minutes, both were painfully aware of each other's presence.
Halfway through class, the professor announced they'd do a group project.
"I'll choose the pairs," he said, and a murmur of protests went through the classroom.
Laura closed her eyes. Please, not...
"Laura González and Marcos Ferrer."
Fuck.
They looked at each other. Marcos seemed as thrilled as she was, which is to say, not at all.
At the end of class, they approached the professor's desk.
"Professor," Marcos began, "couldn't we change partners?"
"No. The pairs are decided. The project is on civil contracts and I want fifteen pages by next month. Organize yourselves however you want."
They left the classroom in silence. In the hallway, Laura was the first to speak.
"Fine. Let's do this quick and painless. When can you meet?"
"Wednesday?"
"I have class until eight."
"Me too. Nine at the library?"
"Okay."
"Okay."
They looked at each other a second longer than necessary and then each went their own way. Without even a sad goodbye.
October - Library, Wednesday night.
Marcos arrived first. He settled at a table in the back with his laptop, his civil law books, and a coffee that was already getting cold. At nine ten, Laura appeared with wet hair and looking like she'd been running.
"Sorry. The metro."
"It's always the metro."
"It's always the fucking metro, yes."
She sat across from him and took out her things. For the first twenty minutes they worked in silence, each reviewing case law on their screens.
"What if we divide the work?" Marcos finally suggested. "You do the historical part and I'll do the practical part."
"Why me the historical part?"
"Because you seem like the type who likes to research the past. Like asking your friend what sewer I crawled out of."
"Ha, Inés has such a big mouth. And you seem like the type who only cares about the present."
"Exactly."
Laura thought about it.
"Okay. But I review your part before we submit it. I don't trust you."
"And I'll review yours."
"Deal."
They kept working. At ten, Laura yawned. At eleven, Marcos rubbed his eyes.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"I'm starving."
"There's a pizzeria nearby."
"Are you asking me to dinner?"
"I'm asking you to eat while we continue with this. It's different."
"Whatever you say, fake good boy face guy."
The pizzeria was almost empty. They sat at a table by the window and ordered a margherita to share.
"Why Law?" asked Marcos while they waited.
"Because I want to change things. Work in human rights, international cooperation, those things. And you?"
"My father is a lawyer. My grandfather was a lawyer. I guess it was expected."
"What a shit reason."
Marcos laughed.
"Yeah, a bit. But I also like it. Law has its logic, its structure. I like that."
"How boring."
"You got into Law to save the world and I got in to understand how it works. We're not that different."
"We're completely different. I couldn't stand you for even a whole day."
"True. What can you do?"
The pizza arrived and they ate in a more comfortable silence. Laura had tomato sauce on the corner of her lips and Marcos was about to tell her, but decided it was more fun not to.
When they finished, Laura finally wiped her face with a napkin.
"Did I have something?"
"Of course. The whole time."
"You're an asshole."
"I know."
But they were both smiling.
October - Work lunch, Saturday noon.
The following Saturday, both had gotten a part-time job at the same law firm. Laura discovered this when she arrived at the welcome lunch for new interns and saw Marcos on the other side of the room, with the same surprised face she probably had.
"It can't be," Laura murmured.
"Laura?" A woman in her forties approached with a smile. "I'm Carmen, the coordinator. Come, I'll introduce you to the others."
She led her directly to where Marcos was.
"This is Marcos, he's also new. Marcos, Laura. You both study at Complutense, right?"
"Yes," they said in unison.
"Perfect. You can share the afternoon shifts then. You're the only two in the afternoon."
Laura and Marcos looked at each other. Fate, or whoever organized these things, had a very twisted sense of humor.
The lunch was at an Italian restaurant near the firm. They put Laura and Marcos next to each other because "you already know each other." For two hours they had to pretend to be professional while their knees touched under the table every time one of them moved.
"How's your degree going?" asked Fernando, one of the partners.
"Good," Laura responded. "So far so good."
"Do you have any specialization in mind?"
"International law," said Laura.
"Civil or commercial," said Marcos. "I'm still not sure."
"Very different," Fernando observed. "Two extremes. Are you friends?"
"No way! Classmates," Marcos corrected.
"Acquaintances," Laura added.
"We barely talk," Marcos finished.
Fernando looked at them skeptically but said nothing.
When they left the restaurant, Marcos caught up with Laura on the street.
"Hey, about the job..."
"It's super weird, I know."
"But I need the money."
"Me too."
"So we're going to have to... get along."
Laura sighed.
"I guess so."
"Truce?."
"Truce."
They shook hands. It was brief, professional, and neither mentioned that it lasted a second longer than necessary.
November - Law firm, Monday afternoon.
Working together was easier than expected. Marcos was organized and efficient. Laura was quick and meticulous. They didn't step on each other's toes and when one needed help, the other gave it without asking questions.
One Monday afternoon, when everyone had already left and only the two of them remained filing documents, Marcos played music on his phone. It was Amaral.
"Seriously?" said Laura.
"What's wrong with Amaral?"
"Nothing. It's just very... your style."
"And what's my style?"
"Melancholic indie with airs of profundity."
Marcos changed the song. Rosalía came on.
"Better?"
"Worse."
"You put something on then."
Laura connected her phone. The Ramones played.
"Predictable," said Marcos, but he was smiling.
"Classic," Laura corrected.
They finished the work at nine, with the Ramones in the background and a strange feeling that maybe, just maybe, they could come to tolerate each other.