Fortunately, since Week 1 the novelty of two American girls and one English girl wandering the hallways of the school has faded. Boys still high-five each other after saying “Hello Courtney!” to me between classes, but on the whole they have come to recognize me as a less strict version of a teacher, despite the narrow age difference.
It took a weekend for my host family to realize that they would not have the pleasure of showing me around their city. It took another weekend for them to realize that I could probably do a better job of showing them around their city. After all, I refer to Barcelona as my second home; I know the metro lines better than the freckles on the back of my hand.
In the days of fire and giants, my second home was a fairy tale, the kind only found in books so old and forgotten that the pages would crumble at the flap of a butterfly’s wing.