“Hayden fucking Whitmore . . . the nun. How dare she be angry with me for being fucking normal.” The more I think about this, the more infuriated I get.

I get out of the shower and wrap my towel around my waist while I shave. I can’t believe I have to go to a fucking fun park gift shop today for twelve hours.

I squeeze the tube of toothpaste, and it gets stuck so I squeeze harder, and it spurts out and goes everywhere.

“Fuck’s sake,” I bark. “I don’t have time for this shit today.” I grab some paper towels and wipe up the mess. I pull on my clothes and walk out of the bathroom to see Eduardo standing by my bedroom door.

His face lights up when he sees me. “Hello, Mr. Christo.”

“Hello.” I force a smile.

“I came to see what you need of me today.”

“Nothing, buddy.” I tap him on the shoulder. “Go home.”

His face falls. “I was . . .” He stops himself and twists his fingers together as if nervous.

“What is it?”

“Could I please look at the phone for a minute? Just . . . quickly?”

“Oh . . .” I shrug. “Yeah, sure. Come in.” I open my bedroom door, and he looks around at everyone sleeping. I go to the drawer underneath my bed and take the phone out. It’s still in its box, and I pass it over to him.

He studies the box and turns it over and looks at the bottom of it.

“Sit down, buddy,” I say. “Take it out of the box and play with it. I’m going to try and have a quick sleep. I don’t start until eleven. That’s Hazy’s bed there. Sit against it if you want.”

He smiles and slumps down onto the floor. He excitedly opens the box and begins to look at everything in great detail.

I lie in bed and smile to myself as I watch him. This kid is the coolest thing in Spain.

A whispered voice wakes me. “Mr. Christo.”

I frown as I stir.

“Mr. Christo,” it whispers again. “You have to go to work, sir.”

“Huh?” I wake with a jump. Eduardo is leaning over me.

“What time is it?” I sit up in a rush.

“Ten o’clock.”

“Oh.” I rub my eyes. “Feels like I only closed my eyes for a second.” I slowly get up and look around and frown. Everyone is still asleep.

The room is spotless.

Clothes are folded into neat piles, everyone’s shoes are lined up, and Hayden’s bed is made. The water bottles are all filled and placed in a neat row by the sink. The phone is back in its box and set carefully on the end of my bed.

“Did you do this?” I ask him as I look around.

He smiles proudly, and I smile too.

“Good job, buddy.”

A little voice from deep inside says, He probably stole shit . . . No, I won’t think like that. Just because he has less than me doesn’t mean he is less than me.

I’m trusting my gut with him. It tells me he’s a good kid.

“I have to get ready.” I walk out to my locker, and he follows me. I take my backpack out and begin to go through it. “What will I wear?” I ask him.

“Clothes.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I mutter. “What are you doing now?” I ask him.

“I’ll hang around until I start at four.”

I glance up at him. “You won’t go home in between?”

“No.”

“What does your grandma say about you being out so much?”

He shrugs. “She’s busy.”

“Hmm, okay.”

Poor fucking kid . . .

“I can do your washing if you want while you work?” he offers.

I smile. He’s trying to get his phone as quickly as he can. “Okay, that would be great.” I take out the plastic bag with my dirty clothes from San Sebastián in it and pass it over to him. “Thank you.”

“Miss Hazen have washing? I’ll do hers too.”

I consider it and then wince. “Women have weird stuff in their dirty washing . . . best to ask her for permission to do that.”

He nods.

I throw on my clothes and brush my hair. “Wish me luck.” I smile.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks for getting me this job.” I mess up his hair, and he swats my hand away.

“Don’t get fired,” he says casually.

“Ha . . . me, get fired? They’ll love me.”

Half an hour later I walk into the reception area of the fun park. “Hello, I’m starting work here today. I was told to be here at eleven.”

The bored guy on the front desk looks me up and down. “Just a minute.” He gets on the radio and then says something in Spanish. Someone says something back to him, and he laughs and hangs up. “Have a seat. Someone will be right out.”

I sit down in the lounge area and look around. This looks all right, actually.

A lady comes walking out. She’s older and tough looking. A take-no-shit kind of woman. “Hello. You must be Christo?”

“Yes.” I smile and stand. I hold my hand out to shake hers, and she frowns at it.

Oh . . . I tuck it away. “I’m Christo.”

“Hello, Christo,” she says in a sarcastic voice. “This way.” She walks off and through a double set of doors.

I roll my lips. I don’t like her already. I follow her out into the park. The sounds of kids’ screams as they come down the waterslides are deafening. There are rides and roller coasters and animals and a million fucking people. Balloons and food stalls. Flashing lights and bells sounding.

Everything is magnified in IMAX.

Ugh . . . this place is my worst nightmare. I hope the gift shop is soundproof.

We walk into a building and down a series of corridors until we get to a locker room.

“Okay, you’re Binky Bear.” She slides a coat hanger along a wire rope that hangs from the ceiling. A huge bear costume is dangling from it.

“Excuse me?” I frown. “I don’t understand.”

“You put it on.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

She widens her eyes and taps the huge bear head. “You’re Binky Bear. Put the costume on and get out there.”

“And do what? Shit in the woods?” I gasp. “I have no idea what fucking bears do.”

“Walk around and play with the kids.”

“I am not qualified to do this,” I scoff.

“You want the job or not?” she snaps.

No . . . no, I don’t.

“Put the damn suit on and walk around the park.”

“And then what?”