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which in the summer gave full-immersion courses from eight o’clock in the morning till nine in the evening. While Montse and her inseparable friend Nuria tried to focus on their logarithms, the desks of the classroom would vibrate to the stamping heels of the flamenco dancers or the broken rhythms of a tango. In those conditions it was easy for one’s eyes to stray to the window, and one’s attention would follow the same way, focusing on a handsome guy or the shops across the road. But the monotony was soon to be broken, on a day when Montse and Nuria were waiting for the bus, having lost all hope that something would save them from the boredom of the summer and the heat.
    Perhaps it was boredom that made the two friends glance at the white convertible with very big plates that stopped on the other side of the road. It was a foreign car, possibly American. Apart from the unusual model, they noticed that inside it weretwo young, handsome, very well dressed guys who would not stop staring at them. Neither Montse nor Nuria dared to say something, but they both knew that sooner or later something out of the ordinary would happen. And indeed, in a dangerous, spectacular move, the car drove across the road and screeched to a halt by the bus stop. That was the first time Montse saw Santiago San Román. Although the boy was only nineteen, his brilliantined hair, his clothes and the car made him look more mature. He and his friend got out of the car at the same time and approached the girls. ‘The service on this line has been suspended,’ he said in an accent that instantly gave away that he was not from Barcelona, ‘me and Pascualín have just found out.’ The other people waiting at the bus stop exchanged incredulous glances. Only Montse and Nuria smiled, their curiosity piqued. ‘It’ll take a day or two at most,’ added Pascualín. ‘But if you don’t want to wait that long, myself and my friend here can give you a ride to wherever you’re going.’ As Pascualín spoke, Santiago pointed to the splendid car. Pascualín opened the door on the passenger’s side, and Montse, acting on an impulse she’d never felt before, said to her friend. ‘Come on, Nuria, they’re driving us.’ Nuria sat in the back with Pascualín, and Montse in the spectacular front seat, which was ample and luxurious, covered in very pale tan leather. Santiago San Román hesitated for a second, his eyes wide open, as if he couldn’t believe the two girls had taken him up on the invitation. He got nervous at the steering wheel when Montse asked: ‘And what’s your name?’ ‘Santiago San Román, at your service,’ he replied, in a ridiculous-sounding stab at humbleness.
    It was the craziest thing Montse had ever done. Sitting next to Santiago San Román, she felt the heat and the boredom float away. They drove in silence, all four enjoying the sensation, lost in their own thoughts. And so, when they went round Plaza de la Victoria and past Vía Layetana, Montse didn’t say a thing. They drove into Plaza de las Glorias Catalanas as though theywere part of a triumphant parade. Every now and again Santiago would glance at her, or turn to look at her head-on as she lifted her hair for the breeze to run through it. After a while they stopped at the Estación del Pueblo Nuevo. The sea air smelled of stagnant water. Once the car was parked, Montse opened her eyes as though she were waking up from a slumber. ‘Why are you stopping?’ she asked, with forced self-confidence. ‘This place is horrible.’
    ‘Okay, but you haven’t told me where you live.’
    ‘On Vía Layetana,’ replied Nuria quickly, less at ease than her friend. Santiago did a U-turn and drove back the way they’d come. Suddenly Montse became talkative and started asking all kinds of questions.
    ‘It’s my father’s car, I don’t make enough to own a Cadillac.’ ‘In a bank, I work in a bank. Well, actually, my father’s the manager, and I’ll be the same one