Page 69 of Winging It with You

Buñol, Spain

Thump, thump, thump.

Our door is literally beingthumped right off its vintage hinges.

“For the love of God, please go away,” I groan. Truthfully, I’m not sure I’m even coherent at the moment, so there is a very real possibility that I’m making this all up inside my overly sleep-deprived mind.

Thump, thump, thump.But louder and with more urgency this time.

“If it’s the woman from the check-in desk,” Theo mumbles, rolling over toward the wall, a very clear sign that he most definitely isn’t getting up anytime soon, “can you get some more towels?”

He hasn’t even stepped foot in our bathroom to see just how many towels we already have. A lovable quirk of Theo’s—he needs roughly thirty-seven bath towels at any given time to have a comfortable hotel stay, regardless of the duration.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feeling my exhaustion in every joint, and walk over to the door in a daze. I can’t tell if it’s been five minutes or five hours since we both passed out on that bed, but all I know is that it certainly wasn’t enough time.

“What,” I say after unlocking the dead bolt and swinging the heavy wooden door open rather rudely considering I have no idea who is on the other side.

But instead of being met by the hotel concierge offering dozens of additional towels for Theo, it’s just Ellie. “Come on, we’re going out.”

“Pass.” The only going out I want to do is going out of consciousness.I made it work.

“Seriously, guys…you aren’t going to want to miss this.”

Her vagueness must catch Theo’s interest. “What is it?” he says, propping himself up on his elbow.

“La Tomatina.”

I haven’t a clue what the hell she just said, but Theo rather clumsily sits upright. “Stop.La Tomatinais today?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie murmurs, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. Theo immediately hops up from the bed, clearly no longer drowsy and instead vibrating with childlike excitement.

“Um, hi…hello?” I say, feeling a little left out of the loop. “What are you two babbling on about?”

Ellie and Theo look at each other, their smiles growing more and more mischievous by the second.

“La Tomatina,” they say in unison, and practically drag me out the door.

“Mm-hmm…you’ve said that.”Helpful.

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“Oh, right…thisis what youmeant byLa Tomatina,” I say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought you saidLa Tomatino…but of course!” We’ve found ourselves in the center of a bustling town square a few blocks from the hotel. Theo playfully nudges me in the ribs, knowing full well I had absolutely no clue what I was walking into.

Ellie grabs my hand, strategically leading us through a sea of strangers. The narrow streets of Buñol are bursting at the seams as more and more people pile in from every direction. Theo, Ellie, and I squeeze our way through the excited tourists, and I see that huge sheets of thick plastic have been hung on the storefronts that line the center of town, Plaza del Pueblo.Bucket after bucket of ripe tomatoes in the most brilliant shades of red imaginable are scattered in every direction as far as the eye can see.

“Welcome to La Tomatina…the world’s largest food fight!” Ellie says, plucking a juicy-looking tomato from the nearest bucket once we manage to find a gap in the crowd large enough for the three of us to huddle comfortably. “Every year, thousands upon thousands of people from all corners of the world make their way to this small city to participate in this historic event.”

I review our position in the crowd and feel the part of me that intentionally goes out of his way to avoidmessessilently scream in protest.

Theo must sense my panic, because he puts a hand on my back, a small gesture but one that immediately lessens my growing anxiety.Slightly.

But Ellie could not care less. She just blissfully carries on with her weird history lesson.

“People aren’t exactly sure how or why it started, but it dates back to 1944 or 1945,” she shouts over the restless crowd, her eyes full of excitement. “Some people think it began as a food fight among friends or as a practical joke—but most people believe that irritated townspeople attacked local officials with tomatoes during a town celebration. Whatever the reason was,” Ellie says, laughing as we are bumped by a rather boisterous group of Englishmen who already have several tomatoes in each hand, “it was lovedsomuch it has been repeated year after year, growing in size and popularity each time!”

“I’m sorry,” I say, crossing my arms, and I can only imagine the disinterested expression plastered across my face. “But it sounds like you ran out of reading materials on last night’s train and were forced to read random tourism pamphlets.”

Theo snorts and I adore that he thinks I’m funny.

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