We'll be on this boat for a

on the same boat with

day and a night. Perhaps I can

him . . .

talk to him before we arrive

there . . . Perhaps I'll see him

again this evening . . .

It was a big new boat with cafes, shops, a cinema and a disco. In the evening Louise and 1 went to the disco together. We had a Coke and listened to the music and watched the dancers. But he wasn't there.

Then suddenly a tall boy in a black and white shirt came in — it was him! He was with a friend. They stopped and looked slowly at all the people in the disco. It was dark in there and he stood and looked for a long time.

He's looking for me!

He wants to see me!

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Then he saw me and he smiled a big, friendly smile.

I wanted to stand up and sing and dance . . . dance with him. He came across the room and stopped near our table . . . and he asked me to dance!

Do you want to dance?

Suddenly he wasn't shy with me. We danced together for a long time after that.

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But then I looked up and there was a second tall boy in a blue and white shirt at the door of the disco, with the same eyes and the same mouth and nearly the same hair.

But the boy near the door had that nice, quiet, shy face — not a big, open, friendly smile. Suddenly I knew: this was his brother with me on the dance-floor, not him! I was with the wrong brother!

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He stood for a moment near the door and watched me and his brother on the dance-floor with sad eyes. I wanted to run to him, to take his sad face in my hands and say 'sorry'. He looked at me, then he went out quickly.

I stopped dancing, walked back to my table and sat down. His brother started to dance with Louise.

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I didn't sleep that night. I thought about him all the time, and listened to the noises of the boat and the sea.

In the morning I went to the cafe at eight o'clock and waited there with my sister for a long time. I wanted to say 'sorry' to him. I had four cups of coffee, and I don't really like coffee.

But he didn't come. Where was he? Where was he?

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At eleven o'clock we arrived in Santander. I wanted to stop the boat: I wanted to stop the holiday; I wanted to go back to England. I only wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to ask his name.

But he wasn't there.

W h e r e are you?

I want to see you again.

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Mark's story

I started Spanish at school in September and I like it.

W e ' v e got a good teacher - Old W e b b . 'Mr Webb, not Old W e b b , ' my mother always says to me.

' H e isn't old, you k n o w . '

Old W e b b - sorry, Mr Webb - always takes some people from our school to a place in Spain for the first two weeks of the holidays, every July. Old Webb is OK. N o t bad, for a teacher.

We were at Portsmouth with Old Webb - sorry, Mr Webb - and Mrs Webb. She's from Argentina; all the boys think she's good-looking, too. There were six of us with the Webbs: Harry Potts and his sister Sonia, Nick Atkins (he's a good friend), Sue Bellamy (she's clever), my brother Dave and me (we're fourteen and we're good friends too . . . usually).

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