The jug sat on the table between them, challenging Ted; its heavy presence an icon of division, sundering all concord. He felt sandbagged.
     “You could at least try it!” Margaret complained. “Did you or did you not say you wanted to try new things here in Spain?”
     “Well, yes,” said Ted, “but I—”
     “All right, then, what’s the problem?”
     “Maggie, I don’t like it.”
     “How would you know if you’ve never had any?”
     “I have.”
     Ted received a skeptical look. Margaret’s eyes, light and piercing, could carry quite a load of skepticism. So could her voice. “When?”
     “At a New Year’s Eve party a few years ago: I had some champagne.”
     “Bet you tried to gulp it, didn’t you?”
     “That’s beside the point.”
     “No, it isn’t. You’re down on the whole idea because of one bad experience.”
     “I am not!”
     “Then do it!”
     Ted flushed. “Maggie, I’m not ready for this. Let it drop.”
     His companion pouted and glared at him. Obviously, she wouldn’t. “Come on, Bat, I just want you to lighten up. You’re so serious these days. I’m not trying to get you drunk or anything. You won’t have to drink any more than you can handle. If you still don’t like it, I won’t bug you again, I promise. What do you say?”
     “Well...” Ted said. And she had him.

     It was their first real fight, though it had been brewing for some time. In a tour group of thirty kids from four high schools, Ted Bacharach and Margaret Nicholson had fallen together so naturally it seemed impossible they had just met. They had been constant companions all through northern Spain. Lately, though, the more they saw of each other, the less they seemed to get along. Margaret seemed determined to loosen Ted up. Ted was determined not to be loosened. He felt on the edge of something in his relationship with her; something profound and more than a little frightening. He hesitated, torn between the safe and familiar and something that was neither.
     This day had started off innocuously enough. Margaret came to the hotel room Ted shared with another boy raving about a new place to eat. He had taken little convincing to accompany her.
     Leaving the hotel room, the two walked down the square-coiled staircase and out through the dark lobby of the Hotel Solimar, into the narrow, twisted alleyways of Tossa de Mar. Ted always felt a bit lost as they left the hotel, a tiny island of security in a strange new country. From the outside there was little to distinguish the building from the wall of similar structures crowding the street, and it quickly disappeared among the tangle of surrounding storefronts.
     The afternoon sun blazed warmly over the town, driving the locals indoors for their siesta, but people were out and about in vast numbers all the same, chattering away in a multiplicity of languages. Most of them seemed to be Germans, whom Ted had noticed were ubiquitous on the Costa Brava. Everyone was fighting for elbow room, unwilling to give way. There appeared to be some sort of fair going on, with street artists and acrobats everywhere, choking the thoroughfares to capacity. The streets only cleared before the occasional horn blast, heralding the arrival of one of the manic old cars that periodically shot down the one-lane roads, oblivious to life, limb, or right-of-way.
     Ted and Margaret flattened themselves against a building briefly to let one such car pass, and Ted took the opportunity to brush his hair back from his forehead: sweat was forming beneath it, and he didn’t want to fog up his glasses.
     “Just a few more blocks to the place I have in mind,” said Margaret. “It’s a cafe down on the beach, below the castle.”
     “I’m coming,” Ted grumbled. “What’s the hurry?”
     Margaret started moving again. “Just come on,” she urged. Ted followed.
     Tossa was an old town, dating back to Roman times, built and rebuilt so often over the centuries that its streets had become a maze. Getting anywhere by a direct route was impossible, and the pair had to double back on themselves several times before gaining the beachfront. Even then they found the main way out to the water blocked by an immovable crowd.
     “What’s going on?” asked Margaret, jumping up and down to see. Ted, taller, stood on tip-toe.
     “Hard to say,” he told her. “I think there might be a juggling act up ahead.”
     “Follow me,” said Margaret, and she took them through a store that opened onto both the street and the beach. The store clerks harangued them in poor German to buy things as they struggled past.
     Margaret gave their surroundings a quick scan as they emerged. “That’s the place,” she proclaimed. She pointed to a sign several doors down. They forced their way over to an antique-looking, wide-entried restaurant, went in, and sat down at a table with a good view of the bay. A menu and wine list were brought to them. The most exotic fare listed were franks and Dr. Pepper, and Ted suspected they had been given the tourists’ menu. He felt vaguely disappointed.
     Margaret made a decision and called the waiter. Neither she nor Ted had any Catalan, but she had taken German in school, and was at least as fluent in it as the locals. She spoke to the waiter with confidence and authority.
     “I’ve ordered us something special,” she explained to Ted.
     “What is it?” he asked. “I don’t see anything that looks good.”
     “You’ll see! You’ll pay half, of course?”
     “Of course,” said Ted, a bit put off. They had done things that way all along, and he was surprised she even felt it necessary to ask. Margaret smiled, disarming him, and he turned to watch the water to keep from thinking about her. She was always in his thoughts these days. For a moment he found peace gazing at the blue-golden waves sweeping in around the headland from the Mediterranean. He liked the look of the half-ruined castle on the bluff. Wish I’d brought my sketch-pad along, he thought.
     The peace didn’t last. “Here it comes,” he heard Margaret say. Ted turned.
     “Good God!” A huge jug and two small shot glasses met his eyes. He looked up at Margaret’s grinning face. “What is this?”
     “Sangria for two! Feeling adventurous?”
     “This is for two?!”
     “Well,” Margaret admitted, “It is a bit more than I expected. But never mind: I’m sure you’ll like it.”
     “This is liquor, isn’t it?” Ted accused.
     “No! Well, yes — but not the way you think. Sangria’s a sort of mild fruit punch. Just the thing to start out with.”
     Ted sat up and folded his arms. “No,” he said. The contention was on.

     Defeated, Ted looked doubtfully at the jug. It harbored a heavy black liquid in which anemic-looking slivers of orange and lemon bobbed. The reek of alcohol was overpowering.
     “Guess we’d better get started, then,” he said.
     “Right: you first.”
     Ted balked. “Why me?”
     “You just promised, remember?”
     Sighing, he poured them each a glass, and took a cautious sip. It numbed his mouth, but the flavor was tolerable. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Then, as it slid back along his tongue, a bitter aftertaste kicked in, and the sangria seemed to ignite into liquid fire. He swallowed quickly, but it burned its way down his throat and hit his stomach like hot lead. Tears formed in his eyes as he set the glass down.
     “Well?” asked Margaret. There was a note of eagerness in her voice.
     “Glad you didn’t order the hard stuff,” he gasped.
     “You just need to get used to it. Have some more.”
     “You try it,” he said.
     “You promised...”
     I’m really getting to hate that word, Ted thought. He sighed again and steeled himself for another sip. It was no improvement. It’s just this once: just get through it, he told himself. It won’t kill you. So he continued, choking over each mouthful, until he had downed half the glass. By the third or fourth swallow, he was less certain it wouldn’t kill him. Involuntarily, the muscles of his face contorted into a sour expression.
     “Don’t put on such an act,” Margaret chided. “It can’t be that bad. You aren’t supposed to drink it so fast, anyway.”
     In response Ted motioned at her glass. Absently, she picked it up and gulped, forgetting her own advice.
     “Gaagghh—!” Ted half expected flames to shoot out of Margaret’s mouth. As it was, she lurched forward involuntarily, catching herself just in time to keep from spraying her drink all over the tablecloth.
     “How is it?” Ted asked her, with just a trace of malice.
     “Fine. It’s fine. Bit stronger than I expected, that’s all. Come on, Bat. Stick with it.”
     The boy gazed sourly at the jug, but with an effort finished his glass. Margaret followed suit at a somewhat slower rate, then poured each of them another. She seemed gloomy. In spite of her bold front, she obviously felt, as he did, that something was not right with the sangria.

     After two more glasses for Margaret and another half for Ted, neither could go on. Margaret was looking somewhat green, Ted thought. He suspected he did, too.
     “How much have we had?” asked Margaret.
     Ted checked. The jug was still nearly full. “We have a ways to go.”
     Margaret looked too. “Oh no,” she groaned.
     “If I have any more of this,” said Ted, picking his words with care, “I am going to throw up.”
     “Me too,” said Margaret.
     “I thought you were used to alcohol.”
     “Not like this.”
     Ted gazed out at the water again: it seemed fuzzier. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. That was a mistake. Each time he moved it, his head felt like it kept on going for another ten feet.
     “Wish I’d had something to eat first,” Margaret muttered.
     Ted looked back at her. His head did the slingshot thing again. “I don’t think it would have helped,” he told her.
     “Ted, let’s leave.”
     “We don’t have to finish the jug?”
     “You don’t want to, do you?”
     “No.”
     “Then let’s just pay the man and get the hell out of here.”
     Ted’s head throbbed painfully as they got up. Resolutely, he and Margaret turned their backs on the table with its mockingly full container and marched out. Both were unsteady enough that they had to grip each other’s hand tightly for support.

     The journey back to the Solimar seemed longer than it should have been. Ted thought they might have gotten lost once or twice: it was hard to tell, in Tossa. The afternoon was already waning when he delivered Margaret to her room. He was grateful to reach it: his head was pounding. I wonder if I’m drunk? he thought.
     “Well, goodbye, Maggie,” Ted mumbled. He turned to depart for his own room. He had only managed one step when Margaret grabbed his wrist.
     “What is it?” he asked, irritated. He had an overwhelming need to lie down.
     “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”
     Embarrassed, he gave her a peck on the cheek.
     “That’s not how you do it,” she muttered, annoyance in her voice. Pulling him close, she showed him what she meant. Her kiss was a lot more intense, once she managed to get past his nose. It was a long, sharp nose, and it got in the way.
     “Is this decent?” he gasped, when she was through.
     “Why not?” she challenged. “You try.”
     He hesitated. He had half dreamed of and half dreaded a moment like this. Now, here it was. What should he do?
     He looked at Margaret, who was leaning into him enticingly. His trepidations gave way. He hugged her to him tightly, losing himself in the thrill of the experience. The room seemed to revolve around them.
     What are you doing? Stop! an inner voice warned him. He pulled away, breathing heavily.
     “Why’d you stop?” Margaret pouted. She wouldn’t let go of his hands.
     Because I’m scared shitless, Ted thought. “Need air,” he mumbled aloud. “I’d better go.” He broke away and retreated down the hallway.
     “Ted, wait!” Margaret called. He glanced back, but didn’t stop. Margaret slumped against her door, and Ted had a momentary urge to comfort her, but the coward in him was now firmly in control. Besides, his head hurt. She’ll be all right, he thought. She’s just five feet from her bed. Yours is still two floors away, and, you’ve still got to get there without throwing up. Now that he was away from Margaret, his head had taken over from his heart, and it was reminding him that it was sick.
     Getting up the stairs was a nightmare. Ted knew he had to turn right at each landing, but his legs kept misinterpreting the knowledge and trying to turn at each step. Somehow, he made it to the top and found his way back to his room. There he collapsed on the bed and slept for the rest of the day.

     The next morning, Ted was struggling with a cup of coffee down in the breakfast room.
     “It goes down better with cream and sugar,” said Margaret’s voice, close by.
     Ted jumped and whipped around. At his shoulder were the familiar green eyes and red hair, framed in a face looking longer than usual. “Maggie,” he said.
     She sat down. “I’ve an apology to make,” she told him.
     He glanced up cautiously, wondering what she meant. But her expression was blank, and told him nothing. “For what?” he asked.
     Margaret took a deep breath. “I got to asking around last night,” she said. “Spanish sangria is not what I thought it was. At all.”
     “I kind of gathered that. What is it?”
     “Well, two-fifths of it was wine, sugar, and fruit.”
     “And the rest?”
     “Brandy. Maybe even vodka, from the taste of it.”
     Ted’s jaw dropped. “Maggie!“
     She flinched. “I’m sorry, Bat!” she said in a rush. “I’m really sorry! I really was trying to find something light for you.”
     Ted studied her face. I should be angry, he thought. So sure of herself, and all the time she was just as lost as I was. Looking at her, he couldn’t find it in him. “It’s okay, I guess,” he mumbled. “Maybe I did need loosening up a bit.”
     “You aren’t mad?”
     “Naw. The aftermath was a bit surprising, though.”
     “The what— oh.” Margaret reddened, but kept her gaze steady. “Don’t tell me you’re mad about that.”
     Ted considered, and decided he wasn’t. “Of course not.”
     “Good. ’Cause I don’t regret that for a second. Can we do it again?”
     “That depends. What did we do?”
     “Jerk!” Margaret punched his shoulder lightly: they both laughed, and everything was okay again. For about two seconds.
     “Well, now that we know what’s what, we can do it right next time,” Margaret was saying.
     “Oh?” asked Ted. He was puzzled. He remembered the kiss quite well, and didn’t think there had been anything wrong with it.
     “Bob told me about this neat bar on the next street. You up for it?”