“Leo, I can’t do this!” I whispered.

“Oh, come on, you want to be here!” Leo grinned, giving me a weak shove that left me stumbling sideways — straight into a girl about our age.

“Sorry!”

She gave me an odd look before muttering something under her breath, to which Leo responded in near perfect Spanish.

“Mis disculpas, señorita. ¿Podría darnos algunas direcciones, por favor?”

“¿A donde?”

“La Academia del Aire, señorita.”

The girl gave us both a strange look at that. “Cuantos años tienen ambos?”

“Hm? Yo tengo catorce y el tiene trece.”

“¡Tan joven! Deben ser prodigios si son estudiantes.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, feeling a little sick of being so lost here.

“Shut up, Zephyr. Give me a minute.”

“¿Amigos?”

“Novios.”

“¿Cuál es su nombre?"

The answer to this, I finally understood.

Leo, and his name is Zephyr.

I was never good with languages, but I knew enough about Spanish to realise that it was the kind of language I wouldn’t enjoy being referred to in if I understood it all.