100 Hours
Page 6
“Was it in the jungle?” Neda asks, as if she didn’t even hear us. “Guerrillas are always kidnapping and murdering people in the jungle.”
“Kidnappings are passé,” Genesis assures her, before Nico’s head can explode. “Today’s fashionable guerrilla makes his money in illegal gold mining and extortion. Besides, anyone who tried to kidnap you would give you back within the hour.” She links her arm through Neda’s. “You’re an acquired taste.”
Neda grins and flips her off. “Money is such a petty reason to ruin someone’s life.”
“Not for those who can’t afford food and shelter,” Nico insists. “But the gang riots and school shootings in the States truly are pointless.”
“I don’t condone any violence.” She stands straighter and looks down her nose at him. “I don’t even wear real fur.”
“How very enlightened of you.” I can hear my voice getting sharper, yet I can’t seem to stop it. “But while American minks are running around with their precious skins intact, Colombian farmers are being driven out of business because of US interference.”
Neda rolls her eyes at me. “The US does not put Colombian farmers out of business.”
“Their economic policies do,” Nico insists. “They also pour millions into the ‘war on drugs,’ yet nothing into helping feed and clothe the impoverished masses they helped to disenfranchise.”
For one long moment, Neda is quiet. Then she frowns down at the mud on her feet. “If this is the only way to get to the beach why haven’t they paved the path yet?” she whines.
I step over an exposed root and push aside a tall fern reaching into the path. “Because pouring concrete wouldn’t exactly preserve the natural beauty of the jungle.”
She stops in the middle of the trail to wipe a smudge of dirt from a delicate leaf detail on the strap of her left sandal. “I’m more interested in preserving my shoes.”
“Why didn’t you change into your hiking boots?” Genesis asks, and the frustration in her voice makes me smile.
Neda stares down at her manicured toenails, tucking a loose strand of straight, dark hair behind her ear. “Ferragamo says T-strap flats are perfect for any occasion.”
Genesis sighs. “For any occasion that doesn’t involve thorns, snakes, rocks, and mud.” For the first time in the history of their couture-based friendship, Neda has failed at shopping, and my cousin seems to find no humor in the situation.
I, on the other hand, think watching nature bitch slap a spoiled heiress is hilarious.
GENESIS
“How long is this hike?” Neda demands as we round another muddy curve in the path. “I can’t walk another half hour in these sandals.” “That’s too bad, because Cabo San Juan is two hours away.” Maddie looks smug as she passes us on the narrow trail. “Maybe you should head back to the parque entrance and call for a car to take you home.”
“Nobody’s going home,” I snap at my cousin. “Nico, how many beaches will we pass on the way to Cabo?”
“Two,” he says as he holds back a protruding branch for Penelope.
“You’ll be fine,” I tell Neda.
Ryan hangs back to walk on her other side. “By the time your feet get sore, we’ll be at Piscine beach, and you can jump into the water to cool off. And if your sandals can’t hack it, there will be a piggyback ride in your future.” His smile mollifies her, and she picks up her pace.
“I’m taking you everywhere I go from now on,” I whisper to Ryan as I step over a muddy patch in the trail.
“Because I’m willing to give Neda a piggyback ride?”
“Yes.” But mostly because Ryan is my most valuable asset out here where I can’t just send Maddie and Neda—or Holden and Nico—into separate corners.
“She’s just feeling lost,” he says. “I’ve been there, and I wouldn’t have made it through without friends and family.”
All I did was pick out the rehab facility. My dad paid for it, and Maddie convinced him to go, but ultimately, Ryan took control of his own future.
He is a Valencia.
By the last leg of our hike, Neda is squealing constantly, convinced that every vine is a snake and that within each shadow lurks a crouching jungle cat. Holden doesn’t complain much, but every root he has to step over and vine he has to push aside deepens his scowl.
When the rest of us have to wade through a shallow stream, Penelope makes a show of crossing it on a narrow fallen log—walking on her hands.
If I didn’t love her, I would totally hate her.
I am ready to feed them all to jungle predators by the time we finally arrive at Cabo San Juan, the best beach in the national park for swimming, surfing, and snorkeling.
As soon as we step onto the beach, I drop my bag and take off my boots so I can curl my toes in the sand. I breathe deeply, taking in the salt-scent of the air and the bright Caribbean sunshine. The waves here are gentle, and a couple dozen people are waist deep in them, throwing Frisbees and dunking each other.
With one glance at the water, Neda seems to have forgotten everything she hates about hiking. “It’s beautiful,” she says when she’s caught her breath, and I nod.
“This is why we’re here.”
Suddenly, everyone’s smiling. Clothes land on the sand as we strip to our swimsuits, showing off tan, firm bodies sculpted by Olympic coaches, world-class personal trainers, or years on the soccer field.
Naturally, people stare at us. Neda and Holden pretend not to notice, but I can see discomfort melt from their postures as they register the admiration of the small crowd.
Maddie hangs back, still fully dressed, obviously trying to establish a distinction between herself and the rest of us. As if she were actually in danger of being mistaken for a world-class athlete or a fashion-forward trendsetter.
I turn to thank Nico for bringing us to this exotic paradise, but he’s already fifty feet down the beach, talking to three of the half dozen patrolling soldiers. Like those who searched us for drugs and alcohol when we entered the park, they obviously know him. But they don’t seem happy with him.
Nico is gesturing angrily. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but when he sees me watching, he cuts the argument off. He’s smiling as he rejoins our group, but his shoulders are tense.
“Kidnappings are passé,” Genesis assures her, before Nico’s head can explode. “Today’s fashionable guerrilla makes his money in illegal gold mining and extortion. Besides, anyone who tried to kidnap you would give you back within the hour.” She links her arm through Neda’s. “You’re an acquired taste.”
Neda grins and flips her off. “Money is such a petty reason to ruin someone’s life.”
“Not for those who can’t afford food and shelter,” Nico insists. “But the gang riots and school shootings in the States truly are pointless.”
“I don’t condone any violence.” She stands straighter and looks down her nose at him. “I don’t even wear real fur.”
“How very enlightened of you.” I can hear my voice getting sharper, yet I can’t seem to stop it. “But while American minks are running around with their precious skins intact, Colombian farmers are being driven out of business because of US interference.”
Neda rolls her eyes at me. “The US does not put Colombian farmers out of business.”
“Their economic policies do,” Nico insists. “They also pour millions into the ‘war on drugs,’ yet nothing into helping feed and clothe the impoverished masses they helped to disenfranchise.”
For one long moment, Neda is quiet. Then she frowns down at the mud on her feet. “If this is the only way to get to the beach why haven’t they paved the path yet?” she whines.
I step over an exposed root and push aside a tall fern reaching into the path. “Because pouring concrete wouldn’t exactly preserve the natural beauty of the jungle.”
She stops in the middle of the trail to wipe a smudge of dirt from a delicate leaf detail on the strap of her left sandal. “I’m more interested in preserving my shoes.”
“Why didn’t you change into your hiking boots?” Genesis asks, and the frustration in her voice makes me smile.
Neda stares down at her manicured toenails, tucking a loose strand of straight, dark hair behind her ear. “Ferragamo says T-strap flats are perfect for any occasion.”
Genesis sighs. “For any occasion that doesn’t involve thorns, snakes, rocks, and mud.” For the first time in the history of their couture-based friendship, Neda has failed at shopping, and my cousin seems to find no humor in the situation.
I, on the other hand, think watching nature bitch slap a spoiled heiress is hilarious.
GENESIS
“How long is this hike?” Neda demands as we round another muddy curve in the path. “I can’t walk another half hour in these sandals.” “That’s too bad, because Cabo San Juan is two hours away.” Maddie looks smug as she passes us on the narrow trail. “Maybe you should head back to the parque entrance and call for a car to take you home.”
“Nobody’s going home,” I snap at my cousin. “Nico, how many beaches will we pass on the way to Cabo?”
“Two,” he says as he holds back a protruding branch for Penelope.
“You’ll be fine,” I tell Neda.
Ryan hangs back to walk on her other side. “By the time your feet get sore, we’ll be at Piscine beach, and you can jump into the water to cool off. And if your sandals can’t hack it, there will be a piggyback ride in your future.” His smile mollifies her, and she picks up her pace.
“I’m taking you everywhere I go from now on,” I whisper to Ryan as I step over a muddy patch in the trail.
“Because I’m willing to give Neda a piggyback ride?”
“Yes.” But mostly because Ryan is my most valuable asset out here where I can’t just send Maddie and Neda—or Holden and Nico—into separate corners.
“She’s just feeling lost,” he says. “I’ve been there, and I wouldn’t have made it through without friends and family.”
All I did was pick out the rehab facility. My dad paid for it, and Maddie convinced him to go, but ultimately, Ryan took control of his own future.
He is a Valencia.
By the last leg of our hike, Neda is squealing constantly, convinced that every vine is a snake and that within each shadow lurks a crouching jungle cat. Holden doesn’t complain much, but every root he has to step over and vine he has to push aside deepens his scowl.
When the rest of us have to wade through a shallow stream, Penelope makes a show of crossing it on a narrow fallen log—walking on her hands.
If I didn’t love her, I would totally hate her.
I am ready to feed them all to jungle predators by the time we finally arrive at Cabo San Juan, the best beach in the national park for swimming, surfing, and snorkeling.
As soon as we step onto the beach, I drop my bag and take off my boots so I can curl my toes in the sand. I breathe deeply, taking in the salt-scent of the air and the bright Caribbean sunshine. The waves here are gentle, and a couple dozen people are waist deep in them, throwing Frisbees and dunking each other.
With one glance at the water, Neda seems to have forgotten everything she hates about hiking. “It’s beautiful,” she says when she’s caught her breath, and I nod.
“This is why we’re here.”
Suddenly, everyone’s smiling. Clothes land on the sand as we strip to our swimsuits, showing off tan, firm bodies sculpted by Olympic coaches, world-class personal trainers, or years on the soccer field.
Naturally, people stare at us. Neda and Holden pretend not to notice, but I can see discomfort melt from their postures as they register the admiration of the small crowd.
Maddie hangs back, still fully dressed, obviously trying to establish a distinction between herself and the rest of us. As if she were actually in danger of being mistaken for a world-class athlete or a fashion-forward trendsetter.
I turn to thank Nico for bringing us to this exotic paradise, but he’s already fifty feet down the beach, talking to three of the half dozen patrolling soldiers. Like those who searched us for drugs and alcohol when we entered the park, they obviously know him. But they don’t seem happy with him.
Nico is gesturing angrily. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but when he sees me watching, he cuts the argument off. He’s smiling as he rejoins our group, but his shoulders are tense.
