My mother presses the mute button on my phone. “Madalena, do you know a woman named Elizabeth Wainwright? She says her son is a friend of yours?”
“Wainwright?” Anna says. “As in, Holden Wainwright? Your cousin’s boyfriend? You’re so lucky he was out there in the jungle with you. He is so hot.”
I didn’t know so many fallacies could be uttered in a single breath.
“Maddie?” My mom has good reason to look confused. I’ve never once mentioned Holden as a friend. But his mother, founder and executive director of the Wainwright Foundation, could be a very good friend, both to me and to the Colombian people.
“Yes. Thanks.” I take my cell from her and unmute the phone. “Mrs. Wainwright? This is Maddie Valencia.”
“Hello, Maddie. It’s late, and I’m sure that you’re busy, so let me get right to the point. My son tells me that the dual charity idea for our annual benefit was your idea.”
“Um . . . yes. I hope I haven’t overstepped. I just thought it might be nice to—”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’ve already sent out a press release announcing the change, and I wondered if you’d like to be an active part of the benefit. Beyond the idea phase, I mean. High-level participation in an event of this scale looks very good on college scholarship applications. In fact, the Wainwright Foundation itself sponsors several of those scholarships. . . .”
I don’t really hear the rest of what she’s saying because I’m already ready to jump at the opportunity. Even though Holden has clearly pitched me to his mother as a two-for-one good press opportunity: be seen giving money to poor Colombian farmers while helping a less fortunate and publicly sympathetic kid pay for college.
Whatever. I can live with her using me as long as I get to use her back.
“Yes. Thank you. I’m in.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Her voice has that over-the-top delighted quality that my cousin and her friends always seem to develop when something brand-new and exciting goes their way. As if they didn’t see it coming.
“All of our positions at the Wainwright Foundation are volunteer positions, of course. We can give more to charity if we don’t also have to pay salaries.”
“Of course,” I say, as if I didn’t know that Holden’s mother’s annual salon budget could probably feed a small island nation for a year.
“I’ll be in touch again soon with a summary of your responsibilities.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“Wonderful. Oh, and if you can, tune into CNN tonight. The national press has been alerted to the change, and the Foundation’s publicist tells me that they’ll be mentioning it on air!”
“Great!” That, I truly mean. This is the kind of thing the media should be covering, instead of what kind of shoes Genesis and her friends were wearing when they were kidnapped in the jungle.
“What was that all about?” my mother asks as I hang up the phone and grab the remote control. Kathryn and Anna look just as interested in my conversation with one of the wealthiest women in the country.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” I say as I turn the TV to CNN.
On screen, an attractive man with prematurely silver hair sits behind the anchor’s desk, talking about the ever-evolving conflict in the Middle East. I turn the volume down a little but leave it playing as I explain about my idea for the Wainwright Foundation’s benefit. While Kathryn and Anna gossip-gush about Holden—whom they’ve obviously never met—I text Genesis to tell her about the phone call. Then I drag Kathryn and Anna back into study mode, listening to the television in the background.
Half an hour later, as they’re packing up their stuff to go home, a new voice from the TV catches my attention. The male anchor is gone, and I don’t recognize the woman who’s taken his place, but hearing my own last name on the news makes my ears perk up. I raise the volume, expecting to hear about my contribution to the Wainwright Foundation’s annual benefit, but instead, I see Neda’s face on the screen, frozen in midword in an inset above the anchor’s right shoulder.
That takes me a minute to process. And finally I understand.
Anger crawls across my skin, stinging like a sunburn. Rather than run a story about a philanthropic foundation’s contribution to charity, they’ve chosen to run gossip.
The national news has picked up Neda’s webcast.
I accidentally stood her up.
GENESIS
“Why do you keep looking at your phone?” Indiana asks as I set my cell down on the couch for the fifth time in as many minutes. He runs one hand up my arm, and warmth echoes across my skin in the wake of his touch. “I mean, if you don’t want to do homework, I know of a much more pleasant way to waste time than waiting for a text.”
“I’m not exactly waiting for a text. More like . . . hoping for one. I extended an olive branch to Penelope and I’m hoping she’ll take it.” And frankly, I think that was pretty big of me. Her anger should be at the guy who dumped her, not at her best friend since the fourth grade. “But I like the way you think.”
I turn away from my phone and scoot closer to Indiana. His mouth turns up in a slow, smoldering smile when I slide one leg between him and the leather cushions. I lean forward and press my lips against the back of his jaw, near his left ear. His stubble scratches me, and I like it. It feels real. It grounds me in this moment and helps me push out everything else.
Indiana pulls back, and the caution in his expression frustrates me. “I feel obligated to mention that your dad could come home at any minute.”
“Not likely.” I lean in again and let my lips skim his neck as I speak. “He’s meeting with his lawyers, and he’s not a low-maintenance client. Especially now.”
“Well, in that case . . .” Indiana slides one hand beneath my lower back and lifts me, then pulls me toward him. Beneath him. He’s stretched out, half pressed between the length of my body and the back of the couch, half over me, and I—
“Wait.” I put one hand on his chest. “You promised to tell me your real name when we got out of the jungle, yet somehow I still have no idea who you are.” Though the truth is that I know exactly who Indiana is—just not what his parents named him.
His laugh sends a delicious spark up my spine. “My plan was to tell you as soon as the plane landed, but then there were paparazzi, and your dad and Holden were there.”
“No one else is here now,” I point out as I run my hands up his chest.
“But now the suspense has been built up so much that the reality can only be a disappointment.” He grins. “You’re just going to have to call me Indiana forever.”
“I’m going to call you single if you don’t tell me your name.”
His brows rise. “You’re bluffing.”
I am totally bluffing. But I’m also desperate to know who I’m making out with. “Tell me your name, or I’m going to let my dad hire a private detective. Or ask Luke to run your picture through his facial recognition software.”
“Fine.” Indiana heaves a dramatic sigh. “My real name is Cole Benton. But if you send your dad’s detective after me, tell him the thirty-two-year-old Cole Benton who was arrested for stealing beer from a convenience store is not me.”
“Too bad.” I grin at him, mentally trying to attach the new name to a face I already know by heart. But I’m not sure I can think of him as anything but Indiana. “That would have made you sound pretty interesting.”
“And hiking back into the jungle to find you—with a head wound—doesn’t?”
“You’re right. That’s much hotter than stealing beer.” I slide my hand behind his neck and tug him down again until—
My phone buzzes, and I fumble for it.
Indiana groans, but a smile peeks out from his frustration as he reaches over me, then hands me my cell. He can see that I’m relieved.
Until I realize the text is from Maddie, not Penelope. I frown as I read it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I drop my
phone on the floor without returning the text. “Holden’s mom offered Maddie a volunteer position at the Wainwright Foundation. Now where were we?”
“Just about . . . here.” Indiana’s hand slides beneath my shirt and up my side. His touch demands nothing yet promises everything.
How could I ever have settled for a guy like Holden? How could I have demanded so much from life, and from school, and from myself, yet so little from him?
“Before this goes any further, are you sure you don’t need to be doing homework right now?” he whispers. His breath on my neck gives me chills.
“I’m pretty sure I can get most of my teachers to exempt me from makeup work, considering the trauma I’ve been through.”
I block out thoughts of the jungle with a kiss, then I slide my hands beneath his shirt and pull it over his head. It lands on the floor over my phone. Just as my phone begins to ring.
Indiana lowers himself to move his shirt, and his chest is pressed against me. It’s a delicious weight.
“It’s Maddie.” His voice rumbles through me, and it takes me a second to focus on what he’s said. “You want to answer?”
“No. I can hear about the benefit tomorrow.”
“I agree.” He presses a button to reject the call, then settles over me with one knee between my thighs.
My phone begins to ring again almost immediately.
Growling in frustration, I fumble blindly on the floor for my phone. It’s my cousin again. I answer the call. “Maddie. I’m busy. I’m happy for you, but—”
“Turn on the TV.”
“What?” Something in her tone leaves me cold with dread. “What’s going on?” I sit up, and Indiana is already searching for the remote control.
“Did you know Neda did a webshow today?”
“Damn it. I told her I’d go on it, since I accidentally stood her up last time.”
“Well, she went on without you,” Maddie says. “And CNN picked up the story.”
“Why would CNN care about Neda’s webshow?” I turn to Indiana, who’s managed to get the TV on, but is struggling with the satellite cable. “I think it’s channel 200.”
“She has nearly half a million followers, Genesis. More than a million hits per video.”
“I know, but—”
Indiana changes the channel, and my voice fades into shocked silence. Over the anchor’s shoulder, there’s an inset screen, frozen on a single image.
There I am on TV again. Making out with Indiana in the school parking lot.
Holden is going to lose his shit.
3 DAYS, 21 HOURS EARLIER
He wouldn’t be that cruel.
MADDIE
“They are crucifying Genesis in the comments.” Neda’s video is like a train wreck. And as with any train wreck, I can’t look away. “The internet is full of horrible people,” I mumble as I scan the thread.
“Why are you reading that crap?” Luke asks as he types. “They’re all assholes. Especially the idiot who said she ought to be thrown in jail for cheating on a national hero.”
Stretched across my comforter on my stomach, I look over my own screen at him. He’s hardly glanced up in the past hour. “How would you know that if you aren’t reading the posts?”
“I read a few. But then I moved on.” He still isn’t looking up at me. Neither of us is even pretending to do homework anymore.
“What are you doing?” Curious, I shut my laptop and set it on my desk, then sit at the head of the bed with him, leaning against my pillows.
He’s running a search, and it’s brought up a full page of results. “I’m looking for collateral damage. The real problem here isn’t what strangers online are saying about your cousin.”
Fresh fear burns along my nerve endings as what he’s saying sinks in. “The real problem is what Holden will say. And do.”
Luke knows about Holden’s threats to ruin not just Genesis and her dad, but my mom and me as well. “If Neda’s video pissed him off, he might have already started. The sooner we know what he’s saying, and to whom, the better prepared we’ll be.”
We.
Holden didn’t threaten to ruin Luke or his family, yet Luke is accepting my burden—my potential shame and humiliation—as his own.
A new warmth blossoms deep in my chest as I watch him. “I’m not finding anything yet,” he says. “If Holden is going to start something, I’m guessing he’ll wait until he can do it in front of a national audience.”
“Tomorrow.” He wouldn’t be that cruel. Would he? Could he turn the world against my family on the day we bury my brother?
Luke closes his laptop and takes my hand.
“This is the last thing any of us needs. Especially Genesis. She’s been different since she got back from the jungle.” And though I know whatever my dad did to her isn’t my fault, I still feel oddly guilty. Because he’s my dad.
“Different how?” Luke asks. He only knew Genesis for a matter of hours before we were kidnapped.
“She doesn’t shop anymore. She was a social media queen before, but she hasn’t posted anything at all since she got back. She’s stopped hanging out with most of her friends. And she’s stopped taking shots at my wardrobe entirely.”
Luke shrugs, still glued to his screen. “Those sound like reasonable reactions to trauma, Maddie. And improvements upon her personality in general. And I don’t think any of us are the same as we were before the kidnapping.”
“I know. But it’s more than that.” I hesitate. I haven’t told him this part yet. “She thinks she’s seen Silvana. That crazy bitch who helped Sebastián march us into the jungle.”
Luke looks at me over the screen, his fingers still on the keyboard. “Really?”
“Yeah. But no one else has seen her.”
“And you don’t believe her?”
“Flashbacks and reliving the traumatic event are hallmark symptoms of PTSD. It’s entirely possible that’s what’s happening. But—” I hesitate. “The problem is that I think I do believe her. My dad and Sebastián both told her they would try to use us here, in the States, to trigger some kind of ‘plan B.’ I really want to believe they were just messing with her. But if Silvana is in Miami . . .”
The fear that thought brings—the idea that something as terrifying as what happened to us in the jungle could have followed us here, to our home—is more than I can truly process.
Even worse is the idea that one of us could unknowingly be the trigger. As I think about that, an overwhelming sense of fear washes over me, like nothing I’ve felt since we made it out of the jungle.
How the hell are we supposed to stop something we don’t even know we may be causing?
3 DAYS, 13 HOURS EARLIER
You gave me no choice!
GENESIS
I’ve never been at school this early in my life. First period doesn’t start for another hour, but I was driving myself nuts sitting at home, refreshing Neda’s YouTube page. Reading the comments. Searching for a reason not to burn her site to the ground. Metaphorically speaking.
Yet that’s all I’m doing here in my car. Clicking refresh. Reading the comments.
Waiting for Neda to get to school.
How could she do this the night before Ryan’s funeral?
What a tramp!
One guy isn’t enough for Genesis Valencia?
How stupid can she be, making out with this guy right there in public. Did she think no one would see that?
Poor Holden. National hero, humiliated by his slut of a girlfriend on national television. Hey, Holden! I’m still available! And loyal!
I feel sick, which may be in part because I’ve had three cups of coffee, but no food.
A text appears on my screen. It’s from Indiana.
Stop reading the comments.
I smile in spite of everything.
But I can’t stop reading, and my smile is short-lived.
Slowly, the parking lot begins to fill up. People get out of their cars. Those who
notice me stare and whisper, and I don’t need to hear them to know what they’re saying. This is the live version of Neda’s comment thread.
Finally, Neda pulls into the lot with ten minutes to spare before first period. Holden hasn’t shown up. Neither has Penelope.
I get out of the car and close my door softly. When I get close enough, I grab Neda’s arm with one hand and rip the earbuds from her ears with the other. Shocked off balance, she turns to me, mouth open, ready to start screaming. A flicker of fear flashes over her expression, but it’s much too little to mollify me.
“What. The. Hell?” I demand softly. She can—and has—ignored my texts, but she can’t ignore me, live and in her face. “How could you do that? Today, of all days?” My father is at the airport right now, picking up my grandmother.
Neda frowns for a second, then her eyes widen. “The funeral. I didn’t think about that last night—”
“That much is crystal clear,” I snap. “Why, Neda? Why would you do that to me? Why would you do that to Indiana? We’ve never done anything to you!”
“You gave me no choice!” She scowls up at me with perfectly glossed lips, and I can’t even remember if I put on mascara. “Twice you left me hanging, Genesis. Live on the air, with nothing to say and no one to interview. After I’d told my entire following that you’d be there. They wanted to see you. They wanted to talk to you. And you just turned your back on us all.”
She cannot be serious.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy. Or did you forget that I nearly got put on the terrorist watch list?” I hiss the last three words, because people are still getting out of their cars, and though I can’t stop them from staring, I can’t let them hear any of this.
“Oh, please. You got the same interview with Homeland Security that we all got with the FBI, and that didn’t stop anyone else from going on my show. But it’s not just about that. You and Pen are supposed to be my best friends. We used to tell each other everything. And since you got back, I’ve been waiting for that to happen. I spent the whole time you were gone making sure the world didn’t forget about you. I told stories on the air, and organized vigils, and took up donations to contribute to a ransom. And now you’re back, and you’ve hardly said two words to me. Not even, ‘I’m fine, Neda, but I need a little time to myself.’ You just disappeared from my life. Then I get this footage . . .” She shrugs.