100 Hours

  Holden’s fists clench and he looks at Nico as if he’s large game fit for nothing but sport shooting.

  I tug my boyfriend toward the front of the bar. “Come remind me what I see in you.” When I look back, I see Nico watching me, grinning. He thinks we’ve gotten away with something. That I might come back for more.

  He’s the fool.

  Holden and I get a dark booth near the door. His hands are everywhere. He needs to be in control of this moment, so I let him think he is, and the making up is so good I almost want to pick another fight, just so we can do it all over again.

  This is what I like best about him. Holden’s temper runs hot, but so does the rest of him. When I have his full attention, it’s like we’re on fire. Nico was added fuel for the flames.

  “Why do you push my buttons?” Holden murmurs against my neck.

  I tilt my head back to give him better access. “What are buttons for, if not to be pushed?”

  Holden groans, and his mouth trails lower.

  Over his shoulder I watch Ryan coax the bartender out from behind the bar.

  “Corazón, you don’t drink and you can’t dance!” Paola calls as she follows him, hips swaying. “What do you have to offer a woman?”

  “Come find out . . .” My cousin backs onto the dance floor, his hips twitching in his best imitation of salsa dancing. I laugh. He actually has rhythm—he plays the drums—but his body doesn’t seem to know that.

  Holden works his way up my neck again, and I’m breathing hard by the time he gets to my mouth. “I didn’t get a very good look at that back hall,” he murmurs against my lips as his hand slides up my leg. “Why don’t you show me what I’ve been missing?”

  Before I can answer, my phone buzzes from my purse. I pull it out and glance at the text on my screen.

  Why aren’t you in the Bahamas? Call me THIS INSTANT.

  Holden frowns while I type. “Who’s that?”

  Don’t worry. No pasa nada. Besos.

  “I’ll show you my texts when you show me yours.” He doesn’t need to know it’s just my dad checking up on me.

  Holden’s brows rise, as if I’ve just laid down a challenge. He reaches for my phone, but then Maddie slides into the booth across the table, saving us both from a scene I was almost looking forward to making.

  “We need to get Neda out of here,” my cousin says. “She’s drunk.”

  “We’re all drunk,” Holden points out.

  “But the rest of us haven’t decided to parade stunning cultural ignorance and a shockingly thick wad of cash down Cartagena’s unlit back streets in the middle of the night.” Maddie’s disgusted huff hints at reemerging sobriety. “But that’s no surprise, considering Neda still thinks she’s in Cart-a-gee-na.”

  I follow her pointed gaze to see Neda stagger as Samuel leads her toward the exit. She doesn’t even notice when she drips tequila on her twelve-hundred-dollar sandals.

  I wave at Ryan and nod in their direction. He says a polite farewell to Paola and joins us. “I’ll take her, you take him,” I whisper as I slide across the patched and sticky booth.

  “Hey, does Paola work tomorrow night?” Ryan says as we sandwich them. When Samuel turns to answer, I ease Neda from his grip with one hand and take her drink from her with the other.

  “Where are we going?” she asks as Holden opens the door for us.

  “Home.” I set her glass on an empty table.

  Neda looks confused. “Back to Miami?”

  Maddie grabs Neda’s purse and rolls her eyes. “Yes. Click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like my ten-bedroom beachfront estate.’”

  Outside, the lights are few and far between, and the street is nearly empty. There are no tourists here. No street vendors. I turn to ask Holden to call for a car, but he already has his phone pressed to his ear, giving our location to the car service. “Aquí en cinco minutos, extra de cien.” In his sad, broken Spanish, he’s offered the driver an extra hundred if he’s here in five minutes. He doesn’t like Nico’s neighborhood.

  “I wanna stay.” Neda’s speech is slurred and her steps are the slushy scrape of sandals against pavement. “Samuel and I were—”

  “Don’t run out on me, Neda.” Ryan slides one arm around her waist, taking most of the burden off me. “It’s not every day I get to walk with a gorgeous model on my arm, mi corazón. I’m drunk on your beauty.”

  Neda giggles and I hang back to let Ryan work his charm.

  As we walk toward the corner, Holden slides his arm around my shoulders. “Is the rest of spring break going to be so full of local color?”

  “Why else would you come?”

  “I came because you said Nassau was dull and Cancún was ‘obvious.’ And because you promised me nude beaches.”

  “Admit it.” I slide my hand up his chest as we walk down the cracked sidewalk, and the heat in his eyes resurges. “You haven’t been bored for a second since we stepped off the plane.”

  93 HOURS EARLIER

  MADDIE

  I wake up at dawn and find Abuelita alone in the kitchen, pouring Masarepa cornmeal into a glass mixing bowl. A canister of salt and a small bowl of melted butter sit on the counter. The scents of black coffee and fresh mango trigger memories of childhood visits. Though Uncle Hernán flies her to Miami for most holidays, I haven’t been in my grandmother’s house since I was a small child.

  “¡Buenos días, Madalena!” She pulls me into a hug as soon as I step into the room, the brightly colored tiles cold against my bare feet. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”

  “¿Arepas con huevo?” I guess.

  Abuelita smiles. “Sí. Are they still your brother’s favorite?”

  “¡Por supuesto!” Anything edible qualifies as Ryan’s favorite, but Abuelita’s egg-stuffed corn cakes hold a special place in his heart. And in his stomach.

  “¡Qué triste que tu madre never mastered the art!” She says it with a smile, but she means every word. My mom is second-generation Cuban American, and in Abuelita’s eyes, Cuban food cannot compare.

  “¿Van otra vez a la playa con tus amigos?” my grandmother asks as she forms small cakes from the cornmeal mixture.

  “They aren’t my friends, Abuelita. Genesis and the Dior divas have appointments at some spa this morning, but they’ll probably want to party tonight. I doubt I’ll go.” Not after the fool I made of myself in the bar last night.

  “Your cheeks are pink, flaquita.” My grandmother’s eyes brighten as she smiles. “Did you meet a boy?”

  “Their tongues certainly met.” My brother pads into the kitchen on bare feet and slides onto the bar stool next to mine.

  Yes, I kissed Sebastián on the dance floor. But Genesis went into a dark hallway with Abuelita’s handyman, right in front of her asshole boyfriend, and no one seems to think that’s worthy of public broadcast.

  The double standard in my family never seems to work in my favor.

  “You’re such a pretty girl.” My grandmother smiles at me over a growing collection of arepas. “A little too thin, maybe. You deserve some fun. You’ve been through so much . . .”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” The man gives my shoulder an awkward pat, and his words play on in my head as the sentiment echoes down the receiving line. I stare at his dress shirt. There’s a stain on the underside of his belly. He shuffles to my left to shake Ryan’s hand.

  My brother smells like whiskey, and our mother hasn’t even noticed.

  “Maddie, please let us know if there’s anything we can do.” The woman next in line takes my hand, but I hardly feel her grip. I’ve hardly felt anything in days. I stare at her shoes until she moves on.

  The coffin is closed, and if I can’t see my father’s face, I don’t want to see anyone else’s either.

  “Are you taking care of yourselves?” Abuelita slides the first corn patty into the hot oil with a gentle expertise perfected by fifty years’ experience. The cornmeal sizzles, but the oil does not pop.
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  “¡Desde luego! Which is why I can’t have many of those.” I nod at the carb-heavy fried corn cakes, which would wreak havoc on my blood sugar.

  “Uncle Hernán gave her an insulin pump.” Ryan glances at my stomach, where a slight bump at my waist betrays my most obvious concession to my illness. “So she doesn’t have to mess with needles anymore.”

  Abuelita nods. “Hernán has always taken care of us.”

  I bite my tongue to keep my thoughts from spilling out. The truth is that every time my father came to Colombia with the nonprofit organization he worked for, he spent as much time with his mother as he could.

  My uncle hasn’t set foot in Colombia since he left as a teenager. He just sends money.

  When he found out our insurance wouldn’t cover my insulin pump, he threw money at the problem. Not that I’m not grateful. But I was just another issue he could resolve by writing a check. Like he did for Ryan’s rehab.

  “Buenos días, Nana.” Genesis strides into the room in running shorts and a sports bra, tightening the ponytail cinched high on her head. There’s a sheen of sweat on her face and her hair is damp.

  “¡Buenos días!” Abuelita steps back from the stove to accept a kiss on the cheek from the oldest and least culturally aware of her granddaughters.

  “My phone,” I demand.

  Genesis plucks it from a hidden pocket at her waist and tosses it to me. There’s a text from my mother.

  Hope you’re having fun! How are the Bahamas? Take a snorkeling class for me!

  “Genesis!” My cousin’s name sounds like an expletive as it explodes from my mouth. “Why does my mother think we’re in the Bahamas?”

  “Because she doesn’t know how to track your phone?” Her casual shrug makes me want to choke her. “My dad figured it out before we even landed.”

  “You said you cleared the change of plans with everyone who mattered!”

  “Yeah.” She gives me another careless shrug as she pours a glass of juice. “Nana and the pilot.”

  “You didn’t tell me your father hadn’t agreed,” Abuelita scolds. Yet she sounds more embarrassed than angry about the lie. “He called last night, and he was very upset.”

  “Do Neda’s and Holden’s parents know?” I demand. “Do they even care?”

  Ryan puts one hand on my shoulder. “Maddie, calm—”

  I turn on him. “She’s never the one who has to deal with the fallout from the crazy, reckless way she barrels through life.” Practically kidnapping her own cousins and dragging them to Colombia. Letting Ryan party with her friends during the height of his addiction, even when she knew he had a problem.

  “You’re overreacting,” Genesis insists as she plucks a slice of mango from the tray. “Nana called me a couple of weeks ago to ask when we could come see her, and I seized the opportunity.” Meaning she bribed the pilot.

  “Did you even ask your dad?”

  “Of course not. He would have said no. But we’re here now, and he’ll get on board once Nana calls and asks why he’s trying to keep her grandchildren away from her.” She hugs Abuelita from behind. “He won’t say no to his mother.”

  “You probably got that poor pilot fired.”

  Genesis shrugs again, and I want to punch her. “He made his own choice.”

  “I’m going home.” Anger burns in my chest; I feel like I’m breathing fire. “Are you going to make my mom go into debt for a last-minute ticket, or will your dad send his pilot?”

  “The jet lands in an hour. But if you get on it, you’ll miss Parque Tayrona. Nico’s going to take us for a couple of days.”

  Nico. Genesis takes him into the back of the bar, and suddenly he’s giving us a private tour of the most beautiful series of beaches in Colombia. Of course.

  “Tayrona?” Ryan’s brows rise. Our parents spent their honeymoon hiking at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, through the famous system of natural beaches connected by patches of unblemished jungle. The parque was my father’s favorite place in the world.

  Genesis knows we can’t turn down a trip to Tayrona. And if we stay in Colombia with her, then this trip isn’t just another impulsive rule-breaking binge orchestrated by a spoiled heiress. Suddenly, her reckless jaunt across international borders looks like the gift of closure to her grieving cousins, plus an overdue visit to her isolated abuela.

  “I reserved a couple of cabanas, but it’s a two-hour jungle hike from the entrance to the most isolated beach at Cabo San Juan. So dress accordingly and bring a swimsuit.” Genesis eyes my pajama bottoms, as if they’re indicative of what I’d wear for a hike.

  “I haven’t said I’m going,” I snap, but she dismisses my protests in favor of a fresh arepa, which wouldn’t be on her raw, whole foods diet at home.

  “We’re already here.” Ryan pulls me close with one arm around my shoulder. “We may as well stay and see the sights.”

  “Go, flaquita,” my grandmother urges. “Have fun on the beach for a couple of days. I’ll deal with Hernán y tu madre, and we’ll get caught up Monday night, when you get back.”

  I can practically feel myself falling onto the life-sized chessboard at my cousin’s feet.

  Checkmate.

  92 HOURS EARLIER

  GENESIS

  Penelope Goh pulls me into a hug as she steps out of the back of the black car. “Sorry I’m late. We got stuck behind a blockade. My driver said the police found two bodies in a burned-out van last night.”

  “Of course they did.” Holden shrugs. “Because why wouldn’t my girlfriend’s sense of adventure drag us into a war-torn third-world country?”

  “You sound like my father.” But Colombia is a different place than it was when my dad and his widowed, pregnant mother emigrated. Nana wouldn’t have moved back if that weren’t true. “We’re perfectly safe here,” I insist.

  “Then why does it look like you’re fleeing the country?” Penelope eyes the hiking packs lined up on my grandmother’s front porch.

  “Because once again, Genesis has confused danger with excitement.” Holden wraps one arm around her as the driver opens the trunk to retrieve her luggage, and his stage whisper is perfectly audible. “Maybe we should show her what real excitement looks like.”

  I roll my eyes at him. Holden likes to push boundaries, but we both know what lines not to cross. “We’re going hiking in the jungle.” I link my arm through my best friend’s arm and pull her away from him. “A shopping spree was the only way to talk Neda out of her four-hour mud facial in favor of actual mud and sweat. I got you some gear.”

  “You’re serious,” she says as the driver carries her luggage past us into the foyer. “Does Neda understand that there’s no Wi-Fi or filtered water in the jungle?”

  “The cabanas have both, and I might have downplayed how little time we’re actually going to spend in them.”

  Penelope laughs as her gaze wanders over the supplies I had packed for each of us.

  “I probably shouldn’t be surprised by the 180-degree pivot from spa day to jungle hike, but . . .”

  “You really shouldn’t. The car will be here in half an hour. Come say hi to Nana, then you can change clothes and stuff your swimsuit into your pack.”

  “So how was the event?” Holden says as Penelope’s car pulls out of the driveway. “Actually, what was the event that made you willing to forgo the private jet in favor of flying commercial?”

  “Judging for the Special Olympics, jackass.” Penelope and her Olympic silver medal on the uneven bars are in high demand for appearances since she retired from competition two years ago. She reaches around me to give Holden a playful shove. “You should try giving back.”

  “We’ll be there next time,” I promise. Holden grumbles, but doesn’t argue. He’ll do the right thing, even if it makes him uncomfortable. I never have to worry about him when there’s a live audience.

  “Speaking of private jets, your dad offered to have his pilot drop me off in the Bahamas after my event. I h
ad to tell him I’d already booked a flight to keep this trip on a need-to-know.”

  I squeeze her arm tighter. Only a true friend will lie to your father’s face for you.

  “So what’d I miss?” Pen asks as we head toward Nana’s front door, her couture sandals clicking on the colorful stone walkway.

  “A true sign of the end times.” Holden holds the door open for us and we step into the foyer, where Pen’s bags are waiting and the scent of arepas con huevo still lingers. “Neda and Maddie agree about something.”

  “About what?”

  “That we shouldn’t have let Genesis plan this trip.”

  I shrug. “Maddie’s mad because I didn’t ask her mommy if she could come.”

  Pen laughs again as she grabs her makeup case and the smaller of her two suitcases. “So your preachy cousin has fresh material for a new sermon, your hot cousin doesn’t drink anymore, and Neda’s just been denied the spa treatment you said would help her drop two pounds of water weight in a day. Remind me why I came?”

  “Because you love me. Because you’re my best friend. And because when we get back from Tayrona, the full-day spa package is on me.”

  My phone buzzes again with another message from my dad.

  Genesis, WHY aren’t you on the plane?

  88 HOURS EARLIER

  MADDIE

  “Is anyone else being eaten alive by mosquitoes?” Neda slaps at a bug on her calf.

  “No,” I say, even though I have three bites on my left arm. During the four-hour drive from Cartagena to Parque Tayrona, her voice surpassed the shrieking of my alarm clock as my least favorite sound on the planet. “The rest of us found the risk of contracting malaria more compelling than the possibility of staining our clothes with bug spray.” Which is especially ironic, considering that she’s already splattered with mud.

  “Why can’t we just go back to the cabana?” Neda whines. “Hiking isn’t a vacation. Hiking is work.”

  I’d rather sleep in the sand with a rock for a pillow than bunk in the cabana with my cousin and her spoiled, ignorant entourage.