“Andean Trekkers,” Christopher answered.
“Oh, them.” Hank tipped his fedora back with one finger. “I wanted to go with that outfitter, but Helen’s mom insisted on this tour.”
“Mama thought Dreamwalks would be the perfect pre-wedding present,” Helen explained, her lips parted as though she had more to say, but Hank spoke right over her. “If you’re an athlete, you go with Andean. They do real trekking.”
“I’m sure everyone on the Inca Trail will experience real trekking,” Christopher said mildly.
Stesha beamed at him, and to my horror, she offered, “We’ve got two empty spots in the van if you’d like to join us for a walk through some ruins right now.”
Before she was even done speaking, Christopher was shaking his head. “I don’t want to be an imposition.”
“No imposition at all.” Stesha’s voice lilted as if each syllable were a different, decadent temptation of a chocolate truffle: “Sacsayhuamán.”
“Really?” Christopher said now, a reluctant smile knocking ten years off his face. He had already retrieved his wallet, opening it to withdraw some cash. “You should at least let me pay you for us.”
In answer, Stesha looped her hand through Christopher’s arm, saying, “Nonsense! Those spots were already paid for by two people who couldn’t make the trip. So put that away. Everything happens for a reason!” as she steered us back toward the hotel, where the van awaited.
Wait a second.
Wait.
A.
Second.
I stared accusingly at Quattro, party crasher. He was joining my group? Who cared if it was just for the afternoon? These were my people, and this was my trip. It didn’t matter that up until a couple of hours ago, I’d never met Grace or the Gamers before. My rapid heartbeat when I glanced over at Quattro had nothing to do with altitude and everything with my stupid, boy-attracting attitude. Not now. I grasped for an excuse, any excuse, to leave his side. I found a ready one in Grace, who had fallen behind everyone again.
“I have to hang out with Grace,” I told Quattro lamely, not caring anymore that I sounded rude and didn’t make any sense, so long as I was safely away from him. But if I thought I’d find a nice, quiet oasis in Grace where I could just walk and be, I was wrong. The first thing she said to me when I joined her was a cheeky “Talk about synchronicity. When things are meant to happen, they do.”
I jerked my gaze off Quattro, unsynchronizing from him.
Grace chuckled, but because her breathing was so uneven, it was more of a smoker’s wheeze. Worried that she was going to keel over from a heart attack, I slowed down. That was harder than it sounds given her sloth pace. She continued to puff. I continued to shuffle. Even so, we gained on Helen, who was studying a window display of handwoven blankets, a few shot with the same moss green as the designer sunglasses Dom had given me on our first date. As if I needed a reminder that boys were dangerous for my battered heart.
When we reached Helen’s side, Grace smiled at her reflection in a storefront window, then fluffed her hair and said, “Since the Inca Trail is pretty much a straight shot to Machu Picchu, you’ll probably bump into that boy plenty as it is.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. Me, Quattro, Inca Trail. I blinked at Grace.
“And by day three,” she said, “you’d really have to be in love to find each other attractive.”
“Day three?” I squeaked. I couldn’t even begin to process the “in love.”
“Oh, that’s a tough way to begin a relationship,” said Helen. She actually shuddered at the thought.
So stuck on “day three,” I couldn’t muster the energy to deny wanting, starting, or having a relationship with Quattro. Now, I’m not a vain girl, the kind who parks herself in front of a mirror for hours, applying and reapplying mascara to each and every eyelash. But still. I couldn’t help but frown at my reflection alongside Grace, who primped at hers, and Helen, who sucked in her nonexistent stomach. I had four days of trekking ahead of me. Four days of camping. Four days of no showering. Four days of using nature as my facilities, which was going to be awkward enough with Quattro who knows where on the trail, but potentially in plain sight? I groaned, ran my fingers through my hair, my clean, grease-free hair. No shampooing my hair that went greasy after two days?
Day three?
“Don’t worry,” said Helen with a sympathetic pat on my shoulder. “I brought extra hair product.”
With my gaze fixed out the van window, I refused to engage in any conversation with Quattro, who had managed to slip into my row. As the van lurched and swayed, I made sure to stay on my side of the seat. Not so much as a stray thread on my clothes was going to brush up against the boy.