“Actually, no, not because of that. Or not entirely,” he said. “I don’t know. But this isn’t about you. I mean, you… your photography, the way you look at things.” He shrugged, gazing at me with respect. “This is all me. The timing is all wrong, and I don’t think I can—” He broke off whatever he was going to admit, then ended brusquely, “You should get some sleep.”
I blinked at Quattro, stunned by the familiarity of these words. It was as if I were being visited by the ghosts of breakups past. All the guys I had let down with almost the same script, except now I was on the receiving end. Even though I wanted to run from him, I forced myself to nod—okay, then—and walk away slowly, head high. I forced myself not to glance back at Quattro and his ironclad secrets. I forced myself to stand for a second in the pearly moonlight and to imprint in my memory what it felt like to know that I had survived revealing the truth about me.
Chapter Sixteen
A few hours of sleep later, Stesha woke our group. Yesterday, we had agreed to salvage the last of our trek. At the very least we were going to see the first rays of sunlight illuminate Machu Picchu. Who cared that it meant we had to get up at three in the morning? Who cared that the chance of a break in the clouds was about one percent? Who cared how many tourist photos had already memorialized one of the most famous sunrise vistas? I planned to take exactly one of those photos myself, cliché or not, Ms. Associate Dean of Admissions at Cornish College. I patted my back pocket to make sure that Quattro’s camera was still there.
Quattro.
I flushed at the memory of last night, squeamish about running into him this morning. Through the rain-speckled windows, I spied him helping his dad dismantle their tent. They obviously were on the same time line we were. As if he felt me, Quattro glanced my way. I ducked down, face flaming.
“What’re you doing?” Mom asked, yawning widely.
Humiliation à la Quattro. It’s my new specialty.
Dad sat up, grimaced. I could hear his spine crack when he stretched. “Man,” he said, “I’m getting old. That other group might have the right idea.” The leaderless tour group that had joined ours yesterday had made the executive decision last night to sleep in this morning, opting out of our early morning trek. I personally chalked it up to the aftershocks of being abandoned. After all, it didn’t much matter if it was guide, fiancé, or boyfriend (past, present, or imagined) who took off; being the one left behind was exhausting.
As I tugged on my hiking boots, I wondered whether Quattro remembered our silly bet: to be the first at the Sun Gate. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t so much as brush a single fingertip against that portal to Machu Picchu if he happened to reach it before me. Given last night’s conversation, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he sprinted right past it.
The memory of his “it’s not you, it’s me” words made me blush. But once we reached the town of Machu Picchu Pueblo and were safe on the train back to Cusco, I’d never see Quattro again. At least that’s what I told myself, even as a faint and annoying strain of “It’s a Small World” taunted me in my head.
“So,” Mom said casually as we walked out the door together, “late last night, we found out that the rest of your friend’s group decided to take their chances on the trail back to Cusco.”
“My friend?” I asked, even as little warning bells started to chime in my mind. Alarmed, I stared at her, forgetting all about hiding from a certain boy. “What are you talking about?”
“Quattro and his dad are joining us the rest of the way. Wasn’t it nice of him to give your dad his headlamp?”
“What?” My gaze landed on Quattro hefting his backpack on. Hastily, before we could make awkward eye contact, I whipped back around to Mom. “Why?”
“I just told you. The Andean Trekkers decided to head back to Cusco on the trail. They’d heard rumors that the train tracks have been flooded.”
“When was all this decided?”
“You must have been in the bathroom,” Stesha answered for Mom before I could protest further. She fluffed her hair. Those efforts literally fell flat. The spunk had gone out of her deflated curls. I knew how they felt. “And your boy’s joining us.”
I hissed at Stesha, hoping to shut down this conversation, “He’s not my boy.”
“You mean, not yet.” Although Stesha lowered her voice, her eyes kept darting over to Quattro. Poor spy skills must have run in her family. She was no better at covert operations than Reb. “I think once he’s done working through some big grief, he’ll be begging to be your boy. Give him time. You’re both worth the wait.”
Five minutes later, our group was ready to go. Mom was so busy chatting with Grace about the Wednesday Walkers that she stepped in front of me to keep their conversation going. I didn’t protest until I realized that Quattro had staked out the spot at the very back of our group.