Well-heeled Japanese tourists, the men in crisp linen shirts and the women wearing dainty sandals and pulling matching luggage sets, made me feel like an ungainly slob in my beat-up hiking boots. I hobbled on my crutches toward my gate and was struck again by the airport bustling with bathed people, the air pungent with aromas from restaurants. Machu Picchu Pueblo—and the stranded, homeless, unwashed tourists—seemed an entire planet and lifetime away. Quattro… Was he safe? Did he make it out? Why hadn’t he contacted me?
Dressed in eye-popping teal and purple, Stesha was impossible to miss at the gate. The way she’d managed to pull together a colorful outfit for less than fifteen dollars in her one hour of power shopping yesterday was impressive. Even more impressive, she actually looked stylish sitting there in her hiking boots, woven skirt, and patched-up chin. I photographed her, my new muse for TurnStyle. That is, she would be my muse if I decided to maintain the site. After the mudslide and the photos I’d shot in its aftermath, I knew I couldn’t focus solely on fashion anymore. What my new oeuvre was, I hadn’t decided, and I was cool with not knowing.
Nearing Stesha, I noticed her deep frown as she read a message on her phone, one she had insisted on purchasing en route to the hospital in Cusco. According to Grace, she had refused to step foot in any hospital ward until she had a way to make arrangements for us.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Stesha as I settled on the free seat across from her.
Her thumbs jabbed the keyboard as if that would make her message clearer. As she typed, she said, “Well, the good news is that everyone else is being evacuated today.”
“Quattro? And his dad?”
“And Helen and Hank. Ruben’s leaving today to trek back.”
I breathed out, feeling twenty pounds lighter. They were all safe. Stesha set down her phone within easy reach. Her eyes lit up just the way intrigue could make Reb’s glow: boy talk! Lucky me, we were going to have hours—hours!—together aboard the flight, first to Houston, then to Seattle, to dissect my feelings.
“You know,” Stesha said, nodding approvingly, “Quattro’s one of the good guys.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but he’s not relationship ready.”
“Interesting how he keeps showing up in your life, though. You met him in Seattle. You ran into him in Cusco. He looked for you after the mudslide. In my book, that means one thing: Pay attention.”
“Yeah, well, I’m paying attention to the fact that he’s going to college in a couple of months.” Not to mention our walk in silence back to town, topped off with our non-good-bye.
“There are seasons for everything.” Stesha laughed wryly at herself, reaching down to adjust her phone so she could see it better. And people think that kids my age have a problem being tethered to our devices. Right. “I sound like a fortune cookie!”
I grinned. “A little bit.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you never know what could happen.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you could prophesy everything?”
“No, not at all. But I’ve got a good instinct when it comes to people.”
“If anything, whatever Quattro and I—” I motioned helplessly in the air because I had no idea how to even define what we had.
“Shared?” Stesha prompted.
I nodded. “Whatever we shared had more to do with being here. I mean, the Inca Trail! Isn’t it kind of like all the celebrities falling in love on movie sets? And we all know how long those relationships last.” According to the tabloids that Dad had bought for me, Hollywood breakups transcend language, culture, and country. I tapped the cover photo of two unhappy-looking superstars underneath a bold headline—ACABO DE ROMPER—as proof. “See?”
“Not really. No,” said Stesha, shaking her head once, then more emphatically so that her curls bounced around her cheeks. “How could you go on a journey with someone and face a disaster without getting to know them? Really getting to know them?”
“That’s what Grace says.”
“She’s right. What you two went through—the trekking. The mudslides. His mother. And this”—she pointed at my ankle wrapped in a bandage—“I mean, this entire trip was nothing but a character test. And that boy passed with flying colors. He keeps showing up. Do you know how rare that is?”
Before I could answer, Stesha’s phone lit up with a new text. “Oh, it’s from Grace. Do you mind?”