I nod as I cut a corner from my slab of lasagna. “What happened to us isn’t even what we should be talking about. Our kidnapping was only noteworthy because of how rarely it actually happens. What we should be talking about are Colombia’s real issues.”
Luke shrugs as he pours a tiny cup of Italian dressing onto his salad. “So talk about it. You have a platform now. People will listen.”
“Talking about it isn’t enough,” I tell them as a new idea begins to form. “We need to do something about it.” I turn to Luke. “We need to find a way to take action. To give back.” To make up, in some way, for the damage my father has done. To get back to the cause he fought for, before his passion became a psychotic obsession.
“What do you suggest?” Luke asks.
“I don’t know.” I have to think about that for a minute.
We eat in an awkward silence for a while, Kathryn’s gaze flitting from one of Luke’s friends to the next while she chews. Eventually Jayesh and Ashley break the silence with a good-natured argument about some kind of open-source software I’ve never heard of, and his other friends each take a side.
Kathryn glances at me almost shyly. “Thanks for letting me join you,” she whispers, as if the discussion going on around us is a shield, letting her talk to me privately beneath its cover. “I’m sorry I kind of ran out on you the other day. At your apartment. But I didn’t know how to . . . I mean, everything I started to say seemed so . . .”
“I get it.” I mean, what do you say to the girl who saw her brother murdered and barely escaped the jungle with her life?
So glad you didn’t die?
I bet my stay-cation looks great now?
Can you recommend a good mosquito repellent?
I mean, it’s not like Hallmark makes a greeting card for this.
“I’m so sorry about Ryan,” she says, holding my gaze though the subject obviously makes her uncomfortable. “I always liked him. He and I . . . I guess you knew that we went out for a while. Last year. After your dad . . .”
My fork drops onto my tray with a startling clang, and the software discussion dies as everyone around us turns to look at me.
“No, I didn’t know.”
“I . . .” Kathryn’s forehead furrows. “We didn’t want to tell you at the time. In case it didn’t work out, we didn’t want there to be any awkwardness between you and me. But I figured afterward he would have told you. . . .”
No one told me. Another lie of omission.
“Excuse me. I have to—” I stand and race-walk out of the cafeteria, desperate for some space.
My father. My mother. My uncle. My brother. My cousin. My friend.
Was anything true about my life before the jungle?
When I finally look up, I realize my feet have carried me on autopilot to the science hall, where my locker—
I stumble to a stop in the middle of the empty hallway. Chills race over my arms, raising goose bumps.
“Liar” is written across the front of my locker in black block letters.
4 DAYS, 4 HOURS EARLIER
Intent matters.
GENESIS
“There has to be a way out of this,” I say as I pick up my mug. The ocean breeze blows over a page from my textbook. My second day back at school was no better than my first, and I cannot spend another moment under Holden’s thumb.
Indiana arches one brow at me. “A way out of European History? I suspect most of Germany feels the same way.”
“Ha.” I close the book. I haven’t processed a sentence I’ve read in the past hour anyway. “A way out of the warped mythology Holden is creating to replace our actual breakup.” Though he doesn’t know the extent of Holden’s latest threats. “At this rate, I’ll wake up tomorrow and turn on the TV to find that he and I are married, and the country is eagerly anticipating the national symbol of hope that is our love child. How can so many people believe so many lies, just because a rich white guy says them on television?”
Indiana laughs. “The solution seems obvious.” He shrugs. “Stop playing along.”
“That makes a certain crazy sense.” I give him a facetious nod. “Yet the premise seems flawed. If he throws me under the bus, I can’t defend myself thanks to the NDA—”
“Genesis!”
I jump in my seat, startled by the woman in her thirties who’s just shouted my name from across the outdoor café. I’ve never seen her before, yet she seems to know me—not an entirely unusual situation.
She stops next to our table and smiles down at me, as if she can’t even see Indiana. Or the fact that we were having a private conversation. “I wasn’t sure that was actually you. You looked different on TV. But then I shouted your name, and you looked up, so . . .” Her smile is so bright it’s giving me a migraine.
“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask. Then I add a smile.
Indiana hides his grin behind his mug as he raises it for a sip.
“I just wanted to tell you that we were all praying for you while you were out there. What you and those others went through . . . It was a wake-up call for America. It really brought us together. It’s terrifying to realize how unsafe some third-world countries still are. For Americans.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises as my blood begins to boil. “First of all, Colombia isn’t a third-world country. It’s an emerging economy.” Thank you, World Geography, freshman year. “Second of all, the people kidnapped with us weren’t even all from the US—you just didn’t hear about the victims the US media doesn’t consider relevant to its viewership. And third . . .” Indiana is covering a huge grin while the lady stares at me in utter confusion. “What happened to us was an isolated incident, and you can’t draw sweeping conclusions about the world’s sociological climate from a single event.”
I’m well aware that I sound just like Maddie. I’m equally well aware that the truth has just gone right over this woman’s head with an almost audible swoosh sound.
Imagine how confused she’d be if I reminded her that Colombia is in South America.
The frown lines in her forehead smooth out, and I can practically see her donning sociopolitical blinders—an adult’s security blanket. “Well, either way, you sure were lucky to have your boyfriend in the jungle with you. Can you imagine what might have happened to you out there without him?”
Easily. I might not have been asked to sleep with our kidnappers so he could grab a gun.
I might not have to talk to idiots like this woman, because I would have limped out of the jungle on my own, instead of in the arms of a self-centered, opportunistic jackass like Holden Wainwright.
Indiana sets his mug on the table and looks at me with faux shocked-wide eyes. “You might have had to carry your own backpack or fight your own battles.”
I fan my face with one hand. “How would I ever have survived?”
The woman makes an insulted sound at the back of her throat, then walks back to her table looking confused.
“Seriously,” Indiana says when she’s out of earshot and we’re done laughing, “if you want to suck the wind out of Holden’s sails, stop legitimizing his fantasy with your participation. Tell the world that you dumped him.”
Sounds easy, but . . . “Even if this were just about what I did—”
“Genesis.” Indiana lowers his voice to a whisper and leans toward me across the small table. “You took on a huge personal risk in an attempt to save lives, when Holden was willing to let people die to save himself. You had no idea the bombs had already changed hands. People will understand that.”
“Will they?” Would the relatives of the victims believe I was justified in what I did?
“I have to believe that most people will.” His gaze is optimistic, but intense. “Intent matters.”
“I hope you’re right, but I don’t know that I can take that chance.” I don’t have the right to choose my happiness—and a very satisfying blow to Holden’s ego—over the well-being of my family. “He’ll
tell the world about Maddie’s dad.” I can’t do that to my cousin or her mom.
“Honestly, G, I don’t think it’ll come to that,” Indiana says. “Homeland Security made you sign an NDA and threatened to charge me with obstruction if I talked about their investigation. Shouldn’t we assume they said the same thing to Holden?”
“Maybe.” I nod slowly, thinking it through as I blow into my steaming mug. “But I doubt that’ll keep Holden quiet.” In fact, based on yesterday’s confrontation, I know it won’t. “He’s not afraid of an obstruction charge. His parents’ lawyers cast a long shadow.” As do my father’s—assuming we can afford to pay them. If the government were only threatening me with obstruction, I might not be afraid of the charges either.
But if Holden calls me a murderer and I defend myself in the media, Homeland Security will let the state of Florida charge me with involuntary manslaughter.
I could actually wind up in prison. For telling the truth.
4 DAYS, 1 HOUR EARLIER
You’ll be a hero.
MADDIE
“You want me to what?” Holden demands in a fierce whisper as a woman wearing a headset pins a microphone to his shirt.
“Don’t act like this makes no sense,” I snap. Normally this is the point at which Genesis would step between me and Holden, but this time she seems willing to let things play out. Probably because Holden so clearly hates my idea. “Your family’s annual benefit is already in the works. We all know that. I’m just asking you to ask your parents to donate some of the proceeds to a charity to help Colombian farmers.”
And frankly, I’m proud of the idea. For having found a way to shine the spotlight where it should be—on ways to help the Colombian people—and shift the national conversation from the Holden-Genesis faux romance.
Holden rolls his eyes. “The benefit is this weekend, Maddie. It’s not just in the works. It’s in the bag. My mom works on this thing all year long. I may be her kid, but the Wainwright Foundation’s benefit is her baby.”
“It’s never too late until it’s over,” I insist.
“It’s too late,” he insists. “They’ve already announced that the money’s going to the homeless.”
“To the children’s cancer ward,” Genesis corrects him as the production assistant fits her with her own microphone.
“Whatever,” Holden growls. It’s like he doesn’t even see the staff buzzing around getting things ready, easily within earshot of his apathy. “My point is that they can’t just take money away from those sick, homeless children. It’s already been announced.”
“So make it a multi-platform charity,” I insist. Genesis isn’t the only Valencia who knows how to dig in and get what she wants. “Half of the money could go to the cancer ward—those kids aren’t homeless, by the way—and half to disenfranchised Colombian farmers. With your celebrity, an announcement like that could increase attendance by forty or fifty percent. You could even raise the price of tickets. What is it now, thirty thousand a plate?”
“Fifty,” he says, and the production assistant’s eyes widen.
I know how she feels. That’s way more than my mother makes in a year—assuming she doesn’t lose her job over the work she’s currently missing.
“Think about it,” I say as the assistant begins herding Holden and Genesis toward two chairs in front of a big green screen. In five minutes, they’ll be live via satellite with Jimmy Fallon. “More media coverage. More money going to charity. And all thanks to you. You’ll be a hero.”
Genesis rolls her eyes, but I can tell when Holden glances at her, both brows arched into question marks, that he didn’t see. I’m surprised he still seems to want her opinion, after everything that’s gone down between them. But then, that kind of makes sense. Genesis is the resident expert in the field of public opinion.
She shrugs as she takes a seat in her assigned chair. “You wanted to play the hero. We both know you’re not going to go hammer nails into houses in person, so you might as well try philanthropy.”
Holden glances from her back to me as the guy behind the camera begins to count down. Then Holden nods. “I’ll talk to my mother.”
I am always in control.
GENESIS
I can’t get out of the chair fast enough. The lights are too bright. The woman trying to unhook my microphone is too slow. Too clumsy.
That’s not true.
But it feels true, because I have to get out of here.
I pull the microphone from my shirt and slap the battery pack into the production assistant’s hand, then I’m out. I want to run, but I know better. People who are in control don’t run away.
I am always in control.
“Genesis,” Holden snaps, and I walk past him.
“Genesis!” Maddie looks like she wants to say something, but I brush right by her.
Outside, I suck in a deep breath. The night tastes bitter, but the darkness feels calm. The sound of traffic is reassuring, because there was no traffic in the jungle.
My hand is still sweaty from being trapped in Holden’s. I wipe my palm on my shorts, but I can’t get the feel of him off my flesh. Out of my mind.
“Hey,” Indiana says as he steps out of the building. “You okay?” He pulls me into a hug without waiting for some visual cue from me. For an invitation. He hugs me just because he thinks I need a hug.
And that turns out to be exactly what I need.
“I can’t do this anymore.” I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on hard, speaking right into his collarbone. I clench my jaw to hold back tears. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I’m stronger than this.
“I didn’t watch.” Indiana’s hands slide down my back, and the chaste touch feels strangely comforting. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing new. He just . . .” I step back so I can see his face in the light from the security fixture overhead. “I feel trapped. We’re out of the jungle, and I’m sleeping in my own bed, but every time I see Holden—every time I hear his name or see him on TV—I feel like I’m still back there. Still being held hostage.”
“Okay, so do what you did then,” Indiana suggests softly.
“Blow something up?” My bitter laugh sounds harsher than I intended. “That’s how I got into this mess in the first place.”
“No. Fight back. There wasn’t a single moment in the jungle when you weren’t plotting something, or in someone’s face, or generally being awesome out loud. Why would you feel any more powerless here than you did out there?”
“I . . .” I frown, thinking that over. Why would I feel more powerless here?
Because the threat of prison and love for my family are preventing me from taking away Holden’s advantage, by simply telling the world what I did.
What I need is a way to put his freedom in jeopardy. Something that incriminates him. A mutually assured destruction kind of truce.
Rog.
Holden killed Rog, and there was no one around to verify his claim of self-defense, other than Indiana and me.
Holden doesn’t know that I don’t still have the clothes he wore onto my father’s jet that day—still stained with Rog’s blood. Immortalized in the very picture that made him look like a hero to the rest of the world.
“You’re right.” I smile up at Indiana and already I feel better. I have a plan. “Tomorrow, I’m going to get Holden alone and put an end to this bullshit. Once and for all.” I’m going to reclaim my life, and kick him out of it.
Indiana smiles. “Good. I look forward to the return of the beautiful badass I met on a beach at Cabo San Juan.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Her son is a friend of yours.
MADDIE
“How many multiple-choice questions are there?” Kathryn asks.
Anna Wilson grabs a handful of peanut butter M&M’s from the bowl across my small dinner table and rolls them around in her palm. “Between fifty-two and fifty-five.”
I wasn’t sure they we
re actually going to show up for study group, after the locker incident. I was still scrubbing the paint—I think it was liquid shoe polish—when the bell rang. Surely they saw it.
Surely everyone saw it.
“I’d do a hundred multiple-choice questions if that would get me out of the essays,” Kathryn says.
When they go quiet, except for Anna’s crunching, I look up to find them both staring at me. It’s been at least five minutes since I said anything. Or maybe one of them asked me a question. “Sorry.” I grab an M&M and toss it into my mouth, but it’s tasteless. “What were we talking about?”
“We can do this later.” Kathryn closes her study guide and stands. “You just got back. This isn’t the time to—”
“There is no more time,” Anna objects. “The exam is next week, and you already skipped the practice test.”
I cringe, hoping my mother can’t hear us over the sound of running water in the kitchen, where she’s doing dishes. The practice test began and ended while I was in the hospital with my mother. I hadn’t even realized I’d missed it until it was already over.
My mom doesn’t need to add the AP practice test to the list of things she’s worried about.
“Do you want us to go?” Kathryn says. “You shouldn’t have to think about this the night before . . .”
Ryan’s funeral.
“No.” I shake my head and try to focus on the study guide. “This is what I need to be doing.” I should be glad for the distraction.
As we’re quizzing each other from the study guide, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, so I don’t answer.
A minute later, it rings again. From the same number.
Huffing in frustration, I reach for the phone, but my mother beats me to it. “I’m sorry, but we’re not speaking to the press. So please stop—” Her eyes widen and her mouth snaps closed. She listens for a moment.
I don’t recognize the female voice I can hear from the other end of the line.