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  “Please don’t bring that up.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m in the hotel bathroom. My mom’s right outside.” Then, “Is it true what they say about California? That they know how to party?”

  “The West is pretty wild,” I said right back, his reference making me laugh. I heard the shower water stop and I got up off the bed and uselessly turned my back for privacy. I wanted to end the conversation so I didn’t have to outright lie.

  Thankfully, right then, I heard Kathleen and Alex calling to John impatiently.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said.

  “Knock ’em dead.”

  “But not too dead. Okay, I gotta go.”

  I heard John answering someone’s question as he hung up the phone, leaving me hanging.

  There was Rafa to think about and how I was going to handle the three phone calls he’d made. I decided to put it off. I could also call Donna tomorrow.

  Angus came out of the bathroom in a burst, the door hitting the wall, steam curling into the room. He’d had the decency to put on shorts, but his upper half was bare.

  “Hey!” Angus walked right up to me like he had been thinking of something he wanted to tell me while he was in the shower.

  “What?” I flopped down on the bed and crossed my ankles.

  “When I was away—”

  “Yes?” I prompted when he stopped mid-sentence.

  “I just think you should know—I thought about you the most.”

  AUGUST, one month later

  JOHN

  Sharing hotel rooms with him? That’s the toughest thing to get over…

  JULY

  Chapter Twelve

  “We have to be very quiet,” I had whispered, nervous.

  “Very,” John had said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, willing the present to fade as the world sped past the car windows. The memory I had chosen to recall came back in photographic detail. Though I was still in the car with Angus, I could even see the city lights illuminating the quiet rooftop pool of the W.

  “Someone’s going to come up here,” I had said, hesitating. “People always show up when you don’t want them.”

  “I think at four a.m. we’re still okay. Five a.m., things start waking up,” John had said from where he stood in the water.

  He moved his arms in unison, drawing them back behind him, trailing his fingers in the water, backlit by the pool lights. We’d spent the whole night together, but with a space between us for the first time in hours, I felt like I could finally look at him.

  John had relinquished his clothes at the side of the pool before he got in, so confident that no one would stumble upon us. I had no such confidence and wore the black bikini I’d worn on the day we met at Barton Springs.

  “What’s up?” John asked when I remained standing by the side of the pool, the white towel firmly wrapped around me. He waded deeper and deeper into the water.

  Now I had to make more of an entrance. I dropped the towel and actually heard him suck in his breath. More quickly than necessary, I took a few steps down into the pool, covering my body with water. I raised my arms and twisted my hair into a bun.

  “Come here,” he finally said.

  “No, you come here,” I said back.

  John dunked his entire body underwater before wading over, coming to stand two stairs below me. We were the same height. I stood still, looking at the droplets of water clinging to his lashes.

  “That’s the bikini you wore that day,” John said.

  “You remember?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s burned into my brain. How you looked in it and you had those bedroom eyes…”

  “Shut up.” I laughed. Then, I said, “That’s right, I caught you staring.”

  “You did. It’s funny—knowing you now, you never wear anything that shows this much skin.”

  “Yeah, well…” I wasn’t about to explain that it had been a last-ditch ploy to have Angus notice me, to notice me more than my statuesque, perfect-looking sister. I’d felt like a fool that day. I hadn’t known someone else would be watching me.

  “Can I stare now?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s way too small for me. It always has been. It’s not even mine.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah, no. It’s my stepmother’s. She was mad I was wearing it.”

  “Your stepmother’s? Actually, I can completely see that.”

  “It was the only bathing suit I could find today. I need to throw it out.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s easier if I don’t have anything that reminds me of them, that puts my mind back there.”

  “I’m not sure you can just wipe them from your memory like that.”

  I shrugged.

  “But right now, you’re with me and you should accept my compliment. And I love this bathing suit.”

  John ran his fingers down my side. It never failed to surprise me how many different ways he could touch me and how it made me feel. When I was with him, I felt like I could see myself in a prism; every time it moved, I saw myself in a slightly new way.

  “Hey!” Angus shook me hard, and my dream-memory immediately receded.

  I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with my hand, not wanting to wake up yet. I yanked the sheets over my head, realizing that, for the first time in weeks, they weren’t soaked with sweat.

  “You sleep like a dog having a dream. Whimpering and kicking your legs.”

  “What do you know about pets?” I mumbled.

  “The man in Bel Air has dogs.” Angus seemed to drift away for a moment.

  “Let me go back to sleep.” I wanted to calm my racing heart in private. The dream had felt so real.

  “No way. It took a full minute to wake you up. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Seven.”

  I felt a stab of remorse. We’d missed our chance to leave while it was still dark out. So I said, “I’m going to sleep more.”

  “No, you’re not. I actually got hungry and brought back some food. You haven’t eaten or had anything to drink. It’s just making you sicker.”

  “What did you get?” I asked, my voice muffled by the sheets.

  “Donuts. Coffee. A bruised banana.” Angus laughed. “You can have that. I was trying to be healthy.”

  I didn’t make a move to get up. It seemed like so much effort, and I was still bone-tired. Waiting for further argument from Angus, I was surprised when he said nothing. Then, a breeze of refrigerated air chilled my body as he lifted my blankets and got in bed, flush up against me, spooning me.

  “Angus!” I struggled to get away and got out on the other side of the bed, now the one standing over him.

  “Well, let’s go then. If we stay here, this is what we’re doing.” He smiled and confidently crossed his arms behind his head, lounging in my bed.

  “That’s not happening.”

  “What?” he asked, innocently. “I just wanted to hold you. That’s it.”

  I started laughing. “When have you ever wanted to hold anyone? You don’t do that.” The Puris have an amazing lack of affection.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just because we were raised a certain way, doesn’t mean we can’t change. Look at you.” he said as he reluctantly got up out of my bed and began gathering his clothes off the floor. I noticed he wouldn’t look at me in my pajamas.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I’d made fun of him.

  “Don’t apologize. Let’s just leave.” He was all business now as he zipped up one of his two small black bags, packed tight with bricks of cash.

  “Lati gave that
all to you?”

  “No, I took it. He didn’t want me to leave.”

  Of course he hadn’t. It reminded me how dangerous it was out in the open for Angus.

  “Stop going out to get food. I’ll do it, okay?”

  “Whatever. Just hurry up,” he said, back to being an asshole.

  “And green,” Angus said as we approached the crosswalk. The light immediately flipped to walk and we kept going.

  “Nice!” A man waiting at the light with two kids said.

  “It’s a talent,” Angus replied.

  We loaded up the nondescript Nissan in the small blacktop parking lot across from the hotel. People were beginning to mill about, to-go cups in hand.

  “I’ll drive,” I said, nervously adjusting my sunglasses.

  “You still look like a wrath of God. I’ll drive.” Angus tossed the keys high in the air and caught them easily behind his back.

  “I feel better.” I did. I realized I had more energy today than I had yesterday.

  “You know it’s because of me, right?” Angus said, semi-annoyed. “You’re better because you’re in my company. That’s the way it should be.”

  I hesitated at the side of the car. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

  “What are you going to do? Take a bus?”

  “I can fly out of here.”

  “Get in the car. You’re just mad because I’m telling you the truth. We’re better together. When you get those rashes all over your body, you could get rid of it in five seconds if you wanted. I don’t know why you’re being stubborn.”

  “You don’t understand.” I opened the passenger door and got in.

  “What? You don’t think I understand? I’ve been living out here for months. I know that it’s dangerous. Look, all I’m saying is, if you let him go, you get it all. He’s safe, you can be you.”

  “Just stop, okay? I can’t have this conversation with you the entire trip.”

  Angus shut up and pouted. I decided not to speak until he did.

  He drove north and I stared at the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, taking in the scenery from the safety of the car—the black and green ranges in the distance, all the sky surrounding us, the expanse of flat, rocky road.

  “Wait, why are you getting off the highway?” I asked.

  “Taos Pueblo.”

  “No. We aren’t tourists.”

  “It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site. Right here. We’re seeing it.”

  Pissed, I shook my head.

  “It opens in five minutes, we’ll be the first ones, and we’ll be in and out.”

  “Look at pictures online.”

  Out of nowhere, Angus rounded on me. “Do you realize we may never be back here? You think we have all the time in the world, but maybe we don’t. Like you said, I may end up rotting in jail.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Jeez. I didn’t know you wanted to look for America this trip.”

  “Aren’t you curious? We grew up in a bubble. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Fine. If you get arrested at a UNESCO World Heritage site, that’s a good place to go down, I guess.”

  Angus ignored me and drove.

  The road narrowed like a trail, leading us to the pueblo. In the tourism office, Angus spoke politely as he paid and accepted the two self-guided maps offered by the woman working behind the counter.

  What he’d said about my lack of curiosity bugged me. I took my map from him and looked around at this living Native American community. Signs stated no photographs of tribal members unless permission was granted, and Restricted signs were posted in some areas to protect the privacy of the residents.

  I scanned my map and quickly read the history of the village, learning that it was currently occupied by 150 people.

  “One thousand years old. At least,” I said, observing the multistory adobe buildings under the blue sky with ladders at different points leading to upper floors. I was struck by the enormity of that number and all the history that had taken place in this spot. “It’s hard to feel it.”

  “I can feel it,” Angus bragged.

  I continued to read aloud, “ ‘Considered to be one of the oldest continuously inhabited communities in the United States….Our people have a detailed oral history that is not divulged due to religious privacy.’ ” I paused. “Sounds familiar. So this is what it looks like when someone preserves their culture aboveboard. Do you think the people here like living in a fishbowl?”

  “Hey, their culture is protected. And only members of the pueblo can use certain mountain land and their lake, so it says. Let’s go in to the chapel.”

  Angus and I walked in to the chapel. Signs were posted everywhere asking visitors to show respect in this most sacred space. We stood together, not saying a word.

  “Let’s get on the road,” Angus finally said. “This is too intense.” He meant the energy he sensed inside. I wanted to feel what he was feeling, but I couldn’t let myself.

  On the way out, Angus stuffed a thick wad of cash into the wooden donation box.

  “When did you become generous?” I asked, surprised.

  At first I thought he didn’t hear me, but then he said, “When I left Bel Air, I saw neighborhoods that were more like Third World countries, right there, in the same city. Just a few miles away from the estates.”

  Suddenly a soccer ball flew at my head. I deflected it with a glance, and the ball stopped in midair before bouncing down hard in the dirt. Jolted by what I’d done, I looked over to see a boy—maybe eight years old—staring at me, wide-eyed and stock-still. His bare feet meant he probably lived at the pueblo.

  I stared at the little boy, not sure what to do. Angus grabbed my sleeve and pulled me to the exit.

  “Dammit,” I said, not bothering to complete my thought, beginning to beat myself up. “Why did I do that?”

  “Because it’s natural for you. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”

  As I saw the rash on my hands begin to recede, I chose to try and forget my brief lapse. It had been the first and only instance after being so good for so many days.

  Tourbuses were arriving, releasing plumes of exhaust as they shuddered to a stop, a rude juxtaposition to the quiet pueblo. We drove away and didn’t speak for miles.

  An hour later, Angus pulled over. “I have to pee.”

  There were other cars on the road, but Angus didn’t seem to care. He walked a distance. I looked away. There was not a tree or bush in sight. Just vast open space and mountains far, far away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Angus begin to walk back to the car and I turned my head to watch him. Then he stopped. He stood, looking around, hands on his head, elbows wide. Without thinking, I opened my car door. I walked to Angus and stood next to him. I stretched my arms out, taking in the wide-open vistas and washes of pale pink and brown sandstone under the cloudless sky. Throwing my head back, I began to spin in circles.

  AUGUST, one month later

  JOHN

  I’m still trapped, still thinking about you, and about how we got here….I’ll tell you about what happened while I was on the road.

  Just before Clay Courts I began to feel like complete shit. Mentally and physically. I think, at that point, we’d been apart for only two or three days.

  I put my head down, put my earphones on. I wore sunglasses and stayed in a fog: a kind of white noise daydream. I didn’t talk much to Alex or my mom and they quit trying to talk to me. It looked like heartbreak, I’m sure. At that point, I was listening to your instructions. Because I’ve always been so good at following instructions.

  I think I finally told you that I felt sick. It must be what kicking drugs is like. There was the pull of that thing that was calling me, that my body wanted to do, but I tried to shut off. I think you said it once: it was like this high that you
were worried you’d never have again. No wonder you were breaking crap back in your apartment.

  It was only about five days into the trip when I realized things weren’t so bright or loud anymore. The car didn’t have the smell of wet dog that no one else seemed to complain about. Almost all of my senses were dulled. I had returned to bland…

  JULY

  Chapter Thirteen

  I floored it to one hundred, tearing past the mountain scenery, driving the way I used to in the old days. For a second, I pretended I was with Angus back when we were with the Lost Kids, driving recklessly in our lavish cars around Austin, trying to feel something, trying to get rid of our anger and helplessness as we watched my sister and the other chosen kids do the things Novak told us we couldn’t. Fuck him.

  Angus laughed, realizing he’d been enough of a bad influence and I was breaking my resolution. He never bothered with a seat belt. He rolled down his window and thrust his shoulders and head out the window, howling. His laughter was infectious, and inadvertently, I smiled.

  “Keep a lookout for police!” I shouted to Angus.

  He shook his head, conveying that he didn’t sense a thing. No radar guns. No helicopters. No motorcycles.

  Neither did I.

  My body vaulted into high gear, adrenaline surging through my veins. I drove faster and faster, taking the curving mountain highway at deadly speed. It was like I’d pressed a button and every cell in my body was on track, my senses and reflexes working at full capacity.

  The joyride didn’t last long before two warning lights lit up the dashboard. One was the check engine light. The other was a foreboding exclamation point.

  “Turn back to Durango,” Angus said.

  I slowed way down. “Why turn back?”

  “This car is spent. It’s perfect; we should ditch it anyway and change cars. We can buy a new one in Silverton.”