I laugh. “They have mandibles—curved jaws. Cougar pressed the ants’ heads into the center of TZ’s cut, then he broke off the bodies so the ant’s jaws pinched together and held.”
“That actually worked?”
“Yeah.” I don’t say that it was totally unsanitary. TZ spent two weeks in the hospital. Intravenous antibiotics, and a gnarly scar because some of the infected tissue had to be excised, clean tissue from his thigh grafted to replace it. The reunion show was filmed in TZ’s hospital room. I get the idea from Gus’s grimace that maybe if he’d done his research, watched a few episodes, he would’ve thought twice before agreeing to come to the Amazon.
“You’ve seen every one of your dad’s shows?”
“It was my way of spending time with him.” I look away because it sounds so lame.
He touches my arm. “I get it.” Gus uses a stick to pin the fruit to the ground before he cuts it open. Inside is an inch-long white segmented worm with a black head. It wriggles in the light, standing on its back end like it’s ready to fight. Disgusted, I scramble away.
Gus chuckles. “Get back here!” He holds up the fruit. “Pull out the worm.”
“Um. No.”
“I cut it open.”
“Congratulations.”
Gus hesitates, then plucks out the worm, dropping it onto one of the allspice leaves. He shudders, wipes his hand on his shirt. We both crack up. He has a great laugh. His entire body is part of the fun.
“There’s no way I’m eating that thing,” Gus says.
“You will. I will, too. Neither one of us wants to disappoint Cougar Warren.”
Gus looks up from beneath long lashes. “He’s kind of hard on you.”
I shrug. “When I was a kid, we weren’t really in touch. My mom got in the way, kept us apart, but Cougar didn’t know she was doing that. He thought that I didn’t love him—that I didn’t want him around. I need to show him that I do.”
“He called you Danielle after the tree thing.”
“Danny is short for Danielle. It’s my middle name.”
“Seems like you don’t like it.”
I’m surprised he noticed. Kind of flattered, too. “It reminds me of a time, when I was little, that I wasn’t the person I wanted to be.”
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and my skin tickles where he touched it. “You were little. It’s not your fault.”
He’s wrong. Gus runs his thumb over the scar on his jaw. “How’d that happen?”
“Skateboarding with my dad.”
A zing of jealousy runs through me. Of course Gus does that kind of stuff with his father. I’m sure they’re best friends, go on trips together all the time, share secrets, jokes, a lifetime of Christmas mornings and birthday parties. Gus’s dad is probably super proud of his son, watches every movie and joins him for award shows.
“Almost dark,” Cougar calls. “Speed it up.”
We figure out a method with the grubs. Gus cracks the fruit open. I use a stick to flick every grub onto a leaf. Gus folds the packets fast, then I tie them tight with vines. I make the final knot. “All done.”
Gus says, “Nice job.” He leans over, kisses my forehead.
I automatically lift my chin, like a reflex, and wait for the next kiss. He gazes into my eyes...
“You’re a really cool kid.”
Cool kid? “Um, thanks?”
He tugs my braid. “Just doing my job. I told Cass we should drop that part but she thinks it still works. Regardless, you’re great.”
Job? That part? “What do you mean, job?”
Gus’s eyes bulge like a cartoon character. He looks like he wants to rewind our conversation, erase it. His smile disintegrates. “I’m exhausted, babbling. Forget it, okay?”
Seconds tick by. Each one is a hammer cracking against my thick skull. “Wait. Are you saying that part of your job is to flirt with me?”
Gus, eyes down, wraps a piece of twine around his fingers until it cuts off the circulation. “Danny. Look, it was just meant to be a light thing, fun. Then the plane crash happened. We agreed to keep filming, honor Sean and Mack, document our struggles and survival. Cass said flirting with you was still important for the viewers, a way to lighten this messed-up situation and that telling you the plan would lose the episode’s authenticity. I wasn’t going to take it anywhere... I mean, you’re just a kid.”
Fragments of conversations float to the surface like dead fish...
I’m putting in my time, showing Cougar I’m dedicated and that I have the skill and drive to someday direct.
I thought you might not be open to it.
Do you think he’s hot?
He’s too good-looking.
It’s part of the hook.
I’m an actor. This trip is a job. If I do it well, it’ll help my career.
Truth. Truth. Truth.
My eyes fill. Fun fact? Both my eyes can cry. I’m here to be the punch line. That’s the hook Cass was talking about back in LA. Shy, uncoordinated, inexperienced, one-eyed freak spends time in the jungle with hunky Gus Price. He flirts. She falls for him. Cue laugh track. My insides convulse, like vomiting will eliminate the poison of Cass and Gus’s plan that’s currently eating holes through my stomach.
I struggle for control. My brain knows that none of this should matter to me. People are dead. But it still hurts. Cass must’ve planned the whole thing to impress my dad, to show him what a talented director she can be. And my dad? Cougar would never have gone along with it if he knew. I’m his priority.
Gus mutters, “Danny, I’m really sorry.”
“Hey, GP, come help me put the finishing touches on our shelter,” Cougar shouts.
Using the heel of my hand, I smash away tears, get up and head into the rain forest.
Jupiter calls out, “Where you going?”
“Bathroom break.” I squat behind a tree and cry, my shoulders hunched, silent sobs shaking my body. Through the foliage I see Gus pick up the leaf packets, carry them over to my dad. He glances my way but I duck so he can’t see me. I don’t need his fake apology. That’s probably part of his job, too.
The voices of the kids who teased me form a chorus in my brain: Pigeon—Pigeon—Pigeon. I push them away and dry my tears. Nothing has changed. I will make Cougar proud.
19
“You okay?” Jupiter asks.
My eyes are gritty, puffy. “Allergies.” I sit down under the shelter and feel Gus’s stare but don’t give him the satisfaction of looking his way. Girls might throw themselves at him, but I know who he really is—a guy who’d use someone for entertainment.
Cougar works on starting a fire at the edge of our temporary shelter. He’s already dug out a shallow hole to keep it from wind that has steadily picked up, and created a roof of palms resting on sturdy branches to protect the flame from possible rain. There’s a pile of mostly dry leaves made into a loose nest, and small twigs beside the nest along with larger pieces of wood. In addition, he tears pages from Jupiter’s book and crumples them. My dad turns Mack’s fire-steel around and cuts tiny slivers off its bulbous handle, then adds them to pieces of the potato chip bag already woven into the nest.
“What’s the handle made of?” I ask.
Cougar says, “Mack was a survivalist at heart. He took the end off his fire-steel and replaced it with a natural resin that burns really well. A lot of trees in the Amazon have resin, so if we need more, it’s there.” He uses his machete on the steel, shooting sparks into the nest. A red-hot flash sends up a single curl of smoke. Picking up the nest, he blows into it slowly, until the embers catch. White smoke begins to billow. Carefully, Cougar puts the now-flaming nest in the center of the hole and begins feeding it with the smallest twigs, leaves and wadded paper. Crackling sounds fill the air. The best part, besides the heat, is that the smoke driv
es away most of the insects.
Cougar tells Gus, “Next time you can give it a go.”
Gus looks over at me. I channel Trix’s sharp edges. “I’m sure you’ll be great at it. But aren’t we planning to carry an ember? That’s usually what Cougar does when he moves campsites. It saves time and resources. Have you watched any episodes?” I’m gratified to see splotches of color on the movie star’s cheeks.
Cougar leans sideways, plants a kiss on my cheek and says, “My biggest fan.” I help him put the leaf packets on a makeshift tray that he fashioned from sticks, and then place our water containers beside them to boil. The scent of allspice, an earthy mix of cinnamon and nutmeg, actually makes my stomach loudly growl.
“I hear you, sister,” Jupiter laughs. “I’m hungry enough to eat grubs, too.”
“While we wait, dry your sweaty feet and socks by the fire,” Cougar says, “and put on some mosquito repellent.”
We peel off boots and soggy socks. My heel is bloody but I don’t wash it off. Whatever’s in the water we collected could turn my popped blister into a bad infection. Instead, I wait until the blood dries, then cover the blister with a piece of duct tape. Jupiter has blisters on both his heels, even though his boots are worn in. I do the same for him.
“You’re hired as trip medic,” he says.
Gus unwraps the bandage on his arm and starts to pull up an edge of the duct tape used to close his wound.
“Don’t. You’ll just increase the chance for infection.”
“Is it,” Gus asks, “infected?”
I glance over. No swelling or angry red lines run up his arm to signal a problem. I’m clearly not a nice person because I’m glad he’s worried. “It’s fine.”
Since I can’t look at Gus without crying, I focus on the rust-red ants parading in rows by my feet. They’re each transporting torn pieces of leaves. “The leaves are bigger than their own bodies.”
Cougar nods. “They’re leaf-cutters. They take those pieces to an underground nest where they’ll grow a fungus that’ll feed the entire colony. See the ones on the edges?”
Gus notes, “They’re larger.”
“Soldier ants. Their job is to protect the workers. They’re aggressive, so steer clear. Got it, Danny?”
I’m right here. How could I miss it? “Got it.”
Jupiter nudges one of the smaller ants with the toe of his boot. “Never underestimate the strength of a tiny ant, right, Cougar? They’re mighty in their own way.”
Cougar flashes a smile. “Enough about ants. Let’s eat some grubs.”
Everyone gets six grub packets. My dad shows us how to break off the grub’s head, then he tosses the crispy body into his mouth and chews it several times before swallowing. “Delicious. Eat up.”
Cass films our dinner. Jupiter goes first. “It’s actually not bad,” he says. “Consistency of tofu, but much, much oilier. Bright side? It tastes like nutmeg.”
Gus eats all of his at once. A mouthful of grubs chewed hard, then washed down by the muddy boiled water. I was hoping he’d gag, but no luck.
“Danny, your turn,” Cougar says.
I twist off beady black heads and swallow each grub whole while pretending to chew. “Not bad.”
Cougar grins. “That’s my girl. Impressive, right, Gus?”
“Yeah,” Gus says.
I don’t look at him. The muddy water is what gets me. I can’t stop thinking about parasites; whether the water was boiled for long enough. There have been cases where worms grew in people’s bodies for months, then squiggled out of every orifice—mountains of them. I gag but manage to keep everything down as I burp repeatedly, the greasy taste of the grubs I didn’t chew coming back to haunt me. Cass is right there, filming.
Jupiter puts a hand over the lens. “Give the kid a break.”
Cass says, “I don’t tell you how to do your job.”
When it’s her turn, she eats her grubs like they’re popcorn. She has gray semicircles beneath her eyes and skin so pale that the spidery blue veins beneath are visible. “Gotta pee,” she says. When she stands, she wobbles, then gets her balance and ducks behind a tree.
“Um, Dad?”
Cougar holds up his hand. “Time for a game. Everyone know two lies and a truth?”
I say, “I thought it was two truths and a lie.”
“Not in my version,” Cougar explains. “We each tell two lies and one truth. The group has to guess which thing we say is true.”
Cass returns and immediately picks up the camera. “Ready.”
“I’ll go first,” Cougar says. “Number one, I’ve had a candiru swim up my urethra.”
“Candiru?” Gus asks.
“It’s a parasitic catfish in the Amazon River. They grow to around six inches long, swim into a fish’s gills, then, using razor spines on their heads to attach, chew through the host, hit a major artery and drink the host’s blood. The smell of human urine appeals to them, so if you pee in the river, they can swim up your penis or lady parts.” Cougar grins. “Only way to get them out is surgery.”
Jupiter grimaces. “That’s disgusting.”
“It’ll keep you from peeing in the river. Two. I’ve killed a mountain lion with my bare hands. Three, Carmen Fox and I are expecting twins.”
I know the last one isn’t true. My dad’s not even dating her. “I think it’s number two.”
“Number one,” Jupiter says.
“Cass?”
She asks, “What were they again?”
“I say the truth is number three,” Gus says. “Cougar is a legend.”
Cougar savors the moment. “Three,” he finally shouts. “I’m going to be a dad!”
If my heart were a bird, it was just shot midair. My dad is having twins and he’s forgotten he had me first. Plus, now there’s even less of an incentive for him to get to know me. Babies are perfect little beings with all their potential in front of them. Not like the almost seventeen-year-old he’s understandably written off. “I thought you weren’t, that it was just for PR? Um. Cool. Congratulations.” I know my smile is too big.
Cougar cracks up. “Kidding! Trying to lighten the mood. Jeez, you look like someone died.”
Jupiter’s hand inches toward mine until our pinkies touch. “Spill.”
“Number two is true,” Cougar says, still winding down from his belly laughs. “It was in Colorado. I was trail running above the city of Boulder. Felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Turned just in time to see the cat launch.” He points to a scar running along his neck. “His canine did that. Didn’t want to kill him, but that cat was trying to drag me to his den, feed on me slowly.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, shoot me now if I’m having twins, right?”
No one says anything. The silence stretches.
“We’re going to get out of here. But you guys need to take a foot off the gas, lighten up. It’ll help,” Cougar promises. “You’re up, Cass.”
Cass hands Cougar the camera. She rearranges her long hair, so it flows over one shoulder. “Let’s see... One, I buy a lottery ticket every week. Two, I speak five languages. Three...” She stares down at her hands. “I’m in love but the guy doesn’t know it.”
“Five languages,” Cougar says.
She’s still in love with him. “Lottery ticket.”
Gus guesses, “Languages.”
“Love,” Jupiter says.
Cass nibbles her lower lip. “Lottery tickets. You’re next, Gus.”
Gus looks at me like he’s asking permission or something. “Go on,” I say. “We’re on the edge of our seats.”
“One, I’m dating Beca Reese. Two, I turned down the lead role in The Reckoning. Three, my dad died in a small plane crash.”
I don’t know how I know, but I do. It’s three.
Cougar claps his hands. “Beca. Has to
be. Lucky bastard.”
“The Reckoning,” Jupiter says. “Sorry, Gus, but I loved that movie without you in it.”
“No apologies needed. Jake Hudson did an amazing job.”
Cass shrugs, keeps filming. She’s probably doing a close-up of Gus’s face. Welcome to the club.
“Go ahead,” Gus says to me. “Guess.”
He’s doing this to make me feel sorry for him. Regardless of the answer, he’s still an asshole. “Three.”
“Winner,” Gus says. “Snowstorm in Vermont. I was six.” He looks away.
My dad goes to sit by Gus, an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, kid. This was supposed to be a fun game, lighten the mood. Danny? Save us, buddy. You got any funny ones?”
I’m a barrel of laughs. “One, I’m a high-platform diver. Two, I love eyelash vipers. Three, I’ll be seventeen on Friday.”
My dad laughs. “All lies, but we appreciate the effort.” He turns to Gus. “Losing your dad at that age had to be rough. Anytime you need to talk, I’m available day or night. You’re a great guy, tough, talented, driven. I always wanted a son like you.”
Truth.
DAY TWO
20
I sleep fitfully, waking again and again in the dark morning hours to insects burrowing beneath my sweatshirt. The worst part is that I have to look at them in the firelight, hairy legs, twitching antennae, stingers and pincers, to make sure they’re not deadly before I brush them away. Some sting, some don’t. They’re all repulsive. When Gus leaps to his feet, shakes out his shirt, shivers in revulsion, I’m glad. He sees me watching in the flickering light, hesitates like he’s considering coming over, trying to talk. I turn my back. He can spoon with my dad since he likes him so much.
The rains start like someone flipped a light switch. Rivulets find their way through the piled palm fronds. Each time I shift, another drips on me. It’s like water torture. Sometime before dawn, the switch flips again and the rains stop. Without the steady patter of water, I can hear Cass sniffling. She’s sitting at the edge of our shelter by the fire, feeding it with branches and pages from Jupiter’s book to keep it going. I’m furious at her. Beyond furious. I crawl over. “What’s up?”
The Speed of Falling Objects Page 11