“I never,” Dad says, pausing. “I never had any intention of cutting it so close. Can you believe that capturing a Lava-Throated Volcano trogon and turning it over to its murderers would fill me with joy? But I was overjoyed, to see you out there in the audience tonight, safe and well”—of course! That’s why Dad looked so oddly happy and peaceful and calm up onstage!—“even though I was almost certain the bird I handed over to them today was the last male of the species.”
“But Mad saved him! And he’s alive!” Roo says, louder with each word. “And Miss Perfect is alive too! And they’re back at their nest and the volcano isn’t gonna blow!”
“And you kids,” Dad says, his eyes widening with awe, “you found a female! With a nest! That’s impossible, you know. How did you do it?”
Roo and Kyle and I look at each other, and then we look at Señora V, who smiles her veiled smile. How did we do it? There was Roo and Kyle being brave about the jungle, and there was me and Roo peeing, and there was me falling down the hillside, and there was Kyle and Roo recognizing the eggs, and there was Roo and Miss Perfect adoring each other right away. And there was Señora V with her magical drinks and green jungle uniforms and black-lace grins, and there was Señor V glowing knowingly beside her.
“Hey, wait a sec!” Roo yelps at Señora V. “You can take your veil off now! The birds are fine!”
And I’m going, Wait, what? That’s why Señora V has been wearing a veil all this time? Like, she was already in mourning for the LTVTs? How did I miss that one?
Señor V reaches over and pulls her black veil up, almost like a weird version of a wedding ceremony, and then there’s Señora V’s face.
An old, old face, a delicate web of wrinkles. But with very young-looking eyes—as golden as Kyle’s, or maybe even more golden! Something about the way she looks makes me feel frightened and comforted at the same time, as though she’s both a witch and a godmother.
I think Mom may feel the same way I do, because she gasps, “Oh my goodness! Señora Villalobos!” But then she goes, “You’re beautiful!”
Vivi twists around in the driver’s seat to glance at Señora V. “Dios mío, beautiful lady,” she says, “you are doing it with grace. Who needs twenty-one-year-old princesses anyway, right?”
Well, scratch that. I have no idea what they mean that Señora V is “beautiful.” Extraordinary, yes. But beautiful, no.
Right then Vivi brings the limo to a jolting halt. I look out the window and realize that we’re already in the parking lot of the Selva Lodge. And strangely enough, there are three old school buses lined up beside us.
“What’s going on here?” I ask everyone. “Time for a field trip?” I add, the kind of dumb, giddy thing I wouldn’t usually say.
“They seem to be evacuating the Selva Lodge,” Kyle says. “Apparently they’re still under the impression that we need to worry about the volcano.”
“Grab your passports, folks!” Vivi shouts. “I’ll be waiting for you right here.”
As we clamber out of the limo, I smile to myself, thinking about the fact that if someone had told me a week ago that our hotel would soon be evacuated because of the volcano, I probably would have flown into a total panic. But here I am, strolling into the concrete courtyard, cool as a cucumber, even though men in khaki uniforms with large guns are standing among the half-dressed freaking-out tourists as they rush around and scream at their kids and try to zip overflowing suitcases. It feels like a nightmare carnival here, with all the people and lights and shouting but none of the fun. Yet the panic doesn’t touch me. Señor V and Señora V are no longer worried about the volcano, so I’m not either.
I blink as we walk through the glaring courtyard. The light feels extra harsh after our soaring nighttime drive. It’s probably a good thing our entrance is disguised by the chaos of the evacuation, because I have to say we look fairly alarming. My bloody face, Mom’s bloody ball gown, a bunch of dressed-up, messed-up people.
Señor V goes over to the guy with the biggest gun, who at first ignores the small man in the rumpled white suit with the cockeyed bow tie until Señor V somehow proves that he and his wife own the Selva Lodge.
For a moment we stand there without speaking, just looking around at all these people who still believe the volcano’s about to blow, until Mom claps her hands briskly. It makes me grin, because it’s the kind of thing Yoga Mom never would have done.
“Ten minutes to blastoff,” she proclaims. “Jimbo, get my stuff in room number five. I’ll be helping the girls in number four.”
Roo and I trail behind as Mom strides across the courtyard and flings open our door. She yanks our suitcase out from under the bunk and starts throwing stuff into it, tossing shorts and T-shirts and flip-flops at us.
“Put these on,” she commands, “quick!”
“Jeez, Mom, relax!” Roo groans. But she turns around so I can unzip her party dress.
“Relax? Relax! I won’t relax till that plane takes off and we’re far away from anyone who wants to hurt us or ever wanted to hurt us,” Mom announces, bursting into the bathroom to grab our toothbrushes—wow, I’m impressed she can remember toothbrushes at a time like this.
“You don’t need to worry anymore,” Roo says, as though she knows everything. Which, knowing Roo, maybe she does.
“Meet me in the courtyard as soon as you’re all packed and changed.” Mom shoves our still-damp two-pieces into the suitcase and hands me an armful of green fabric—our jungle uniforms. “Fold these up nicely, okay? I’m going to go make sure Dad got everything.”
And that’s when it hits me: We’re leaving. We’re leaving the Selva Lodge and the jungle and the volcano and Señor V and Señora V and Miss Perfect and Mr. Beautiful. And Kyle.
“I want to stay here! I don’t want to leave! I love it here!” Roo says, once again beating me to the exact thing I wanted to say. Story of my life.
But I don’t whine along with her, because I’m just that much older. Instead, I stand there hugging our jungle uniforms as though they’re an actual person.
“We’ll talk about your attitude later, young lady,” non–Yoga Mom says. “I’ll see you in the courtyard in five, okay?”
“Yeahyeahyeahyeah,” Roo grumbles as Mom rushes off. And I place the jungle uniforms in the suitcase, wondering if we’ll ever use them again.
We change out of our party dresses into normal clothes, and then Roo starts wiggling and waggling and bouncing around the room.
“Um, what are you doing?” I say, trying to give her a you-weirdo glare while also finding a place to pack our toothbrushes where the bristles won’t get messed up.
“I have to pee so bad!” Roo yelps. “I haven’t peed in like two weeks!”
“Then why don’t you go to the bathroom?” I ask her.
“Brilliant!” Roo says, wiggling her way into the bathroom.
Roo. She cracks me up.
Right then I remember about my poetry notebook. Which is not under the pillow of my bunk bed. Because it’s still in Kyle’s room from that time all those hours ago when I wrote the letter to Vivi. And my heart feels like a bobbing red balloon of gladness and nervousness.
“Oh shoot!” I yell to Roo. “Got to go get my notebook from Kyle’s room.”
I slip out of the room before Roo can insist on coming with me. Things have quieted down in the courtyard, tourists lining up in the parking lot to board the school buses. I dash into the kitchen of the Selva Café, the screen door squeaking shut behind me. And then I’m running two steps at a time up the spiral staircase to Kyle’s room, the cancan kicking in my chest all over again. I’m knocking on the door before I realize, Hey, he might not even be in here!
But he’s there.
“Mad,” he says as he opens the door, and when he says it I realize, Jeez, he hardly ever says my name. I get extra nervous.
“Kyle,” I say back at him, and it’s kind of awkward, and I realize I hardly ever say his name either.
We stand there.
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“Um,” I say. “Can I, kind of, come in?”
He steps aside to let me enter.
“I left my poetry notebook here,” I say quickly, so he won’t think I came because I have a crush on him. “Have you seen it?”
“Seen what?”
“My poetry notebook.”
Then he says something in Spanish, and of course I have no idea what it is. Still, my face gets so hot that I can’t look at him for a few seconds. I feel strange and funny and more strange and the unknown Spanish words hover above us. Kyle’s face darkens with a blush (for the second time in one day!) and I realize he’s embarrassed about whatever he said, and I feel weird because I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to feel awkward because I didn’t understand what he said anyway, but it’s more awkward to tell someone they don’t need to feel awkward.
And that’s when I realize it: Kyle likes me! Suddenly it’s obvious to me that when I look at him I’m looking at a reflection of the way I feel. He’s blushing, like I am. He’s nervous, like I am. He’s awkward, like I am.
Wait, I just have to enjoy this for a second.… Yes, Kyle definitely likes me.
“I haven’t seen your notebook,” he says.
But I’m not thinking about the notebook anymore, because there’s this question I have to ask him and I’m trying to get up the courage: Why do you like me?
I mean, now I know he likes me, but why? How? And when? I liked him (I’ll admit it) from the very beginning. But I know he didn’t like me back then. He didn’t care about me any more than he cared about anyone else. So when did it happen? And why? What did I do? I just really want to ask him this before we never see each other again. (Then I think, Hey, maybe we will see each other again. Colorado isn’t so far from Ohio, is it? Then I think, Actually, it is pretty far, and we’re just kids.)
I try to ignore the tiny ache inside me and instead focus on the question: Why, why, why do you like me? But each time I open my mouth to ask it, I wimp out. Finally I’m opening my mouth one last time to really ask it and—get this—a bug flies in. Some kind of small fly or something, who knows what, but it goes down my windpipe and I’m choking and gagging and coughing, plus I’m getting redder and redder not only from choking but also from embarrassment. Kyle grins and thumps my back hard until the moment passes and the bug vanishes somewhere deep inside me. I take the bug as a sign that I should never ask Kyle that stupid question. Instead, I turn to him to say the notebook has to be here because this is where I wrote the letter to Vivi, and that’s when it happens.
This has never happened to me before, obviously.
It’s like suddenly his face is so close to mine that I can’t even see him anymore, and our mouths are so close together, and then they’re touching, and it’s super awkward, since I don’t know what to do, and my heart is making all this racket and moving around so much that I can’t really feel anything else. Then he backs away and wipes his mouth and I realize I’m insanely happy and I realize the poetry notebook has been lying right there on the floor the whole time.
I have this blurry feeling as Kyle hands me the notebook, as I stumble down the spiral staircase, as I wander out into the courtyard and hazily wonder where everyone is, wonder if they’ll be able to tell just from looking at my face what happened to me. I feel like it’s written in golden cursive across my forehead, M&K, M&K, M&K.
“Where’s Mad? I told her to be in the courtyard! Señora Villalobos, Señor Villalobos—are you two really sure you don’t want to evacuate? Mad-e-line!” Mom’s stressed-out voice cuts through the blurriness. Even though Mom is being kind of overreactiony right now, I don’t mind it a bit because it’s so much better than Spacey Smiley Yoga Lady. “Oh, Mad, thank goodness, there you are!” she exclaims, rushing toward me from the parking lot. “Come on out here, we’re all waiting for you.”
Obediently, I float out into the parking lot. The evacuation buses are all gone, and the tourists, and the men with guns. The volcano is still glowing away, but now it looks more pink than red. My family is getting settled into the limo, Vivi shouting jolly suggestions from the driver’s seat about where Dad should put Mom’s suitcase and our red rolly suitcase. Roo’s already inside and buckled up. Señor V and Señora V stand by the open door of the limo, and I’m flabbergasted once again by Señora V’s old/young face.
“Don’t you worry, baby doll,” Vivi says to Mom. It’s weird to hear someone call your mom baby doll. “I’ll have the Post on the phone in a few minutes here. And I already got through to my people at Good Morning America. Plus that international environmental group—what’s it called again? Ay, dios, I’m spacing on the name right now. I can’t believe this! I did a huge benefit for them. But now I’m thinking, hmm, would they be interested in creating some kind of bird sanctuary here? Those people go bananas for sanctuaries.… I should probably get in touch with those nice UN people, too. And Stephen Colbert! I love that man. He’ll have a field day with this.”
“That’s great,” Mom says, “but I’m not going to feel calm until my kids are on a plane.”
“Oh, yeah, of course, sugarplum,” Vivi says. “I read you, I read you. I’ve never been a mother myself but I can certainly imagine.”
Right then Kyle appears behind his grandparents, but in the chaos of everyone saying goodbye to everyone, there’s no special exchange between us. He just gives my shoulder the tiniest of pats and steps away. I don’t allow myself to look back at him in longing as Mom and Dad and I climb into the limo and take our seats across from Roo, who has somehow managed to fall deep asleep amid all the goodbyes and whose sprawled body is taking up an entire row.
“Oh dear,” Mom says, “let me wake Roo. I know she’ll want to say goodbye.”
“DO NOT WAKE HER,” Señora V screeches, under her breath but with shocking violence, and I remember all over again how scared I was of her at first. “She must sleep. She has done so much. You must let her sleep a long, long time.”
I’m sorry to be selfish here, but part of me is like, Hey, what about me? Didn’t I do something? Shouldn’t I get to sleep a long, long time?
I don’t say anything, though. I just pretend it doesn’t bug me. And then Señor V bends down—I can actually hear his spine creaking, a sound that for some reason reminds me of the volcano—and reaches into the limo and touches my cheek, and I close my eyes, and all of a sudden this very cool feeling washes over my face and even over my mind. A green feeling is the best way I can describe it—hazy sunny shady green jungle days—and when I open my eyes again I understand that I don’t need to be jealous of Roo. Señor V steps back and carefully closes the door of the limo.
“Adiós,” Señora V sings, the screech vanished from her voice. “Adiós, adiós. Vayan con la diosa.”
I’d ask Roo what that means, vayaconladiosa, but of course she’s still asleep.
I lean out the window, wanting Kyle to—what? I don’t know—something, but he just stands there beside his grandparents as we pull away, and I can’t tell whether his golden eyes are stuck on me or if they aren’t.
We round the bend, and they’re out of sight, and I have to blink away some tears.
“Oh, honey,” Mom murmurs, glancing over at me. “You’ll see him again someday if you want to.”
If I want to! Jeez, adults really hardly understand anything at all.
“Leave her alone, Via,” Dad says gently, and I look up at him and realize that he gets it. He reaches over and puts his hand on the back of my neck, just the way he used to, his warm hand rough from the scars of old expeditions, and it makes me feel very safe, Dad’s hand there, and the way he doesn’t say anything.
Up front Vivi is making calls on her smart phone and talking in a loud, serious voice, and with each phone call I feel that much farther away from the time when I believed the people I love most were going to die in a marble cell at La Lava.
We haven’t been gliding down the road for long when I suddenly get slammed with drowsiness. I slump into the g
reen velvet seat and rest my head on the window frame. And there’s the volcano, getting farther and farther away with every second. It looks innocent, just a wisp of white smoke rising from it into the predawn sky. It’s hard to believe it was rumbling and roaring all night. Already it feels like another version of myself, the Mad who ran down the hallways of La Lava listening to the volcano moan. The Mad who wasn’t scared of screaming birds or a two-faced man.
Roo sleeps her weird, heavy sleep all the way to the airport. She sleeps while we unload ourselves and our luggage from the limo, while Vivi gives us double kisses (one on each cheek) and makes us swear to stay in touch, while Dad carries her though security, while we sit waiting for our flight, while the sun starts to come up as red and glowing as LTVT eggs, while the jungle takes on color as the day lightens, while Dad plunks her into the seat beside mine on the airplane.
I start to get worried the longer and deeper Roo sleeps. I put my face right up to her face and stare at her. I touch her cheek, which is creepily hot. Across the aisle, Mom and Dad fall asleep moments after buckling themselves in, Dad’s mouth open and Mom’s head lolling against his shoulder. I feel all warm seeing my parents together again, and I decide to let them be and not bother them.
I try not to panic about Roo. I try to shrug it off. I pull out my poetry notebook since, obviously, I didn’t write a poem last night.
But I’m too distracted to write, worrying about Roo.
So I grab her limp hand and hang on to it. I look out the window, and then at Roo, and then out the window, and then at Roo.
Then, as the airplane rises, Roo squeezes my hand.
“Señor V and Señora V must be so happy right now,” she says, as though we were in the middle of a conversation. She looks as lively and normal as ever.
Relief floods me, totally floods me, and I jump right in: “Don’t you think they’re probably feeling a little bummed that all their guests just got evacuated and tourists will be scared away now that there’s an active volcano in their backyard?”
Here Where the Sunbeams Are Green Page 26