Welcome to Paradise
Amber Fishman stepped outside the Cancún airport and hit a wall of humidity so thick, she nearly lost her breath. Which was weird because the weather app on her phone said it was 83 degrees, the same temperature it was back in New Jersey. But that was impossible. The moment the sun hit her skin, streams of sweat slid down her neck and ran into her cleavage. The memory of her mother shrugging on a cardigan to combat the plane’s air-conditioning now seemed bizarre. Amber could never imagine being cold again.
She followed her parents through the crowd of tourists, wheeling her Samsonite to a white van where a young man with brown skin and dark hair greeted them in his heavily accented English. “Welcome to Mexico. I’m Diego. I’ll be driving you to the Tesoro Playa Hotel.”
“Is it always this hot?” Mr. Fishman wiped sweat from his brow before handing off one of the suitcases to Diego’s waiting hands.
Diego grinned as he packed the back of the van. “You’ll be sipping piña coladas by the pool in no time.”
Mrs. Fishman mounted the steps and gestured for Amber to sit closest to the driver. “You can practice your Spanish.” Amber ignored her mother and clambered into the back where she could stare out the window instead. She’d never been abroad. And she wanted to absorb everything without the pressure of having to perform for her parents.
When her mother suggested the trip, Amber’s eyes lit up, even as her father grumbled at the dinner table, “How much is that gonna cost?”
Amber had been picking at an overcooked chicken breast while her mother pointed to brochures she’d gotten from the automobile club. “Are we to do nothing for our twentieth anniversary?”
Amber’s dad grunted. “Why can’t we rent a cabin in the Poconos like we did for our honeymoon? Amber can stay with your sister.”
Amber paled. The last thing she wanted was to spend a long weekend with her stuck-up cousin, Erica. Amber needed to steer this ship. “Sure, and next year when I’m in college, you won’t need to worry about me. I’ll be at the dorms.”
Mrs. Fishman stabbed the air with her finger. “You see, Alan. This might be our last family vacation. Let’s make it special.”
Amber had always wanted to travel. Every spring break, the girls in her class would return from Caribbean cruises or Costa Rican jaunts, their skin tanned, their hair thinly braided. They’d swipe through photos on their phones, and Amber would catch glimpses of pristine sand and turquoise water, so clear, she couldn’t understand how it was real. She longed to wear a bikini while the rest of the Northeast was suffering under a coldsnap. She wanted to try real guacamole, not that junk her mother bought in the grocery store. She wanted tacos from a cart. She wanted to snorkel along the reef. And flirt with Mexican boys who didn’t know she’d never been kissed. And test out all those years of Spanish classes.
She wanted to be one of those enviable girls.
As Amber stared out the van window, she marveled at the lush, Mexican landscape, thick like a carpet, and widespread. Every so often, a tree with bright orange flowers would interrupt the green, as if someone had set the leaves on fire.
Amber spotted billboards advertising in English and Spanish. Condos. Luxury hotels. Places to snorkel. Places to swim with dolphins. Several places that started with the letter X that she wasn’t quite sure how to pronounce.
They passed a Pemex gas station and a Home Depot. A taco stand and a Sams Club. And many construction sites.
Diego finally turned off the highway onto a small side street called Avenida Norte. North Avenue, Amber translated with a smile. They passed an open air bodega with a large banner out front and laundry hanging from cinderblocks inside an unfinished housing project. Hatchback cars that hadn’t been seen in Jersey since the 90s were parked on either side of the street. A man in a stained shirt pedaled a bicycle cart beside them.
This was unlike any place she’d ever been. Amber felt special just for being here.
But then Diego drove on, pausing at a checkpoint that made it seem like they were going to cross the border into another country. A uniformed guard clicked his pen as Diego gave his name and passenger list. A toll-booth arm raised and Diego drove through.
The Fishmans had arrived at the Tesoro Playa Hotel with its high concrete walls and barbed wire, which were partly camouflaged by tropical plants. Amber frowned, realizing that once she was inside the resort, she would not be allowed back out until it was time to go home. How much of Mexico would she actually get to see?
Diego put the van in park and hopped outside. He unloaded the luggage while a woman, dressed in a breezy white tunic and wide-legged pants, held out a tray with three flutes of a sparkling purple beverage. Amber accepted the drink and downed it before her mother could stop her. The sweet carbonation filled her stomach, and the alcohol fuzzied her head.
Mrs. Fishman tisked. “That wasn’t meant for you.”
Amber shrugged.
The Fishmans headed into the lobby with its modern, teal furnishings. Several workers, all smiles, manned a sleek counter .
Mr. Fishman nudged his daughter. “Impress them with your Spanish and maybe they’ll upgrade our room.”
Amber’s cheeks burned, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the Champagne or her mortification. Her father pushed her to the counter. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t quite remember the word for reservations. Reservaciones? Was that it? No, she didn’t think so.
Amber stood there, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, when a woman greeted them in English. She requested everyone’s passports, before outfitting the family in bracelets. Amber’s was red, signifying that she was under eighteen. Even in Mexico, her wings would be clipped.
As they headed upstairs to their room, Amber’s dad mumbled, “All those As in Spanish and she hasn’t learned a thing.”
But it was difficult. The Spanish she’d overheard was smooth and melodic, like a song she couldn’t catch all the lyrics to. Not like Amber’s teacher, Mrs. Glassman, who had no accent and who opened her mouth wide when she spoke. Who never sheared a word or taught slang. And so Amber would have to rely heavily on context to understand something as basic as a drink order.
After dumping their suitcases in the room and digging out swimsuits, the Fishmans grabbed their towels and searched for three lounge chairs by the pool. Not an easy feat at a packed resort at two in the afternoon.
They settled near the kidney-shaped pool with a pirate ship in its center. A waiter in a white shirt and khaki pants came by for drink requests. “Nothing alcoholic for her,” Mrs. Fishman said, jutting her chin at Amber.
“Of course, señora,” he replied.
Amber excused herself to swim, to get out from her parents’ gaze. But instead of jumping in the pool, she roamed the white concrete pathways, passing palm trees with green coconuts and shrubbery with pink flowers until reaching the bar on the other side of the pool.
She was about to ask for a soda when a tall girl with tan shoulders and long blonde hair sidled up next to her, and cut her off in line. The girl held up two fingers and said, “Dos piña coladas, por favor.”
Amber stood there stunned, unable to protest as the bartender stabbed a plastic trowel into a bucket of ice and dumped it into the blender. She cursed herself for not speaking up, for allowing this stranger to steamroll her until the girl whispered to her, “Hide your wrist,” before handing Amber the alcoholic drink she didn’t order.
The girl tipped the plastic cup toward Amber in a type of cheers and then steered her toward lounge chairs under a cream umbrella, hidden by the maintenance shed.
The girl laid back, her skin glistening from pool water and sweat, and sipped the piña colada. “Ugh, they make these drinks so weak.” She lifted up her sunglasses. “Are you gonna sit or what?”
Amber plopped down. She’d much rather hang out with someone her age than her parents.
The girl smirked. “I’m Julienne.”
“Amber.”
“Wh
ere are you from, Amber?”
“New Jersey.”
“I won’t hold that against you.” She sighed. “Tell me, Amber. Are you a girl who likes to have fun?”
Amber considered the question. Typically, no—she wasn’t which was probably why she struggled to make friends. But, she was on vacation. She took a sip of the drink—sweet and icy—and answered, “You bet.”
Julienne threw a blue kaftan over her head and slipped her feet into flip-flops. “Let’s head to the beach.”
Amber glanced at her folks sitting on the opposite side of the pool. She should tell them where she was going, although fun girls didn’t need their parents’ permission for a walk near the ocean. “Uh, just give me a sec to grab my sunglasses.”
“Sure, whatever. I’ll meet you by the bridge. You know where it is?”
Amber didn’t, but she nodded anyway. She’d figure it out.
Julienne flounced away, leaving Amber to wander back to her mother (sans colada—she abandoned that on a concrete planter) who was splayed out under the umbrella and already engrossed in an ebook.
Amber jutted her thumb behind her. “I’m going to check out the beach. Okay?”
Her mother pursed her lips. “By yourself?”
“No, with this girl I met.”
“Oh. Um…”
Amber’s mother was always on her case about inviting friends over. “‘See, if Caitlyn wants to do a movie night. Ask Michelle if she needs a ride to work. I wonder what Hayden is up to.’” Except none of those girls were Amber’s friends. Just kids she sorta knew from school. And now, she wanted to check out the waves and sand with Julienne, a friend she chose for herself, and her mother was doing that hesitant, parenting garbage that showed a complete lack of trust.
“Mom? Seriously?”
Mrs. Fishman sighed and waved her off. “Be careful.”
Amber rolled her eyes and jogged off to the perimeter of the pool until she found a sign that read PLAYA with an arrow pointing the way. She found Julienne leaning against a white post, her flip-flops dangling in one hand, her colada in the other. Her eyes were pressed into slits, her mouth a tight line. Amber followed the girl’s gaze to a young woman, beautiful with glossy dark hair and satiny skin, dressed in a beige uniform and pushing a housekeeping cart. Julienne swore under her breath and dropped her shoes to the sandy pavement.
“Let’s go,” she ordered.
Amber followed Julienne down a shady, wooden gangplank that ran through the dense mangroves. Amber heard shrill notes, like whistles, and wondered if the sounds were made by insects, birds, or monkeys. It was hard to tell.
The girls emerged into bright sunlight. Julienne dumped her drink into the garbage can, and stomped off toward the water.
Amber thought of the girls back home. The ones trailing after a friend who sulked at their locker, a tiff having erupted over a crush or a perceived slight. The way the girls could tear each other down, like demolishing a building, only to rebuild themselves by lunch time. Amber did not know how to navigate these relationships. It wasn’t that Amber didn’t have any friends. She had acquaintances that she sat with at lunch or met up with at the pep rallies. But, she didn’t have a best friend anymore that she shared everything with. Who texted her a zillion times a day. Who swapped clothes and books. Not since Evelyn moved away in the seventh grade. And Amber wasn’t quite sure how to get one back.
But now it seemed like she might get a chance as Julienne linked her arm though Amber’s elbow. She kicked at the greenish water, and avoided the brown spindly seaweed that the waves carried in.
“The beaches down here suck,” Julienne said. “I keep bugging my dad to book a place in Turks and Caicos for next year, but he likes the Tesoro Playa. He promised, though, we’d spend Christmas in Paris.”
“Paris?”
“He’s French,” Julienne replied as if that was all the explanation needed.
A man in a ripped T-shirt and cut-off shorts passed them, holding up a forearm weighed down with silver necklaces for sale. Julienne waved him away.
“Who was the girl you were staring at by the bridge?” Amber asked.
“No one who matters,” Julienne said, her voice flippant. She tugged on Amber’s hand. “Come on.”
At this point, Amber realized that they had walked far enough along the beach that they were no longer on the resort property. They had now encountered another area, this one devoid of seaweed and plastic lounge chairs. Waiters swarmed around guests, presenting drinks in elaborate flutes with hunks of fruit on the edge. A sign, stuck in the sand, read, “La Esmeralda Cove.”
Julienne whispered, “Their wristbands look like ours. Act like you belong here, and no one will question you.”
Amber’s heart thumped imagining her parents having to bail her out of a Mexican jail. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“I do it all the time.” Julienne led the way.
La Esmeralda Cove was a swankier hotel. For one thing, their lounge chairs had cushions, and the bar was stocked with Belvedere, not Absolut, as Julienne pointed out. Their staff didn’t wear khaki, but gold. And the pool was brimming with muscular boys enticing guests to play volleyball.
One such boy approached the girls as they sat on the edge of the pool, their feet dangling in the water. “Ah, Jules,” he said, his accent slight and milky. “You will play.” He winked at her. She winked back. He then squeezed Julienne’s shoulder before diving into the water and swimming toward the net that had been installed for the game.
“You know him?” Amber asked.
Julienne bit her lip. “Alejandro. We’re together. Once I graduate college, I’m moving here to be with him.”
That surprised Amber. She could never imagine living in Mexico, let alone with a handsome guy. It sounded so romantic. So adventurous. So not like Amber. But why couldn’t she move here one day and teach English or work at a hotel? She’d need to drastically improve her Spanish, though.
“Ale’s mine,” Julienne warned. “But I’m sure he has a friend for you.” She stripped off her bathing suit cover-up and hopped into the pool. “Coming?”
“Yeah, totally.” Amber slid into the warm water.
They played volleyball until the sun tinged the sky in salmon and the guests excused themselves to get ready for dinner. Amber’s parents would be gathering their belongings and heading upstairs to change for the Italian-themed buffet.
“Let’s head back,” Amber told Julienne as they emerged from the pool.
“I’m gonna stay here.” Julienne reached for a towel on someone’s lounge chair and wrapped it around her lithe body. She jutted her chin toward another towel, but Amber hesitated. They hadn’t brought towels from the Tesoro Playa. Julienne pulled a face, swiped the towel, and handed it to Amber who quickly ran the cotton over her body. She needed to escape the luxury resort and head back before her parents reported her missing. But, wouldn’t it be mean to leave Julienne behind?
“Don’t you need to go back? Won’t your dad be upset?”
Julienne scoffed. “I’m nineteen. Not some little kid.”
“Right,” Amber managed, but her chest burned all the same. Maybe this was why she struggled to make friends. She always said the wrong thing.
Julienne settled onto someone else’s lounge chair. “Ale gets off at seven. I think we’ll head to the club or maybe a bonfire. You should—” She stopped.
“Should what?” Amber asked. Was Julienne inviting her to a party on the beach? Wouldn’t that be something? The girls at school fawning over her photos of flames shooting into the midnight sky.
Julienne bolted upright with a huff, then dropped her feet to the cement. She dug her fingers into Amber’s arm, her attention caught by the movement of another—the girl with glossy hair, only this time she wasn’t dressed in her drab housekeeping uniform. She wore a sundress with spaghetti straps that showed off delicate shoulders and flawless skin. She sauntered past them, her lips curling into a weird expression.
The humid air chilled, and Amber shuddered. “I have to go back.”
“So, go,” Julienne said, her voice now cold.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” Amber worried she was responsible for Julienne’s change in mood. She hoped she could correct it. “I had so much fun,” she added.
Julienne’s face suddenly brightened. “Totally. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
But the next morning, Julienne wasn’t by the pool. And not the day after that. Or the day after.
“Perhaps, she’s doing an excursion,” her mother said, flipping through a colorful brochure. “There are all these fun day trips. I wish your father had an interest in doing them.”
“She probably went home,” Amber said, frowning. And forgot to tell her. Amber felt silly for being so grumpy about it. It wasn’t like they were best friends or anything. Julienne wasn’t even that nice. She just made Amber feel older and more adventurous.
“It’s probably for the best,” her mother continued. “She kept you on the beach pretty late. That’s not responsible.”
“She’s nineteen. She doesn’t have to tell her parents where she goes all the time.”
“Well, you do.” Her mother’s voice had an edge to it, a tone that suggested Amber’s liberties were fleeting and flimsy and not to be challenged.
Amber crossed her arms over her chest and scrolled through her phone. The resort had wifi, but it was spotty. She frowned and set her phone back on the small table next to her chair. The Tesoro Playa was quickly losing its charm. After three days, swimming and buffets no longer seemed indulgent; they simply became boring. This wasn’t being abroad. She was stuck in a resort that could’ve been anywhere. Nothing to distinguish it except for the language spoken among the staff. A language she struggled to use.
Mean Streaks Page 3