Perfectly Ridiculous (16 page)

 14 

My Life: Stop—July 9

My travel journal was stolen with my stuff, so I'm writing on scrap paper. I was tempted to use my passport, since I doubt it will get much more in the way of stamps, but I refrained. Clearly all the hope hasn't gone out of me yet.
     Factoid: Too much optimism can render you unprepared to handle life's traumas. That's not my issue, though I am feeling unprepared for today's traumas.

Life seems to be one step forward, two steps backward:

1. Meet a guy who is not afraid to share his feelings and always has food close by.

A. Max is here making me question if any guy will ever actually like me for me.

B. Since I'm going to be late, my parents will never, ever trust me again to date until I'm at least thirty.

2. Find a way to get J.C. to the airport on time and not let Libby be blamed for Pablo's disappearance by Child Protective Services.

A. Max's car is stolen.

B. The truck we managed to pick up was used in a bank robbery. We spent all afternoon being questioned for a federal crime and are now involved in an international incident. The American embassy (and my parents) have been notified. I am going to be grounded until my deathbed.

I never thought I'd write this: I know what the inside of an Argentine jail looks like! Granted, I didn't have to actually stay in one, and all I can say is thank GOODNESS that Max was along for translation because I don't know that J.C., with his blond good looks and spotty Spanish, would have gotten us out of trouble.

Max explained our story, and eventually it checked out, thanks to a few phone calls to the American embassy. But Max's car is officially gone.

We sit outside this one-horse town discussing our options, since my parents were not at the hotel and will arrive to notification from the American embassy. Ah, I wonder what the lucky people are doing today.

“How long are you going to write on garbage?” Max asks me. “The police said we're free to go. It doesn't look like my car is showing up anytime soon, so we might as well get back to town. Do you have money for a cab?”

“You know, you were a lot nicer in America.” I shove the scrap of paper into the passport pouch I have around my neck and put it under my shirt again. “I was just going to describe the police station. My adventure with the law in Argentina. Maybe I can use it for a paper when I get to Pepperdine.”

“If we get to Pepperdine,” J.C. says. “At this rate, we'll be lucky to get back to America.”

“That doesn't sound like you, J.C.”

“My leg hurts and all my pain meds were attached to my bedroll.”

“I don't see why you have to write it down. This isn't the first time you've been to the police station.” Max seems to say this for J.C.'s benefit.

J.C. stares at me and I feel the need to explain. “I had a stalker in high school. Claire's older half brother. I just had to go to the station and explain because it was sort of a kidnapping. Like today, you know? The police just wanted to check out my story.”

“The point is, to have two run-ins with the law when you go to a Christian high school—wait a minute, the party you had in high school.” Max points at me. “Three! Three run-ins with the law! I should have known your visit would end in trouble for me.”

“I'm bad luck, I get it.”

J.C. starts to laugh. “Look at me. I think we were made for each other.” He kisses me on the cheek.

Max stands up abruptly. “If you two want to spend your life trying to stay alive, you need to leave me out of it. Bonnie and Clyde didn't need a third wheel. I'll hitch a ride back to town.”

“Don't be stupid. We have to call a taxi for us anyway.”

“I can call a friend to pick me up,” Max says.

“You? But not us, is that what you're saying?” I ask him. “You've turned into quite the villain, Max. You're taking on a
Count of Monte Cristo
revenge persona.”

“Is that what you think?” Max asks. “You're certain it's me then? That you didn't betray me with my archenemy,
Mercedes
?”

“I wouldn't leave you in an American police station if you didn't speak the language, that's for sure. Look at what J.C. did with Libby, who never gave him a decent word. He put himself on the line for a child, and for Libby. I didn't think I was expecting a lot to ask for your help. I would have helped you if this situation were reversed.”

“Well, then he's the hero of this story. You've already implied that.”

Max's hurt expression gets to me. I'm such a sucker for the underdog. Even if he made himself the underdog!

“Max, you made it clear you were leaving America, and that was that. It's just your ego that's bruised. Admit that much, won't you? If I meant something to you, you would have moved heaven and earth to pick me up for dinner when I got here.”

He doesn't address any of this. “All right. You two are welcome in my friend's car. I'll call her now.”

“Her?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

“Are you jealous?” J.C. asks me.

I clear my throat. “No, I'm not jealous, but he shouldn't be railing on me if he's got another girl on the side. All I'm sayin'.”

“I'm going to call my friend now. This is beyond awkward.” Max walks away from us.

“What are you going to do about the mission requirement for school?” J.C. asks me.

I shrug. “The truth is, I haven't thought about it. Not until I told my parents my plan. I guess pray for the best and hope they don't have someone lined up behind us to take our places. I can't afford Pepperdine without the scholarship. You?”

“I can still make it up at home at the food bank.” J.C.'s voice is somber. “But it doesn't look good that neither one of us finished the ministry we signed up for. Hope they allow the switch. It ticks me off I won't have that international experience on my résumé, though.”

“Yeah. Me too. But I'd be happy to vouch for you. To tell them how you protected Libby, even if she didn't know what you did.” I lift my hair off the back of my neck, wishing for a shower. “Somehow, losing my mission requirement—what I feared most—doesn't seem that bad now that it's gone.”

“Yeah.” J.C.'s tone doesn't agree with his answer.

“I imagine they'll look at our ministry histories and take them into account.”

“You would think so.”

“Still, I'm proud of you for what you did. It takes a lot to do so much for a person who won't even appreciate it or know what you did for them.”

Max has walked back to our pity party and doesn't seem to empathize. “If you two are done with your mutual fan club, my friend is coming. Should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“We're only that far from Buenos Aires?”

“Not even that far.”

“We could have taken a cab.”

“My point exactly,” Max comments, but I ignore his meaning. He ditched me. I'm not going to feel guilty about asking a favor when I'm in his country.

“Well, we have to look at the silver lining, right? I'm so grateful that Claire freaked about me keeping my money on my body. All my stuff is gone except for the money and my passport.”

“It's all you need. You can get new clothes in town,” J.C. says. “My stuff . . . I hope they need it more than I did, that's all I can say. At least you kept your jacket on.”

“Let's hope my mom won't find a sewing machine and whip me up something while we're down here.” I laugh at this, but no one seems to get it and I laugh alone. Claire would have totally appreciated the humor.

Suddenly I feel alone. Very alone. I'm trying to think of some sort of stimulating conversation to fill the awkward silence, but I've got nothing.

“Was this worth it?” Max asks me.

“Was it worth you losing your car?” I shake my head. “No. I feel horrible, Max. I just didn't want anyone to get hurt.” I glance at J.C. and all his bandages. “Hurt worse, I mean.”

Max aims those deep brown eyes straight at me with the first real eye contact he's given me since I arrived. “You did the right thing. We don't always get rewarded for doing the right thing.”

“I know. It sucks.”

“I agree,” J.C. says. “Life should be fair. I guess we all do what we can to make life as fair as we can.”

“Only Americans think that. Other countries seem to know instinctively that life isn't fair. You grow up watching children not have enough food to eat in your neighborhood, and you get that life isn't fair. What did they ever do to anyone? Sin enters the world, and we all get to witness it in one way or another. J.C. here, he gets to
feel
it,” Max says in reference to J.C.'s bandages.

“We know life's not fair. In America, we do our level best to make it fair because that's what's right.”

“Yeah, sure,” Max answers.

I watch as the two guys have this invisible but palpable war going on between them to be deemed right. I'd like to believe it's about me, but ultimately I think it's about the male ego.

“I'm going to
el baño
before we have to leave.” J.C. gets up on one leg by balancing and hobbles into the police station again.

Max's expression softens, and since I've been here, this is the first time I've seen the Max I thought I knew in America. Sure, he's been charming, but not really present. Not where I felt like he was really beside me in the moment, and it brings an air of intimacy that makes me slightly uncomfortable without J.C. there.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“Sorry?”

“I have to stay here. In Argentina. My mom is sick and there's no one to help but me. So college is probably out of the question for right now.”

“I thought you planned to go to school here all along.”

“I didn't have a choice, but watching the two of you about to go off and get educated while falling for each other doesn't exactly help my attitude.”

“I don't understand. Are you trying to say something to me that I'm supposed to be reading? Because my brain doesn't really work on that level. I need you to just say it.”

“I was harsh with you . . . you know, silent, because—”

“Wait a minute.” I stop him with my hand held up. “You were ignoring me on purpose?” Because here I thought I'd only imagined the dis, but come to find out it was real and, worse yet, planned.

“Let me explain. I—”

J.C. walks out and stands between us. “They don't have a public restroom. Isn't the police station a public building, so by all rights and standards, shouldn't the restroom be public?”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I just want to know what Max had to say. I want to know if he really didn't want to dump me but did it for some self-sacrificial reason, because let's face it, that would be totally hot.

Max glares at J.C., who picks up on it immediately. “Did I interrupt something?”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Daisy alone for a minute.”

“Daisy, you all right with that?” J.C. asks in that chivalrous way I've grown so fond of in a few short days.

“Sure.”

I'd like to be a romantic and say that Max's explanation is at the top of my list of priorities, but really all I can think about right now is my future at Pepperdine, and how I'm going to explain to my parents that I need to change my flight home . . . or that when they finally decided to trust me, I ended up alone with two guys in a Podunk town outside of a jail without transportation. That one's not going to look good on a daughter résumé.

A car pulls up and Max's expression falls. “That's our ride.”

This conversation is never going to happen, so in my mind, I'm just going to pretend that he pronounces he did love me but circumstances make our being together impossible. That's far more romantic than whatever reality may have to offer me.