A Blind Spot for Boys

by Justina Chen

  While everyone else kept chattering around us, one-upping each other with more stories about coincidences that were too coincidental to be coincidences—go figure that one out—Quattro sidled up to me and said, “Hey, you didn’t tell me you were coming to Machu Picchu, too. Oh, that’s right. I wouldn’t know because you haven’t answered a single one of my messages. I was beginning to wonder if you blocked my e-mail.”

  Busted. I flushed.

  Where was that quick-witted banter that intrigued boys and had girls lining up for private tutorials? Three weeks on a Boy Moratorium couldn’t have rusted my flirting skills, could it? Before I could embarrass myself with another series of one-word Neanderthal gruntings, Quattro placed his warm hand on mine. Not even a strangled “what?!” could have passed my paralyzed lips when a corresponding jolt twanged in the back of my knees.

  With a shiver that I knew he felt, I finally looked up into Quattro’s eyes. Mistake. They were much warmer than I remembered. So warm, a girl’s icicle-spiked defenses could melt if she weren’t prepared. I yanked my hand away, then covered it up by scratching the back of my neck vigorously.

  “Hey,” he said, “fate or small world, I’m glad we bumped into each other here.”

  Me, too. Given my subpar bantering response, it was miraculous I didn’t actually blurt out those betraying words.

  “So your dad’s okay?” Quattro asked.

  “Only if you call six months of sight left okay.” I softened my words with a slight shrug.

  Quattro looked at me with such sympathy, I had to blink away tears. My response was completely unexpected. I hadn’t realized that my emotions were that raw. If he could tap into that vulnerable part of me so easily, then he could hurt me without even trying. I needed the safety of space and quickly hunted for a nonthreatening topic.

  “Are you leaving or going to Machu Picchu?” I asked.

  Quattro said, “Going tomorrow.”

  “We are, too.”

  I thought I overheard Stesha’s knowing mmm hmm. I definitely heard Reb’s There’s no such thing as coincidences. But when I glanced over at Stesha, she only smiled sweetly before asking Quattro and his father, “Who’s guiding you?”

  “Andean Trekkers,” Christopher answered.

  “Oh, them.” Hank tipped his fedora back with one finger. “I wanted to go with that outfitter, but Helen’s mom insisted on this tour.”

  “Mama thought Dreamwalks would be the perfect pre-wedding present,” Helen explained, her lips parted as though she had more to say, but Hank spoke right over her. “If you’re an athlete, you go with Andean. They do real trekking.”

  “I’m sure everyone on the Inca Trail will experience real trekking,” Christopher said mildly.

  Stesha beamed at him, and to my horror, she offered, “We’ve got two empty spots in the van if you’d like to join us for a walk through some ruins right now.”

  Before she was even done speaking, Christopher was shaking his head. “I don’t want to be an imposition.”

  “No imposition at all.” Stesha’s voice lilted as if each syllable were a different, decadent temptation of a chocolate truffle: “Sacsayhuamán.”

  “Really?” Christopher said now, a reluctant smile knocking ten years off his face. He had already retrieved his wallet, opening it to withdraw some cash. “You should at least let me pay you for us.”

  In answer, Stesha looped her hand through Christopher’s arm, saying, “Nonsense! Those spots were already paid for by two people who couldn’t make the trip. So put that away. Everything happens for a reason!” as she steered us back toward the hotel, where the van awaited.

  Wait a second.

  Wait.

  A.

  Second.

  I stared accusingly at Quattro, party crasher. He was joining my group? Who cared if it was just for the afternoon? These were my people, and this was my trip. It didn’t matter that up until a couple of hours ago, I’d never met Grace or the Gamers before. My rapid heartbeat when I glanced over at Quattro had nothing to do with altitude and everything with my stupid, boy-attracting attitude. Not now. I grasped for an excuse, any excuse, to leave his side. I found a ready one in Grace, who had fallen behind everyone again.

  “I have to hang out with Grace,” I told Quattro lamely, not caring anymore that I sounded rude and didn’t make any sense, so long as I was safely away from him. But if I thought I’d find a nice, quiet oasis in Grace where I could just walk and be, I was wrong. The first thing she said to me when I joined her was a cheeky “Talk about synchronicity. When things are meant to happen, they do.”

  I jerked my gaze off Quattro, unsynchronizing from him.

  Grace chuckled, but because her breathing was so uneven, it was more of a smoker’s wheeze. Worried that she was going to keel over from a heart attack, I slowed down. That was harder than it sounds given her sloth pace. She continued to puff. I continued to shuffle. Even so, we gained on Helen, who was studying a window display of handwoven blankets, a few shot with the same moss green as the designer sunglasses Dom had given me on our first date. As if I needed a reminder that boys were dangerous for my battered heart.

  When we reached Helen’s side, Grace smiled at her reflection in a storefront window, then fluffed her hair and said, “Since the Inca Trail is pretty much a straight shot to Machu Picchu, you’ll probably bump into that boy plenty as it is.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to me. Me, Quattro, Inca Trail. I blinked at Grace.

  “And by day three,” she said, “you’d really have to be in love to find each other attractive.”

  “Day three?” I squeaked. I couldn’t even begin to process the “in love.”

  “Oh, that’s a tough way to begin a relationship,” said Helen. She actually shuddered at the thought.

  So stuck on “day three,” I couldn’t muster the energy to deny wanting, starting, or having a relationship with Quattro. Now, I’m not a vain girl, the kind who parks herself in front of a mirror for hours, applying and reapplying mascara to each and every eyelash. But still. I couldn’t help but frown at my reflection alongside Grace, who primped at hers, and Helen, who sucked in her nonexistent stomach. I had four days of trekking ahead of me. Four days of camping. Four days of no showering. Four days of using nature as my facilities, which was going to be awkward enough with Quattro who knows where on the trail, but potentially in plain sight? I groaned, ran my fingers through my hair, my clean, grease-free hair. No shampooing my hair that went greasy after two days?

  Day three?

  “Don’t worry,” said Helen with a sympathetic pat on my shoulder. “I brought extra hair product.”

  With my gaze fixed out the van window, I refused to engage in any conversation with Quattro, who had managed to slip into my row. As the van lurched and swayed, I made sure to stay on my side of the seat. Not so much as a stray thread on my clothes was going to brush up against the boy.

  Stesha spun around in the front passenger seat to inform us, “What we’re going to visit is a temple, but as soon as you see Sacsayhuamán, you’ll understand why the Spanish mistook it for a fortress. It’s very well fortified.”

  Just like me. I stared pointedly out the window, pretending that Quattro’s “Sounds cool, huh?” was intended for his dad, who was sitting on his other side and checking his phone.

  Not soon enough, Stesha hustled us off the van for a mini-excursion to our first real Incan ruin, rescuing me from a conversation I didn’t want to have with a boy I didn’t want to know. As much as I tried paying rapt attention to Stesha’s history lesson, I was all too aware of Quattro walking a half pace behind me toward the mammoth stone ruins. Self-consciously, I tucked my hair behind my ear until I remembered reading in one of Mom’s love guru books that women toy with their hair as a primal way of displaying good health to a potential mate. My hand couldn’t have dropped from my hair faster if it was infested with head lice.

  Needing a distraction, I held on to my camera and focused on the site.
The scale of these ruins was nothing short of awe inspiring. Enormous walls ran the length of two football fields, cutting tiers into the hill. Many of the boulders were easily five times as tall as Dad. Some, Stesha informed us, weighed more than an entire airplane. And to this day, no one knows how the temple was constructed.

  When everyone filed forward, I took the opportunity to frame the group against the ruins. As I did, Quattro slipped out of the shot to join me. Ignoring him, I zoomed in on a massive gray stone that had somehow been cut to fit around another large boulder like this was a jigsaw puzzle for giants. I was so awestruck, I wasn’t even aware that I marveled out loud after I lowered my camera: “How?”

  Quattro answered, “How, what?”

  “How on earth did they get these boulders here? I mean, really, how?”

  “I read that the Spanish literally couldn’t believe that Indians could build anything like this. So they gave the credit to demons.”

  “I read that some people actually think space aliens made this.”

  Just like that, his answering grin could have placed us at the Gum Wall, at Oddfellows, halfway up the Andes—the location didn’t matter. That instant connection scared me more than the fluttering in my stomach. To regain my balance, I focused on the dirt path as though it were the most entrancing creation on the planet. Just when had Quattro’s smile become a special occasion that could warm me?

  I needed to scare him off and fast. In my humble experience, I’ve found that a girl with serious brain wattage can intimidate a certain kind of guy. So watch me show off my superior knowledge.

  “The Greeks thought stones this big could only be moved by Cyclops,” I said, then added for good measure, “Cyclopean architecture.” I gave silent thanks to Reb for sharing all things architectural ever since I’ve known her. Who knew that her ramblings would come in so handy one day?

  “You’re the only person I know who’s ever used ‘Cyclopean’ in a conversation,” Quattro said. Unexpectedly, the expression on his face turned into something close to respect, the tone in his voice intrigued.

  “You must not hang out with very interesting people.”

  “That’s something I’m about to change.”

  I flushed. What was I supposed to say to that? If anything, his easy response only confirmed what I thought: He was a player. And I wasn’t a girl who could be played with one day, discarded the next. Honestly, I should have walked away, but a part of me relished the company of a guy who could actually banter. Maybe—just maybe—we could be friends if enough boundaries were established. If I enforced the no-boy zone around my heart.

  “Well, good luck with that.” I tested him with a practiced half smile, “I’m still on my Boy Moratorium.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  It was?

  “I’m still on my Girl Moratorium.”

  He was?

  “Friends?” He held up his hand to fist-bump mine.

  That’s it? Just friends?

  A tiny smidge of disappointment poked its ugly head out of my asphalt-covered resolve to stay boy-free. And that betraying emotion was a pest that needed to be eradicated. Right now, this minute. Automatically, I returned the fist bump, then needing the safety of numbers, I strode toward the rest of my group. Their backs were turned to us as they listened to Stesha telling them, “Before we all know it, we’ll be finished with the Inca Trail, Machu Picchu, Cusco, Lima. So just how open are you to being changed in five days? Radically changed?”

  In front of me, I overheard Hank mumble to Helen: “Remind me again why your mom gave this to us for an engagement present? And don’t tell me it was because of her trip with Stesha to Varanasi.”

  “It was. India totally changed my parents,” Helen answered softly. “Radically changed?”

  He barely muffled a snort.

  She nudged him with her shoulder, brushed her hair behind her ear. The diamond on her ring gleamed. “You know, Mama just wanted us to have that same experience.”

  Meanwhile, over their side conversation, Stesha finished her mini-lecture: “You can’t walk the Inca Trail without knowing yourself and each other inside out.”

  All thoughts of anyone and everything else evaporated the moment I felt Quattro’s gaze land on me as if he wanted to know me inside out, Girl Moratorium or not. What I wanted to know was this: Why had he sworn off dating? Clearly, my Boy Moratorium needed some reinforcement. Flirt now, clean up later, I reminded myself. A flirtation gone bad, and the next couple of days on the Inca Trail could melt down into one awkward disaster. Grace was right. I was bound to bump into him sooner or later on the trail. I stepped to the side of the Gamers, darting out of his sight line.

  As Stesha guided everyone forward, Mom walked slightly ahead of Dad, scouting all possible obstacles. She warned him, “There’s a sharp drop here.”

  Dad sighed heavily, his frustration obvious. “I can see,” he said before backtracking to a different outcropping of stone. With his arms crossed and hunched shoulders, he couldn’t have been clearer that he wanted to be left alone. Mom wisely joined Stesha and Christopher at the front of our group.

  Quattro’s empathetic expression reminded me of how I’d pitied Dom’s little sister when she was lambasted in a public parking lot almost a year ago. This isn’t how my parents usually treat each other, I wanted to tell him. Besides, it wasn’t like his family was all picture perfect either. Over by Stesha, Christopher was obsessively checking his phone. Had he even noticed that Quattro wasn’t walking with him?

  I was about to join Mom as she told the others, “I read that this place became a quarry for the Spanish. They pillaged it to make some of the buildings in Cusco.”

  “This poor temple,” crooned Grace, and without warning, I stopped midstride, already lifting my camera. My fingertips could feel the impending moment. As I waited, Grace pressed her age-spotted hands on the wall and leaned her forehead against the stones as if this was her private wailing wall, a sacred place to pour out her grief. While Jerusalem was yet one more photo safari that Dad had planned and put off more times than I could count, I would have refused to budge even if aliens and demons rained on us now. Finally, I understood what Dad meant about making a photo, not just taking one. All the thought that went into telling a story. Every ounce of me thrummed with the need to make this photo.

  I felt Quattro’s presence near me more than I heard him or saw him. More than anything, I liked how he didn’t distract me the way some boyfriends had, jealous that my photography required my full attention.

  Then I tuned everybody out—Quattro, my parents, other tour groups milling around us. I allowed myself to lose all sense of time as I fell under the spell of color and texture and feeling and moment. I waited, waited, waited. At last, Grace tilted her face to the blue-lit sky, her expression beatific.

  “Yes,” I breathed as I made my shot. Slowly, I lowered the camera.

  “Beautiful,” Quattro said equally softly, his eyes on me.

  Chapter Eight

  Early the next morning, I woke, excited, before dawn even had a chance to bleach the sky. Today, our trek to Machu Picchu would officially begin, the lifelong dream my parents had spoken about in reverential tones. I turned to check the other double bed, where Mom was miraculously sleeping through Dad’s avalanche snores.

  Apparently, the combined effect of altitude and one too many pisco sours last night had knocked Dad out. Even though he’d had so many sleepless nights after his diagnosis—his midnight pacing in his attic office above my bedroom was difficult to miss—I tried waking him, first with a low “Hey, Dad. Dad!” That was followed with an equally useless nudge. He snored loudly. I gave up.

  Dad or no Dad, I was heading out for the photo safari we had planned over dinner last night. Quickly, I slipped into the hiking outfit I had laid out the night before, grabbed my camera, and tiptoed out of the hotel room. According to our calculations, we’d have exactly an hour and a half before our group was supposed to meet in the lobby. The
grand plan was for me and Dad to photograph the awakening town. But instead of staking out the main plaza, I found myself drawn back toward the cathedral.

  I had a pretty good guess where a few women were speed-walking to this early in the morning: the statue of Saint Anthony. As for me, the saint and I were about to have a private chat: Now, I know you meant well and all. And I don’t mean to be ungrateful. However. Could you please retract Quattro and help all these other women instead?

  The heavy doors opened, and the last two people I expected to see staggered out into the gathering dawn: Stesha and Quattro. What were they doing here? Together? As soon as Quattro spotted me, he flushed. That momentary lowering of his self-confident guard made me yearn to photograph him again: Quattro, unplugged.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here,” Stesha said, smiling as if she had anticipated this very encounter. “You’re up early.”

  “I was just going to take some last pictures,” I said lamely, holding up my camera as proof that I wasn’t here to petition Saint Anthony. No, not me. No help needed in the boy department. I babbled on, “I thought I’d get a picture of this at dawn.”

  Stesha waved at the entry of the cathedral. “We’ll wait.”

  “No, you don’t have to. Really.”

  “It’s not safe for you to be out alone. Do your parents know you’re here?”

  “This is a small town,” I said, shrugging. “What could happen?”

  “Anything!” Quattro retorted hotly, as if he were furious at me. I blinked at him. What was his problem?

  “What he means is that tourists have been known to be robbed or kidnapped even here,” said Stesha smoothly. She nodded in the direction of the plaza. “We were just going to hunt for some coffee, but we can wait for you, right, Quattro?”