Latitude Zero

by Diana Renn

  As he let his hands fall to his sides in a gesture of resignation, I reached for them. I held them. Tight.

  We exchanged a smile and walked back to the car together, the yellow line running between us, the strong sun warming our backs.

  /////

  THE NEXT morning I woke up early, before the rest of the Ruiz house. An email from Sarita made my day right away—she told me that Cadence Bikes had heard about the frozen scholarship fund, and Chris Fitch had come through for Kylie. She’d graduate with us after all, with the gift of money from a company. A good company.

  I was about to shut down my computer when another message came in.

  I stared at the sender’s name. Jake Collier. The subject line simply said Hey.

  I thought of Santiago’s kiss yesterday. I’d felt so free at Mitad del Mundo. Free to kiss a different guy. To go with my feelings, in the moment, and not have to second-guess everything.

  I didn’t want to give up that freedom.

  I opened the message. It was short.

  Guess you heard they got the guys behind Juan Carlos’s murder. Wild stuff. I knew there was something up with that team. Hope I can get my life back now. Started packing up for UMass this weekend, and found one of your cycling jerseys. It smelled like your soap. Made me miss you. Hope you’re doing well at the middle of the world. Maybe I can see you one more time when you get back? Would be good to talk again. Like we used to.

  I stared at the words on the screen for a long time. We’d never talk like we used to. We couldn’t go back. But I was glad he was looking forward, too, thinking about going to college and moving on with his life.

  I almost laughed at the line about doing well at the middle of the world. If he only knew how hard I’d worked here, and how my work had helped clear his name. Part of me wanted to tell him everything Mari and I had accomplished. To get some credit for saving his reputation.

  But I knew what I’d done. I didn’t need his validation anymore.

  I smiled and typed out a fast note back, a note that would be my last, wishing him well on his new road.

  /////

  AFTER SENDING that email—and deleting Jake’s message—I got dressed and quietly made myself a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen. I shushed Peludo when he started to yap, so he wouldn’t wake up the household.

  “You’re all dressed up.” Amparo shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “You look nice.” Then she gasped. “Did you stay out all night?”

  I smiled. “Nope. Just thought I’d give this dress a little air.” I spun around so the red skirt of my salsa dress flared. “Like it?”

  “Love it!” Amparo exclaimed. “Are you going to meet Santiago? He’s probably too shy to tell you he likes you. But the rest of us can tell.”

  “Not right now.” I rinsed my coffee cup and put on a pair of espadrilles I’d purchased at a craft market—I’d given my Chuck Taylors to Rosio at La Casa, to keep.

  “Hey, can you listen to my pageant speech?” Amparo asked. “I have that audition tomorrow, and I’m really nervous about it. I rewrote it last night. It’s not about fashion design anymore. It’s about Vuelta.”

  “Sure. Soon as I get back.” I kept walking toward the door.

  “Now? Or later?” Amparo asked, the disappointment already creeping into her voice.

  I stopped walking. How many times had I said “later” to people and failed to follow through? How many “laters” did we even have in this life?

  Juan Carlos had said he’d talk to me later. But we never got the chance.

  I kicked off my shoes. I sat down on the couch. I listened to Amparo run through her entire speech. Three times.

  Her speech was moving. It was strong. It would open people’s eyes to bicycle advocacy here in Quito and what bikes could do to change lives. She’d clearly learned from Mari and me, listening to us talk about Vuelta and volunteering at the container unload that day. The Miss Earth Ecuador pageant was a good platform for her voice to be heard, and she did have a voice. I gave her a few suggestions, mostly about her eye contact, and pronounced her good to go.

  She beamed.

  “And now, I’m going out,” I said, slipping on my shoes again. “Tell Lucia I’ll be back.”

  I walked outside and waved a friendly good morning to Paolo in the guard booth.

  “¡Buenos días, señorita!” he called to me, touching the brim of his black beret.

  “¡Buenos días!” I returned, with a smile and a wave.

  I grabbed a bus at the bottom of the hill and went to Vuelta, where I checked out a loaner bike. A sturdy, plain urban bike with fat wheels and three gears. I wouldn’t have minded riding my old Bianchi here, but I’d already given it to Rosio along with those Chuck Taylors. In fact, the other day Mari and Amparo and I had brought a whole truckload of donated bikes to the girls and their moms. Good bikes, as well as helmets and bike shoes.

  I wheeled the loaner bike out of the shop.

  I didn’t need anything fancier. I didn’t need to go far or fast.

  I rode down to Avenida Amazonas, to the edge of a large park. There I jumped off. Artists were setting up their stalls, crafts vendors were laying out their wares. The smell of wool mixed with the scent of street vendors cooking corn on the cob.

  I was chilly in the morning air, wearing only a halter dress. I stopped at the market and bought a wool cardigan from a smiling indígena girl. I negotiated an excellent price, one that we both seemed pleased with. I refused the plastic bag and immediately slipped the sweater on, admiring the cream-colored wool with a design of gray llamas marching across the middle.

  Then I walked the bike to Amazonas, where the Sunday ciclopaseo ride was getting into gear. Families, couples, friends, and solo riders were making their way up and down the street on all different kinds of bikes. Everyone looked happy.

  The sweater warmed my arms. A breeze made my red skirt dance at my legs. The intense equatorial sun caressed my face as I lifted it up to the sky. I didn’t know where I wanted to go or how far I’d bike today. It didn’t really matter. Odds were I’d end up somewhere good.

  I took a deep breath and pushed down on the pedals. I merged safely into the bicycle traffic and started my own ride.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m so grateful to the many people who have helped me take Latitude Zero all the way to the finish line. I couldn’t ask for a better team.

  I’m so lucky to have Kirby Kim as my agent; thank you for championing my stories and for getting me in gear to write another book.

  If the Olympics awarded medals to editors, Leila Sales would take home the gold. Editing this book was nothing short of an athletic event. Thank you, Leila, for your intellectual agility, your patient coaching, and your cheerleading, as well as your willingness to follow these characters down their twisting paths. I would not have found my way through without you.

  Tremendous thanks to Viking and Penguin Young Readers Group—I still pinch myself and marvel that I get to be on this great team! Thank you, Ken Wright, Regina Hayes, Colleen Conway, Tara Shanahan, and everyone in marketing and sales. I’m especially grateful for the eagle eyes of Janet Pascal, who helped me avoid some plot holes, and to Lavina Lee and Tony DeGeorge for steering me clear of grammatical gaffes, timeline trip-ups, and other writing hazards. Also a big thank-you to Kate Renner for another super slick cover design.

  Many individuals and organizations gave their time and expertise to help me at various stages. Tad Hylkema generously shared his knowledge of bike mechanics and the world of professional cycling. For insights into South American cycling and young cyclists, I thank Klaus Bellon of the Cycling Inquisition blog. Andrew Fischer consulted on bike crash protocol and legal matters. Bikes Not Bombs in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, provided insights into bike shop culture and youth programming; their store and their international bike ship
ping programs served as a model for Compass Bikes in the book. Corrina Roche-Cross at BNB helped me to understand the perspective of a female bike mechanic. The staff at the Belmont Wheelworks and the Pan-Mass Challenge provided valuable information about bicycle and charity rides, respectively. Paul Liberman (go, DraftKings!) advised on fantasy sports and sports betting.

  Writing this book required crossing some geographic and linguistic borders. My former employer in Quito, Experimento de Convivencia Internacional, helped me to reconnect with my Ecuadorian experience and to connect with current young travelers there. My sister, Darcie Renn—who is ten times the explorer that I ever was—served as my avatar in Ecuador; facts and photos she supplied me with inspired several scenes. Zoraida Córdova and Lourdes Keochgerien consulted on language and culture. Lourdes, I’m especially grateful to you for spending so much time in the pages of Latitude Zero. ¡Te agradezco mucho la ayuda! Any errors are my own. I am also so grateful to Carlos Vivas for sharing with me some of his stories about bike racing and bike shops in Ecuador. I also must thank both Carlos and his wife, Carol Shanahan, for reading the book and helping me with bike technicalities and language issues. Finally, Martha Hauston, who was a fantastic traveling companion on my first trip to South America, had the foresight to save all my correspondence when I returned there later to work.

  I have boundless appreciation for my writing group, from whom I continue to learn so much. Erin Cashman, Eileen Donovan Kranz, Patrick Gabridge, Vincent Gregory, Ted Rooney, Deborah Vlock, Rob Vlock, and Julie Wu, you guys are the best. Also Team Blue: Elle Cosimano, Laura Ellen, Ashley Elston, Elisa Ludwig, and Megan Miranda—thank you for reading pages on the fly and providing emergency roadside assistance. Kerri Majors—thank you for helping me get past that first One Hundred Mile marker!

  Many thanks are due to an elite crew of babysitters who helped me with time trials, aka deadlines: Tricia Gaquin, Lyndsey Grant, Meredith Lynch, and SpongeBob SquarePants.

  I so appreciate my family and friends for cheering me on and showing up at all the water stops. Thanks, Mom, for being my best reader. Dad and Sally, thank you for always supporting my career—and for spending a birthday dinner with me hashing out evil schemes. Thank you, Rachel Liberman and Sarah Nager, for your enthusiasm—and for The Fingernail!

  The yellow jerseys go to my home team: to Gabriel, who let his mother disappear into the computer for long stretches of time, and to my loving husband, who coaxed me onto a road bike years ago and introduced me to this exciting sport. He’s also one cool road cyclist, and a major Pan-Mass Challenge fund-raiser. Thanks for sharing the road with me, Jim. Long may we ride!

  READ MORE BY DIANA RENN!

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