by Pam Withers
“That was my fault,” David cuts in. “I knew you guys had been sneaking around, and I felt left out. I shouldn’t have snooped in your backpack, but the whole birth certificate thing really threw me when I did. I was shocked and crazy-angry at what you and Raul had been doing. And super scared that Mom was going to be hurt when she found out. So what did I do? Something even stupider—I got into a shouting match with you that made her find out. And I said things I really, really didn’t mean, like telling you we could go unranked and that you didn’t fit into our family.”
He walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. “You have no idea how freaked out I was when I realized you really had taken off. Andreo, I know I can be a total pain of a brother, and I’ll try to be nicer if you will. But, well, I don’t really want to be an only child.” He cracks a half-smile.
I nod and punch his shoulder lightly. He drops his arms back to his sides.
“Don’t you dare run away again,” he says in a tight voice, “ ’cause you know I’m not as fast—I won’t be able to catch you.”
“That’s true,” I kid him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“So, after David left with Police Chief Ferreira and Sheriff Savedra,” Dad continues, “the rest of us came to the hotel here, booked two rooms and waited for word.”
“You can’t imagine how relieved we were when Chief Ferreira phoned to say he’d found you two,” Mom says. “Then we had to wait here forever until the police were done questioning you.”
Everyone goes quiet for a few minutes, totally spent.
“Well, it has been one hell of an adventure race for your team,” Ferreira finally says. “And a very successful day for me. May I be so bold as to ask whether you, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, might be willing to make a statement on adopting through Hugo Vargas?”
“Yes,” Mom and Dad say together. I feel a surge of pride.
Ferreira turns to Raul. “And you, Raul, did you find anything in that notebook I confiscated from you about your birth parents? Unfortunately, Colque and the Vargases categorically refuse to answer that question.”
Mom, Dad, David and I turn to study Raul’s face, which has fallen.
“Nah. I knew it wasn’t in the cards. Like I said, they’re probably worse than my—”
“What is your birth mother’s name, son?” Savedra asks.
“Adriana Apaza.”
The sheriff’s eyes widen. His mouth opens slightly. “And your birth date?”
Raul mumbles his answer.
Savedra turns to Ferreira. “Excuse me for a moment.” He rises and lopes out the hotel’s front door, watched by the bored receptionist.
“So, David,” I say, “I guess while we’re doing apologies, I’m sorry I spent my life being jealous of you for being the favorite, natural-born son.”
“Jealous? Favorite?” David scratches his head. “I’ve spent my whole life being jealous of your being so good at sports—which I imagined made you Mom and Dad’s favorite.”
“We don’t have favorites!” Dad declares, extending his long, strong arms to the backs of both our necks and pretending to slam our heads together.
“That’s true, David and Andreo,” Mom says, her tone serious. “And we’ve got the rest of our lives to do better at demonstrating it.”
“Well, you could say we’re your twins again, Mom,” I joke, pointing to David’s and my black-and-blue eyes.
“Hmmm,” she says. “Not my idea of—”
“Good family dynamics,” Dad fills in, winking at Raul.
“Right,” Raul says, looking at David. “I apologize for punching you in the face.”
“Apology accepted. And I promise not to hit on any of your girlfriends again. Though you have better taste than I imagined.”
The lobby door flies open, and Ardillita and Juan Pedro bustle into the room, their five-year-old boy in Juan Pedro’s arms. They’re trailed by Savedra. The couple look from one to the other of us, then move to stand in front of Raul.
“You must be Raul.” Ardillita drops to her knees and takes Raul’s hand in hers.
He looks at her like she’s nuts.
“They told me you were a girl just out of spite,” she says in a shaky voice. “They told me that to make my search more difficult. And I believed them.”
Raul’s face has frozen in shock. “But the birth certificate says—”
“Adriana Apaza. Ardillita is short for Adriana; it’s a nickname. Apaza was my maiden name. And Juan Pedro …”
She breaks off as Juan Pedro sets the little boy down, grabs both of Raul’s hands and pulls him to his feet. “Son, we’re so happy to finally find you.” His voice is deep and emotional. He pulls Raul into a man-to-man hug. From the corner of my eyes, I see the hotel lobby receptionist grimace like she’s about to make a phone call to admit us all to an insane asylum. When Raul falls back into his seat, the five-year-old climbs into his lap, looks at him with big eyes and runs a finger through his dreadlocks.
Ardillita laughs. “Moises, this is Raul, your brother. Raul, meet Moises.”
“Brother,” Raul repeats, testing out the word.
“Mrs. de los Angeles is looking after the rest. This one wouldn’t go to sleep so we brought him with us.”
Raul’s face transforms from shock to glowing. He lifts a finger and brushes the boy’s hair away from his eyes, then hums Bob Marley to him. Soon, the boy falls asleep, allowing Raul and his birth parents to talk in low tones. If anyone deserves a fairy-tale ending, it is Raul, I think to myself, only a little choked up.
Ferreira coughs. “Um, not to break this up, but it’s getting close to midnight and I have to head back to Cochabamba early in the morning. I need to be there in time to greet the first finishers.”
“The first finishers,” Dad muses.
“Hey, we could hitch a ride with you and get there in time to be the first finishers!” David jokes.
Ferreira laughs. “Not sure about that, but you could get there in time to see your friend Maria McLeod come in. I can even make room for the bikes.”
Raul’s head comes up at the sound of Maria’s name. Juan Pedro grins like he knows why. “I have an idea,” he says to his birth son. “How about we collect Mrs. de los Angeles and our kids at first light and head up in my truck for a day in Cochabamba? Mrs. de los Angeles can see her sons and granddaughter come in, and you can ride with us.”
“Yes, please!” Raul says. “Maybe we can join in the post-race party.”
“I’m all for that!” Dad says. “We earned the party, even if we didn’t finish, did we not?”
“I’ll vouch for you,” Ferreira says.
“We finished high in the family category,” Mom declares, squeezing my hand.
Everyone stands. I stretch, yawn and amble over to Raul. “Looks like we’re going our separate ways,” I say. “I mean to Cochabamba tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah,” he says, doing a lousy job of hiding a goofy smile. “But it’s been real, mon. See you at the finish line.”
“Have a good ride up, Raul Espada. You’ve been a first-class partner in adventure and crime. Misión completa.”
“Mission complete,” he agrees.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Above all, I am indebted to my researcher, Richie (Jonathan Borda Gutierrez) of Cochabamba, Bolivia, a runner/bicyclist/hiker/Bob Marley fan and adoptee who has unbridled enthusiasm for life and adventure. Through months of e-mails, he patiently answered my questions, helped choose the racecourse and sports and named many of the characters. He also supplied me with a six-page, extensively detailed (from geology and climate to people’s dress) diario and almost a hundred photos of his ten-hour, super-bumpy round-trip bus ride to Torotoro National Park and his stay there. In the region, he spent several days caving in some of the dozens of caverns (there really is a matrimonial cave) and exploring surrounding villages and terrain (including the fiberglass dinosaur in Torotoro’s village square). Later, when I arrived in Cochabamba, he accom
panied me to Villa Tunari and Sucre, serving as guide, Spanish tutor, translator and all-round, fun-loving friend.
That being said, I’d like to make it clear that parts of the racecourse in this novel are fictional and that no one—repeat no one—should even think about bicycling the highway between Cochabamba and Villa Tunari. (Driving it is hair-raising enough!)
Sincere thanks also go to adventure race organizer Bryan Tasaka (Mind Over Mountain, Vancouver, Canada), who made himself available to answer many questions about the sport. Also to Martin Sellens, expert orienteer; Malcolm Scruggs, my valued teen editor; Silvana Bevilacqua, my sharp-eyed friend; Steve, my husband and fellow adventurer; and Ren Gregoire and her family, Jord and Ayrton.
Last but certainly not least, sincere thanks to my literary agent, Lynn Bennett; to editor Sue Tate and all the team at Tundra Books; to my speaking tours agent, Chris Patrick (www.pamwithers.com); and to my readers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Pam Withers is the critically acclaimed author of sixteen best-selling adventure novels for teens, including the award-winning First Descent. An outdoor enthusiast and mother, Pam is a former whitewater raft guide, kayak racer, kids’ summer camp coordinator, journalist, editor and associate publisher. She is also co-founder of www.keenreaders.org and co-author of Jump-Starting Boys: Help Your Reluctant Learner Find Success in School and Life. Pam lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with her husband, when not touring to speak on her books or on boys and literacy. Visit her website at www.pamwithers.com.
PRAISE FOR FIRST DESCENT BY PAM WITHERS
“Withers, who has built her reputation as a writer of YA sports adventures, gets things moving quickly … and when the action starts to flow, the ride is fast and furious.”
— Quill & Quire
“From the first page … Withers flings the reader from one perilous adventure to another.”
— Booklist
“Reluctant readers will especially enjoy the adventure.”
— School Library Journal
