Here Where the Sunbeams Are Green (10 page)

“Faster,” I hiss at Kyle. “Faster, please.”

He tries to speed up but it’s hard. The path is so vague, and slippery.

We’ve only been on Invisible Path a little while when there’s this enormous whooshing sound above us, and for a second I’m positive the volcano is erupting, until I realize it’s a sound I recognize.

We hear the rain for a moment before we feel it. It’s up there, hitting the top leaves of the tallest trees, and now here it comes. I look up and see it rushing toward us like we’re standing beneath a waterfall, and I think we’re going to drown in it, so I shut my eyes and brace myself.

But the water doesn’t hit.

I open my eyes and look up again. What I see is a huge blue … flower, I guess. Kyle is standing behind me, his chest almost touching my back, holding it over us like an umbrella. Its big, waxy blossom keeps us completely dry while the monsoon booms all around us.

I look back at him and can’t help but smile in amazement. Amazed by the umbrella flower. Amazed that I’m standing in the jungle beneath an umbrella flower with this boy.

“How did you
do
that?” I ask, but it’s way too loud to talk.

When the amazement wears off a few minutes later, though, I start to get really mad that the dumb old monsoon is slowing us down. We
have
to keep going. We can walk in the rain with the umbrella flower to protect us. I nudge Kyle and give him a come-on-wimp-let’s-keep-walking face, but he’s gazing off down the trail, looking shocked. Around the bend about twenty yards away, blurred by the heavy rain, comes a blue blob. It’s some kind of crazy jungle creature, and I’m terrified, remembering all the things that could harm Roo—the jaguars and tarantulas and snakes and poisonous plants and sheer cliffs and things I can’t even imagine. I inch closer to Kyle, because that creature is coming right at us, making my heart do acrobatics.

Then the little blob waves happily and practically dances down the trail toward us beneath her blue umbrella flower. She looks very small, walking between the walls of jungle in the rain, and I just want to squeeze her and cuddle her. But also I want to yell at her, and I bet Kyle does too, although no one can say anything over the sound of the water. The three of us stand there under the umbrella flowers, waiting.

When the monsoon ends, as quickly as it began, the first words out of Kyle’s mouth are “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Roo asks perkily.

“That!” Kyle says, pointing at her blue umbrella flower, which is already beginning to shrink. Ours too is shriveling.

“Well, you did it too, so I guess you know how I did it,” Roo says.

Kyle still looks shocked. “No
one
can do that,” he says.

“I can do it,” Roo says, “and you can do it.”

“How did you know which one to pick?” Kyle demands. “How did you know where to squeeze it?”

“I don’t know,” Roo says. “I just … did it.”

The umbrella flowers are deflating very, very quickly now. We watch as they turn into normal-sized blue flowers with waxy petals. I reach out for Roo’s flower and she passes it to me. I squeeze it here, there, and everywhere. But nada. Go figure.

“Gee whiz,” Roo says, “I can’t believe it’s already after 3:08. That day sure flew by.”

“It’s not after 3:08,” Kyle says. “Why would it be after 3:08?”

“Ken says the monsoon comes at 3:08 every day. He says we can set our watches by it.”

“That guy,” Kyle says, shaking his head. “First of all, around here we don’t call it the monsoon, we call it La Lluvia, with capital
L
s. And it does come every afternoon, but not always at the same time.”

“
Lluvia,
” Roo repeats. “Even though it starts with an
L
you make a
Y
sound ’cause there are two
L
s in a row, right?”

She’s doing that thing she does where she distracts you from her disobedience by bringing up other topics. It’s just so Roo of her that I want to grab her up in a ginormous hug, but I think it’ll be better for her in the long run if I yell at her now.

“Roo!” I freak out. “What were you doing? You swore you wouldn’t go down here! I’m
so
mad at you!”

“Don’t be mad, Mad,” she says, grinning.

“How far did you get?” Kyle asks her.

“Well, La Lluvia started,” she says, “so I had to turn back.”

Kyle seems relieved for half a second before getting that dark look on his face.

“Ruby Wade,” he says solemnly.

“Ruby Flynn Wade,” I correct him.

“You have to believe me that what you just did was very dangerous,” he says with a quiet fury. “Now do you swear for real that you’ll never go down this path again?”

It’s all pretty intense and I can’t help wondering if Kyle is overreacting a bit. But he looks so very serious, and it’s so obvious that he truly doesn’t want us going down Invisible Path. Man, if I had Roo’s personality rather than my own, I know I’d be
dying
to find out what it is that Kyle doesn’t want us to see.

“I swear for real,” Roo says with a smile.

Kyle glares at her. “Don’t smile,” he says.

“I swear for real,” Roo says, this time with a huge, exaggerated frown.

He glares at her more and then turns and leads us back toward Normal Path.

“G
irls,” Mom says that night at dinner in the Selva Café, smiling spacily into her piña colada, “I have a very special surprise for you.”

She’s been sort of weird ever since she got back from yoga this afternoon. I don’t quite know how to explain it. Like, she’s got this permanent smile on her face, which sounds like a good thing, but somehow it’s just not. Maybe because her eyes are
so
calm, like robot eyes.

“Oh boy! What is it! Tell us, tell us!” Roo squeals. “Do we get to go see Dad now?”

Mom frowns for half a second before returning to her yoga smile. I frown too. I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t really want to see Dad today, or tomorrow, or any time until he’s normal again.

“No,” Mom says, “it’s something else entirely. Something you’ve never done before.”

“A hot-air balloon ride?” Roo guesses. She loves hot-air balloons.

“No.” Mom deepens her yoga smile. “It’s a facial!” she says with a joyous sigh.

“A facial!” Roo echoes, imitating Mom’s joyous sigh. Then, “What’s a facial?”

“A massage for the face,” Mom explains in her new, super-calm voice.

Ken/Neth butts in: “La Lava wants to treat you two girls to papaya-and-cilantro facials in its world-class massage facility!”

Hello, La Lava brochure. I hate it that all the other people in the Selva Café probably think he’s our dad, and probably think we look like a Very Nice Family. It makes me want to glare at my rice and beans, so I do.

“Papaya and cilantro?” I say, as though I’ve never heard of anything more disgusting.

“Papaya and cilantro!” Roo exclaims.

“Good, I’m so glad you’re excited,” Mom says, giving Roo her deepest yoga smile yet. But I don’t get a piece of that smile, not even a crumb. “It’s an incredibly generous gift. Patricia Chevalier scheduled your facials for ten a.m. tomorrow. That’s when Relaxation and Rejuvenation starts, so we can all head over together in the morning.”

“What about Spanish lessons?” I blurt out.

Mom turns her smile on me, only now it’s a surprised smile. “Mad, I didn’t know you enjoyed Spanish so much! I’m sure Kyle can tutor you tomorrow afternoon.”

“
¡Ay, que bueno!
” Roo says cutely. “Hey, we can visit Dad when we go there for our face massages, right?”

“Maybe,” Mom says, looking at Ken/Neth and giving a tired little sigh. He—ugh—rubs her shoulder. As politely as possible, Mom scooches a few centimeters away from him.

Just then the fried plantains arrive and Ken/Neth moves his hand (phew!). I’m sitting there, simply trying to enjoy my plantains
and not be grossed out by the insanely enormous moths flocking to the lights above us, when Mom starts acting all blissed-out again.

“So,” she says, her normally energetic voice gone all soft and breathy, “today, during Relaxation and Rejuvenation, I was thinking about Lava-Throated Volcano trogons and how depressed your dad got when they were declared extinct.”

Ken/Neth starts to look uncomfortable. What, does it really bother him that much when Mom mentions something having to do with Dad?

“I was just thinking how beautiful they were,” Mom continues, “and how we’re here in this beautiful place of theirs but they aren’t anymore. And I’ve always loved birds that mate for life. James was furious to think that when he was a kid he could have seen a Lava-Throated Volcano trogon in the flesh but for his own kids that possibility no longer existed.” Even though she’s saying sad things, Mom’s voice remains weirdly tranquil.

“Well, that’s a real upper, Sylvia,” Ken/Neth says in a joking tone, but it falls way flat.

“I’d do
anything
,” Roo says, gazing dreamily out at the jungle, “to see a Lava-Throated Volcano trogon!”

And right then, at that exact second, the Selva Café plunges into darkness.

Startled yelps come from all over the restaurant, and you can hear kids calling out for their parents in different languages—Dad!
¡Mamá! ¡Papá!
Mom!
Da!

In the darkness, someone grabs my wrist. At first I think it’s Roo until I realize it’s an adult hand, a large adult hand, much larger than Mom’s, and strangely cold. It must be Ken/Neth’s, though I never noticed he had such thick fingers.

There’s some shuffling to my right, I hear Roo muttering in Spanish, and my wrist gets yanked and then dropped.

Seconds later, a candle is lit in the far corner of the room, followed soon by another, a third, a fourth. Once there’s enough light, I see that Ken/Neth is already back in his seat, across the table from me and Roo.

And the witch and Señor Villalobos are standing behind Roo’s chair, gazing down at her in the candlelight. I can see the witch’s frown through her black lace veil. Creepy! At least Señor Villalobos is smiling his gentle smile. Roo looks up at them and grins nervously.

The witch hisses something at Roo in Spanish, but of course I can’t make out a single word. I’m glad it’s not me she’s hissing at. Roo loses her grin and lowers her eyes.

Now that there are so many candles the room feels bright again.

“Well, how ’bout that,” Ken/Neth says cheerfully. “Never a dull moment in the jungle, right? Hey, another order of fried bananas, anyone?
Más plátanos, por favor, señora
.”

But without electricity, no fried plantains. Duh.

“His face looked so strange,” Roo says from the bottom bunk. I’m in the top bunk, writing a haiku in my notebook, nice and easy because it’s just three lines, five plus seven plus five syllables.

“Listen, Roo, I’m trying to write a
poem
here, okay?” I say, losing count of the syllables.

“His face looked
so
strange!” Roo repeats, annoyed.

“
Whose
face?” I ask, annoyed right back at her for interrupting my haiku, which I just started a few minutes ago when the electricity came back on and we could finally turn off our flashlights. I kind of go into my own world when I’m writing a poem. Roo is usually very respectful of my writing. I never show my poems to anyone besides
her, and she’s a big fan, so she’s good at being quiet when I’m trying to concentrate.

But tonight she’s not going to let me finish my haiku.

“
Dad’s
face,” she says as though I’m the biggest idiot on planet Earth.

“Dad’s face?”

“You didn’t see him? I thought you saw him too!” Roo says. “How could you not
see
him? Right before the electricity went out, he was there, coming out of the jungle. I saw his face, and it looked
strange
!”

What the
heck
are you talking about, you crazy little bean? I want to say, but I’m not mean enough to actually say it. “It was pretty dark out there,” I say instead. “I’m sure it wasn’t Dad. He’s at La Lava.”

“It was Dad,” Roo says, so confident she doesn’t even need to raise her voice. “It was Dad. He looked … weird, though.”

I sigh and close my notebook. “Weird how?”

“Weird like … scared.”

Dad scared? I couldn’t even picture it. Dad just wasn’t ever scared.

“Okay, Roo,” I say. I don’t believe her.

“You don’t believe me,” she says. Roo is very smart that way. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me!”

“Dad is never scared,” I remind her.

“I know!” she says. “Exactly!
That’s
why it’s scary!”

The word
scary
reminds me of something important I forgot to ask Roo amid the chaos of lighting candles and finding flashlights.

“Hey, what did Señora Villalobos say to you when she was standing there behind your chair after the electricity went out?”

“I don’t know,” Roo says.

“You don’t know?” I
know
she knows.

“I don’t know,” Roo says again, “but I think she said, ‘Don’t say that.’ ”

“ ‘Don’t say that’? Don’t say what? What did you say?”

“I don’t know. I said ‘Dad’ when I saw Dad.”