Perfectly Ridiculous (3 page)

The plane comes to a smooth landing, almost as though we've gracefully entered the country on ballet toes. “We're here!”

Claire grabs my hands. “We made it!” Her smile is contagious, and we both start to giggle as if we pulled off some great crime.

“Let's go,” my father orders. “We have to grab our bags and get to the hotel, and to Libby's by dark. Move!”

The airport is cavernous, loud, and crowded, but nothing can hide my fervor as I read every luxurious advertisement and try to translate it with my poor Spanish skills. “
Hola!
” I say to everyone as we pass by. “
Hola! Como está?
” I say to complete strangers as we rush by them in my father's hurry to get to the baggage claim before anyone else.

When we arrive at the luggage carousel, it's spinning with no sign of our bags—or anyone's, for that matter. “It looks like we beat the luggage. Why don't you get the bags, girls, and meet us outside while we flag a cab?”

“Pierce,” my mom says. “We have time. Do you really want to leave the girls here alone already? Besides, isn't there customs?”

My dad visibly calms. “Right. We can wait, I suppose.”

I stop and spin in the center of the domed, hangar-like building. “Wow,” I say, staring up at the roof. “I feel different here. Like I've suddenly grown up. I can't wait to have my first Argentine steak. That will make it official.”

Claire grabs my hand again. “Would you come on? This isn't a musical. You're going to get robbed if you keep looking like the typical tourist.”

“But it is a musical to me because I'm hearing echoes of a hot Latino singer in my ears. His passionate voice tells me he wants to be my hero, and standing here in Buenos Aires, I can't help but believe it.” I belt out my song. “He could kiss away my tears!”

Claire stops me and grabs me by the shoulders. “Daisy, I'm going to tell you this once, and you're going to hear it. Ever since you first laid eyes on Chase in kindergarten, you've had this runaway romantic imagination.”

“You're sucking out the fun from this trip and we haven't even left the airport.”

Claire pushes her dark hair over her ear. “Far be it from me to kill a dream, but Chase turned out to be a tool and it took you way too long to believe it.”

“No, you're totally right. Chase is a nub. I should have seen it when he first liked Amber.”

Claire yawns, but she keeps her focus on me intently. “Max left California, so I want that reality to settle in, all right? He may be a really nice guy, but the chance of something happening between you two, with an ocean and a bajillion countries in between you, is slim at best.”

“I won't get hurt,” I tell Claire. “I just want to have a romantic goodbye, is that too much to ask?”

“Promise me you're not going to make more of this trip or of him than is actually there. Even if Max sweeps you off your feet, you're going to college in a month and a half, and this is nothing more than a mild, albeit international, flirtation.”

“But—”

“Promise.”

“What's going on back there?” My dad turns toward us. “Pick up your luggage, let's get on with this.”

“Nothing!” I loosen myself from Claire's grip. “Come on, we have to go!” We stand by my father as we await the luggage to rescue it from its ride. Next, we look forward to the invasion of privacy that is customs. At least, that's the way Claire has explained it. She told me we'd get electronically assaulted with the X-ray machines of security in America and then we'd get the hand version on our property in Argentina.

Claire grabs my elbow. “Just tell me you're not imagining some wild
Notebook
kind of reunion.”

“Of course not,” I say, but bite down on my bottom lip. I mean, really, what would be wrong with that? Doesn't Claire have a romantic bone in her body?

“I knew it!” Claire yells. “I can see it in your eyes. Get out of your dream world! How can you be so good at math and then have this wild imagination? The two don't go together. Daisy, guys our age are not thinking about forever. You're only going to get hurt, and I don't want to nurse you back to health in a foreign country. I'm here to relax and enjoy the luxuries of Latino food, good shopping, and a spa where I can't understand a word the aesthetician says, so there is no reason to be polite. Hence, more relaxation.”

“Finance majors need love too,” I say. “Can't I be good at math and have a romantic life?”

Claire sighs her annoyance. “You are so warped. I'm going to have to deal with the fallout when reality doesn't live up to your romantic expectations, so I'm asking you nicely—dwell with the rest of us in the real world. Max was a dance, that's all.” Claire shakes her head slowly. “He is not going to come to your rescue, he is not going to be riding a white horse, and he is not going to change his mind about living in his home country for this movie ending you're dreaming up. All right?”

My dad is pointing at his watch, so what else can I do but agree? “All right.”

“And I know what you're thinking, so get it out of your mind!”

The truth is, it doesn't quite leave my mind. Not as we gather our luggage, not as we wait in several lines.

I sigh as we wait for the inefficiency that is customs. From the tall ceiling hang flag advertisements for luxury goods. “There are benefits to making new friends,” I tell Claire.

“Real friends tell you the truth. Real friends don't want you to prolong the suffering if there's going to be suffering.”

“There's not going to be suffering!”

“Would you girls hustle it along?” my dad snaps. “You can talk in the taxi.”

There are pictures of the city lining the airport walkway, and I'm shocked at how much like San Francisco it appears. Beautiful architecture, water everywhere, and from the sounds of it, lots of people speaking loudly. It's like I'm in North Beach. The brochure did say that Buenos Aires had a large population of Italians.

The airport is bustling, and there's so much going on around me, I'm on high alert, ready to be knocked over the head. I'm almost happy my parents came with us. Almost.

“Did you hide your money all over your body, like I told you?” Claire asks as we wait on the curb outside the bustling airport. There are funky little cars that look like PT Cruisers along the walkway, and across the street is a forest of tropical trees that I've never seen before. The air feels cold and heavy with moisture. There are so many conversations going on around me in Spanish, I can't separate one of them to hear what's being said.

Claire speaks again. “Well, did you hide your money?”

“What? Yeah. I'm a walking piggy bank,” I tell her. “Look at those trees. What do you think they are?”

“I don't care. I just want to get to the hotel and sleep. My father told me that we're not supposed to talk to anyone. They can all be charming, sort of like your Max. We're not supposed to be charmed by chivalry. We're just supposed to get to the hotel without speaking to anyone if possible.”

“We live in Silicon Valley. With Spock personalities by the thousands. How is it we're not to be moved by chivalry and manners?”

“My father just said not to talk to anyone we don't know,” Claire says.

“You told me that on the plane. Forty times. Since when are you the safety monitor? Are you nervous?” I glance at my parents. “Do you think my parents would let us talk to someone we don't know? Much less a handsome Argentine with manners?” I laugh. “Besides, we barely speak Spanish. What are we going to say—‘where is the bathroom?'
Dónde está el baño?
And wait to be swept off our feet?”

“My father has traveled all over the world, Daisy, and he said to act authoritative and not like we're tourists. That makes us a target.”

“You are nervous! I can hardly believe it. The girl who once tried to wear a spider nose ring to a Christian school is nervous.” I grin. Somehow it makes me feel strangely powerful to watch Claire act nervous. As long as I've known her, she's always been the first one in—the girl who would enter the lion's den with confidence.

“I'm only trying to help you,” Claire says. “You haven't traveled a lot.”

“Or at all, but face it, we have ‘tourist' written all over us. My dad is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sandals with socks. My mom has on a muumuu. We're not exactly stealth. If you looked in an encyclopedia under ‘tourist,' my parents' picture would be there.”

My dad is engaged in some sort of negotiations with the cab driver amid all the chaos of the airport, which seems small now that we're outside. Claire's eyes are shifting all over, taking in as much of her surroundings as she can. Honestly, she makes my parents look sophisticated at the moment, and for once in her life she seems uncomfortable in her element.

Wonders never cease. Claire is more afraid of this trip than I am.

 3 

Personal space is going to be an issue for me in Argentina, I can tell already. People talk loud. They talk close. When it was hottie Max talking closely and those deep brown eyes staring down at me, ask me if I cared how loudly he talked. Now insert an old taxi driver with breath that could choke a horse, and I have an issue. I'm trying to translate for my father, but it is not going well, and I'm in desperate need of oxygen. Between the cabbie's breath and the cigarette smoke in the air . . .

“Señor Crispin! Mr. Crispin!”

I think I'm imagining it. I check frantically around me.

“Max? Claire, did you hear Max?” I ask her.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Didn't I talk to you about this?”

Then I hear it again and this time I know it's not my imagination.

“Señor Crispin!” Max's voice breaks over the noise, and like a beautiful, perfect note, it rises over the chaos and attracts my attention with laser-beam precision.

“Max! I knew it was him!” I tap my dad on the shoulder. “Dad, it's Max!” I point. Is it possible he grew more handsome since I saw him last? I mean, not that I'm shallow and that's what I care about, but it sure doesn't hurt that he's straight out of a telenovela.

Max smiles and waves at me from the huge white van he's driving. I think my heart stops for a minute as I take in the sight of him. His smile could melt the coldest of hearts.

“He's cuter in his natural habitat,” Claire states.

“Is that even possible?” I ask. “Hey, he's not a zoo animal.”

“So you're saying I can't throw him a piece of meat? He won't do a trick?”

“His outside is gorgeous, but it's the soft, gooey soul that I love.” I let out a dreamy sigh. “Hi, Max! Hi!”

“There is something seriously wrong with you. What's he doing here? He knows we're here on vacation and your ministry, right? He doesn't expect to be spending time with you. My dad paid for the trip, you know. It's supposed to be girl time.”

“We can all be friends. You sound like when we were in grade school and you wouldn't let me be friends with Lacey Buckout.”

“I planned for us to lounge around like slugs, and now you're working half the time we're here. Can you blame me that I don't want all that other half spent with Antonio Banderas and his big Puss in Boots eyes?”

“It looks like he's picking us up!” I squeal. “I told him when we were arriving, but he thought he'd be working.” I try to keep the giddy out of my voice, but let's face it, I'm giddy.

My dad wastes no time in picking up the bags and heading over to the utilitarian white van (the favorite of child molesters everywhere). Max hops out, opens the double back doors, and helps my dad lift in the suitcases. He's wearing jeans with holes in the legs and a collared, button-up shirt that's neither buttoned-up nor stuffy.

“Get in.” Max drops the first bag and my smile falters. He notices my expression and comes straight over to me. “Welcome.
Bienvenidos, señorita.
” He leans in and kisses my cheek like I'm a nun, then looks back at my father, but Dad is so involved with luggage he doesn't have time to notice a thing. Which makes the moment more blissful than ever—until I catch my mom's evil eye.

“It's cultural,” I say as I slide past her into the van. “Doesn't the Bible say to greet each other with a holy kiss? Can't get much holier than that.”

I realize it's true as I watch him give the same kiss to Claire. Max doesn't like me. Not in the way he did, anyway. I run through the memories in my head and try to think why he doesn't like me in that way, but looking around at the newfangled trees and the colors of Argentina, I don't care that much. I wasted so many years analyzing Chase. If he noticed what I wore that day. If he liked my hair. If his locker was next to mine. And what did it get me but heartache?

If I've learned any lesson in my years of being pathetic and dateless, it's that fawning over a guy who doesn't want me is wasted energy. Someday some younger version of my nerdy father will come along and sweep me into his crumpled Hyundai and I'll forget the tango or Chase's pyro tendencies ever existed.

But I still have to mourn the loss. I just don't want to lose my vacation doing so, so I'm going to write in my travel journal. That way I can write all those sad feelings down and feel them later rather than now—when there is Argentine steak to be eaten and Vacation Bible School to plan.

I will not spend my first foreign vacation mourning something that evidently existed only in my head.

Max squeezes my hand, and I question romance again! He jogs around to the side of the van to help the ladies inside, and I'm enamored at how, like Zorro, Max comes at exactly the right time. We just don't see enough of that anymore. I'm not a big believer in my hero arriving on a white horse, but I'm not completely against the idea either. Let's face it, it doesn't hurt that he looks like an Argentine polo player.

My mom climbs into the van with Claire while my father gets into the passenger seat—which leaves me in the backseat, the farthest possible place from Max. Within seconds we're on our way, and Max peels out of the airport.

“I cannot wait to show you around, but I think today is going to be my limit,” he says. “My mom has a busy agenda for me before classes start.”

“Looking for excuses?” Claire asks.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

I look for a way to break the tension. “We're staying at the Palace Alvear. Well, I'm staying there later, after the mission trip. Claire's there now, so you can drop us off.”

Max whistles. “Wow, really? By yourself?” He turns and looks at Claire.

She lifts one side of her mouth in a taunting smile. “Yes. It's one of the safest areas. In Recoleta, near the cemetery. My parents researched thoroughly before they booked.”

“I know where it is, Claire, but I wouldn't go out alone. You don't speak Spanish well enough, and I'd advise the same thing if you were in San Francisco. You sort of tend to find trouble. No offense.”

“None taken,” Claire says with tightened lips.

“What will you do until Daisy gets back from her missionary work?”

“I'll keep busy.” Claire swallows visibly. “Well, I thought Daisy's parents were staying with me, but they booked elsewhere. There's room,” she says to my parents.

“After seeing the prices, I assumed they booked elsewhere.” Max laughs, but Claire's eyes are round like DVDs. It unnerves me to see her nervous. I didn't know she had it in her.

“I assume the concierge can set me up on tours where I'll be perfectly safe.” There's still a question mark in her tone.

“Naturally. Just check with the concierge. I'm sure it will be fine.” He turns around and stares ominously.

Claire's tone changes and grows attitude. “You know, this was supposed to be a luxury vacation, but then Sarika and Angie pulled out, saying their parents wouldn't let them go, and then Daisy has to do this mission thing, and everything got all messed up. I had it all planned that we'd be together in a group. Now you're telling me I'll be stuck in some luxury hotel alone and literally in a gilded cage?”

“No,” Max says. “I didn't mean that, and I'm sure you'll be safe with the concierge guiding you. If you want, I'm sure I can find friends who would be happy to take you around.”

I feel guilty now. Guilty for going on a mission trip. Only I would run into trouble for going on a mission trip instead of staying in a luxurious hotel. Something is wrong here.

Suddenly the whole van becomes quiet and it's beyond awkward. I lean forward on the seat and rest my chin between my mom and Claire.

“I'm sorry, Claire,” I tell her. “I should have just canceled. I couldn't jeopardize my scholarship for a vacation.”

“No, I know. It sucks being poor. I get it.”

My mom and dad both turn to look at her, and she realizes her mistake immediately. “I didn't mean—oh, never mind. I'm just tired. Let's get to the hotel and forget I said that.”

“Claire,” my mother interjects calmly. “That hotel price per night is higher than our family mortgage. I understand your parents want you to have this celebration and they've given you an incredible gift, but as Daisy's parents—remember she's still not eighteen until September—we felt it was a bit dangerous for two young girls, yet we didn't want her to miss the experience. Then there was the scholarship requirement to deal with. It just worked out this way. I know it's always been hard for you two to have such different upbringings, but our hope was that you'd learn from each other.”

“No, it's fine. I'm just disappointed, is all, and tired from the trip. Let's forget I said anything.”

Max turns around and smiles with a warmth I feel in my stomach. “Daisy always has put others before herself. It's one of the things I love best about her.”

Did he just say
love
? He loves something about me?

Claire stares a hole in my face, willing me not to read too much into the comment, and I feel the need to defend her. “You're not selfish,” I tell her. “You planned a fabulous vacation, and I'm only sorry I can't fully experience it with you.” What I'm really sorry about is that her parents didn't ever think to come, or think of her safety in a foreign country, other than the standard blurb from a travel brochure. It breaks my heart, and I feel strangely protective of her. “We're going to have a great time. I won't be at the mission the whole time. I'll concentrate on the work, get it done, and be back before you know it. Then you can show me around Recoleta.”

A single tear falls from Claire's eyes. “No, I know. Let's just go to the hotel. I'm tired, that's all.”

I feel terrible. Claire's life is so lonely, and never is it more apparent to me how much she's had to be on her own until this moment. I'm sick over the fact that she's virtually raised herself or been at my sorry little house instead of her mansion for most of her days. I don't say anything more to her for fear she'll break into full-blown tears.

“Max, will I meet your mother while we're here?” I ask.

“Oh,” he stammers. “Did you want to?”

“Not if it's inconvenient, but you know, I loved your father so much that I thought I'd like to see the other half of your parents.”

“I'd like to meet her too,” Mom says. “See how much we have in common parenting across the globe.”

Max twists his head toward my mother so fast it's like something out of a horror film. “My mother? No, she's . . . she likes to stay in the house. But I have so much to show you, we'll hardly have time to go by my house.”

Mom misses the clues. “I'd love to meet her. Maybe we can take her out to dinner.”

“Probably not. She's not really social in that way. The rest of Buenos Aires is, so you'll have no trouble finding friends for dinner. My mom doesn't like to leave the house much.”

“My wife has no trouble finding friends anywhere, Max. She just wants to meet your mother,” Dad says. “Maybe we could bring her dinner. We wouldn't want to intrude.”

“Yeah, sure,” Max says without committing.
He can't commit to a dinner?
Suddenly Max is a whole lot less attractive to me. I mean, we did head around the globe to see him. Is dinner really that out of the ordinary? In a Latino country known for its hospitality?

The drive to the center of town is gorgeous. The water is murky gray, matching the overcast sky, but the city is bright, like an old provincial city in Europe. The people are beautiful. And thin.

As we arrive at the hotel, it doesn't escape me that I've brought my own entourage of drama, and maybe I've overextended myself just a bit coming on this trip. Maybe I should have stayed home and gotten ready for college by visiting Staples and working at the food bank I already know. Why do I have to mess up on such a spectacular level? And at such great expense?