Ian chuckles. “I guess I'll need to remember that little trick for the next time I get some horrible American tourist in my restaurant.”

  “Oh, Ian,” says Sid in a scandalized tone. “You wouldn't dare.”

  “No, of course not. But occasionally I get some patrons who might tempt me.”

  “Avoiding getting drugged and robbed hasn't been our only challenge,” I tell them. “We may be getting thrown out of our hotel in a couple of days.”

  Ian looks surprised. “Surely you two haven't done anything amiss.”

  “It's just a mix-up in reservations,” Sid explains. “The hotel clerk is trying ro figure it out for us.”

  “Why don't you just stay here?” suggests Ryan. “This place is awesome. You should see our room—it's like a palace. I feel like a celebrity.”

  “The girl at our hotel already tried here. This place is totally booked until after New Year's, and we'll be gone by then.”

  Ian nods. “Yes, as I recall, Juliet said we got in on a cancellation. Very lucky.”

  “Luck of the Irish,” says Sid.

  Ian reaches across the table and takes her hand. “Oh, it's so good to see you, Sid.”

  She smiles and looks a little embarrassed. But mostly happy. Ryan and I just sit there like two bumps on the same log as Sid and Ian quietly visit, catching up on little things and looking into each others eyes. I glance uncomfortably at Ryan, and he looks away, and suddenly I wonder if my little daydreams about him have simply been products of my runaway imagination. How could I be so silly? I feel my cheeks flushing as I remember the scene on the beach that I created. Good grief! I am so ridiculous!

  “Are you ready for winter term?” Ryan asks me, his clear blue eyes suddenly looking at me with such intensity that I feel hopeful again. “The big move to Seattle?”

  “I guess so,” I say. “I packed most of my stuffbefore we left. Dads going to bring one load with him when he picks me up at the airport. Then we'll bring the rest of it later.”

  He runs his hand through his sandy hair. As usual, it looks like he needs a haircut. But I smile to see a lock curling over his forehead, nearly down to his eye. Funny how I got used to it. I actually think it's an attractive look on him.

  “And when does Lydia arrive?” he asks. I've already told him all about our trip to New Guinea and meeting Lydia—in fact, pretty much everything that means anything to me. We e-mail each other almost daily.

  “She's in Oregon now,” I tell him. “She stayed with family there during the holidays. She'll come up to Seattle as soon as Sid gets back, and I'll go a couple of days later.”

  “That should be fun for you three,” he says. “And I can't wait to meet her. She sounds really interesting.”

  I start to relax more, and lunch conversation flows fairly smoothly. Ryan looks right at me and really seems interested in everything I say. Maybe I wasn't wrong about him after all. Maybe, like me, he's ready to take this relationship to the next level. Even if he's not, at least I know he's my good friend, and that's a pretty great place to start. Why not just enjoy it?

  We're finishing our lunch when a pretty blond girl comes over to our table. She's tan and thin and wearing a gauzy, white halter dress over a bright-colored bikini. With her oversize sunglasses and perfect white teeth, she looks like she should be a character on The OC. The question is, why is she here?

  “Ryan Mcintire?” she says, removing her shades to reveal an amazing pair of eyes that are almost exactly the same color as the Sea of Cortez. “Is that really you?”

  Ryan blinks up at her as if trying to place her, then suddenly says, “Shelby?”

  She smiles and nods. “Yep. Shelby Wagner. Remember me?”

  He smiles and stands, scraping the chair against the stone floor. I think I see him swallow hard. “Of course, I remember you. Man, it's been years. How have you been anyway?”

  “Just great.” She looks around our table. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I thought this was my old buddy Ryan. We went to high school together. I just couldn't resist coming over.”

  “I'm glad you did.”

  “It's such a shock to see someone you know in a foreign country.”

  Ryan quickly introduces her to the rest of us, but I can tell he's nervous. And that makes me curious.

  “Well, I won't disturb your meal,” she says politely. “Are you staying here, Ryan?”

  “Yeah. We just got in last night. We'll be here until next week.”

  “Cool! Maybe we can get together sometime,” she says. “Just chat and catch up for old times’ sake.” Then she glances at me as if she might owe me some sort of explanation, which she really doesn't. “My parents moved to California right before my junior year, so I sort of lost track of the kids I went to school with.” She looks back at Ryan now. “It'd be so cool to hear how they're doing and all. That is, if you still see any of them.”

  “Sure,” says Ryan. “That'd be great.” Then he tells her their room number and says to call.

  “You can count on it. Adiós, arnigos.” Then she waves and turns and gracefully walks away, displaying a pair of long tan legs. I can't help but notice Ryan's eyes following her. Who can blame him? She's absolutely gorgeous.

  “Is she that Shelby?” asks Sid after the girl is beyond earshot.

  Ryan seems to consider this, then nods, swallowing again.

  “Oh.” Sid wipes her mouth with her napkin and nods.

  “Did you guys date in high school?” I ask, almost wishing I hadn't.

  “Just barely,” he says.

  Now there's this uncomfortable silence at the table, and I'm not sure if it's for my sake, like maybe everyone here is feeling sorry for me. But for whatever reason, I feel the need to escape. Although this is an outdoor restaurant, I feel totally claustrophobic, like I can't get enough air. So I make an excuse to visit the ladies’ room, and then I vamoose.

  It's not long before Sid joins me in el bano. I think I've been washing my hands for a couple of minutes already. You can't be too careful when you're traveling abroad. But we're standing at the sink together, and I'm looking into the mirror, trying not to be too negative about my own appearance, and Sid's reapplying some lipstick. Of course, this reminds me to dig out my lip gloss and primp a little too. Still, I wonder, Whan the point? I stare blankly at my lackluster reflection. My dark curly hair looks drab and dull now, and my skin tone seems blah, and my brown eyes are just plain boring. I bet if I look closely, I'll see that I have spinach between my teeth.

  Okay, maybe not, but it would be entirely fitting with how I feel at the moment.

  To be fair, I'm sure I didn't think my appearance was this disappointing before I met Shelby. In fact, I don't usually evaluate myself on such shallow terms. I know better than to make comparisons. I mean, didn't that go out with braces and middle school? But in comparison to Shelby, well, I'm like leftover mashed potatoes sitting alongside one hot tamale.

  “Shelby is pretty,” says Sid.

  Talk about a gift for stating the obvious. I nod and slip my lip gloss back into my purse.

  “Does that bother you?”

  I force a smile. “No, should it?” Okay, that sounds like a lie, but the truth is, it doesn't bother me that Shelby's so pretty. It bothers me that I am not. Or at least I think that's how I feel. I'm not totally sure. But I'll get over it.

  “I don't know, Maddie. I sensed that something in you changed when Shelby came to our table. I felt bad for you.”

  “I'm sorry,” I tell her. “To be honest, I was starting to feel like I was fifteen again, and all those dumb old insecurities came slamming at me. Pretty silly, huh?”

  She smiles and puts an arm around my shoulder. “No, not really.”

  “But wouldn't you think I'd have outgrown that sort of thing by now, Sid?”

  She laughs. “Hey, some of us never outgrow it, Maddie.”

  “No way,” I say. “You don't have feelings like—”

  “I do too. I think most women do from time to time. But I try to counteract the feelings. I try not to give in to them. It's so useless, you know. So self-defeating and pointless.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  “And you also know that Ryan really likes you. You guys are friends. And that's worth a lot.”

  “I know.”

  “So, you're going to be okay then?”

  I smile and nod. “But would it be wrong to ask Juan if his waiter friends at the restaurant could slip her a Mickey and kidnap her and put her on a slow boat to China or New Guinea or somewhere extremely remote and far away from here?”

  Sid chuckles. “Yeah, that'd probably be wrong.”

  “I figured.” I look at my aunt. “What did you mean by 'that Shelby anyway?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  But I can tell by the way she says nothing that its really something. “Come on, Sid, you better tell me.”

  “Well, I remembered how Ryan's mom, Danielle, told me about a certain girl named Shelby. I never actually met her until today.”

  “And?”

  “And?” Sid looks at me as if she's gauging her answer. “Shelby sort of broke Ryan's heart. Danielle was pretty worried about him for a while. But it happens to everyone, right? He got over it.”

  I nod as if this makes perfect sense. But what I'm really thinking is, No, he did not get over it. Something tells me he is still not over it. Maybe it was in his eyes or his careful speech, but I'm thinking Ryan still has it bad for that girl. Really, who could blame him?

  hen we return to the table, Ryan is gone, and Ian is just putting down a tip. He pockets his wallet and smiles at us. “Thanks for joining me for lunch, ladies.”

  “Where's Ryan?” asks Sid. I'm wondering the same thing.

  “He went to have a look at the beach.” Ian reaches out to take Sid's hand and gives it a little squeeze. “We think we'd like to stick around here today. We're both a bit weary from yesterday's flight. It was nearly midnight by the time we got into our room. We thought we might give the pool a try, just relax. Would you ladies like to join us for the rest of the day? Or are we worn-out boys too boring for you:

  Sid smiles at him. “I'd love to join you, Ian.” Then she glances at me.

  “Sounds good to me.” I look down to where there seems to be a string of several nice pools of varying shapes and sizes, not to mention a wide strip of beach with lots of comfortable chaise lounges. All much nicer than what our time-share has to offer. Then I think I see Ryan down near the water's edge, just getting his feet wet. I wish I were down there with him right now, although I'm not completely sure he feels the same way. I wonder where Shelby is.

  “We'll have to get our beach things,” says Sid.

  “Want to meet back here”—Ian points down to the nearest pool—“in about an hour?”

  “Perfect,” says Sid. Then they hug again, and she and I head back to get our stuff.

  “Their hotel is sure a lot swankier than ours,” I observe as she parks the car.

  “I'll say.” Sid shakes her head. “I wasn't kidding when I said luck of the Irish.” Then she laughs and opens the door. “But why am I complaining? I'm so happy Ian's here, I could be staying in a fleabag flophouse and be perfectly fine.”

  “Hopefully that won't be the case when we get turned out of here.”

  “Remind me to check with Francesca again on our way out,” says Sid. “And then maybe I should call my travel agent.”

  When we get to our room, neither one of our key cards seems to work.

  “Do you suppose we've already been checked out?” I ask as I try mine again.

  “I thought that wouldn't happen until Friday,” says Sid. “We'd better go to the office.”

  There are several people ahead of us in the office. Most seem to have complaints. It's hard not to eavesdrop as they rant and rave about all the things that are wrong with this place.

  “You'd think it would be easy to get a room here,” I whisper to Sid.

  She nods and whispers back, “Except it sounds like many of these folks are time-share owners—and are stuck.”

  Francesca is trying hard to be patient with the elderly woman who is complaining that her room hasn't been cleaned since Monday and that the ice machine's not working.

  “The maids won't clean your room if you're in it,” explains Francesca as she writes this down.

  “I wasn't in the room the whole time,” says the lady.

  “I will ask them to clean it right now,” says Francesca, reaching for the phone.

  “Not right now!” exclaims the lady. “My husband's taking a nap right now.”

  Francesca nods. “I'll make a note of it and send them later.”

  It takes about ten minutes for Francesca to address the needs ahead of ours. By the time we finally have a chance to speak to her, I can tell she's emotionally drained. But at least the office had cleared out now. She quickly replaces our key cards, apologizing again. I'm thinking this poor girl must say “I'm sorry” all day long. I sure don't envy her.

  “This must be a hard job,” I tell her as I slip my key card into my bag.

  She nods, then smiles. “Yes, but I am lucky to have it.”

  “You speak such excellent English,” I point out. “I'd think you could find work lots of other places.”

  She nods again. “Yes, I know. But my home is near, and this is very convenient for me.”

  “I almost hate to ask,” says Sid, “but have you had any luck finding a place for us?”

  She just shakes her head. “I am sorry. No.”

  Sid frowns. “It just doesn't make sense. I don't know why Vicki thought they had a whole week here, and its only four days.”

  Francesca punches some keys on her keyboard, then turns the screen around to show us a calendar. “See, the Canlons’ week started right here on December twenty-third—very desirable days, during the Christmas holidays. But their week ends here on the twenty-ninth, which is Friday. Tomorrow.”

  “And three nights before our flight home,” I add.

  Francesca sighs. “Yes, I know.” Then she looks at us, and I get the feeling she's trying to judge how much to say. “There have been some changes in the management here…and as you can see, we have some problems still.”

  “I've noticed,” says Sid.

  “I told my manager about your situation,” says Francesca. “He says there is nothing he can do. He says it is your friends’ mistake.” Then she looks down, and I suspect she might not agree with her manager, but she doesn't say anything.

  A young couple comes in, and the guy immediately starts complaining about their room, saying the refrigerator's not working right and there's no shampoo in the bathroom and all sorts of little things. Francesca looks like she's on the verge of tears now, but she is meticulously writing down his complaints. She apologizes and tells him she'll see that everything is looked into. But the jerk just keeps venting, going on and on about how his parents paid good money for their time-share and how she'll be hearing from them. He even uses some bad language and acts as if everything is Francescas fault. I honestly don't know how she can stand it. But I know I've had more than enough.

  “Hey” I say to the guy “you don't have to take it out on her.”

  He looks at me like I just stepped off Pluto, then scowls. “Stay out of this.”

  “She's right,” says the girl with him, who appears to be about my age. “It's not the receptionist's fault, Phil. You just need to chill. She wrote everything down. Let's just go now.”

  But he ignores both of us. “This hotel is a big, fat, freaking mess,” he snarls at Francesca. “And if you think my family is going to keep paying for this, you can think again! I've had it with this place!”

  “Maybe you'd like to check out of your room,” says Sid in a very level voice.

  “Yeah,” I add calmly, thinking maybe this jerk will leave and we can have his room. With or without a refrigerator, it would be better than sleeping on the beach. “No reason you should stay here if it's so bad.”

  Francescas eyes are wide now, like she doesn't know what to think of our little intervention. But she stands a little straighter. “Yes sir, if you would like to check out of your room, it's not a problem. We can refund your remaining days to your parents’ account.”

  “I do not want to check out of here!” he yells. “But I do want to talk to your manager!”

  She gives him a weary nod. “Yes sir, I will let him know.”

  Then the guy stomps out, slamming the door behind him. The girl stuck with him just holds up her hands like there's nothing she can do, but then she leaves as well.

  Once they're gone, Francesca leans over the counter, puts her face in her hands, and just starts sobbing. I feel so bad for her. No matter how convenient this job may seem or how close it is to her home, can it possibly be worth it to put up with this kind of stress and nastiness day after day? And what kind of people are managing this circus? I go closer, and reaching over the counter, I put my hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Francesca,” I say. “That guy was a real jerk.”

  “And we probably shouldn't have interfered,” says Sid.

  Then Francesca lifts her head and looks at us. “No no. Thank you for trying to help. Thank you very much.”

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask.

  She sniffs and stands up straighter, reaching for a tissue to wipe her eyes and nose. “Yes, I am fine now. But you are right; this is not a pleasant job. There is much wrong here. It is not easy for me.”

  I nod. “I can see that.”

  “Maybe you should look for a better job,” says Sid in a gentle voice. “You seem like an excellent employee. I'm sure you could find something else.”

  “Thank you. You are very kind.” Francesca gives us a sad little smile now, but I can tell by her eyes that she's not going to take Sid's advice. Finding another job might not be as simple for her as it seems to us.

  “Well, hang in there,” I tell her, patting her on the arm.

  “Yes,” she says with a tired voice. “I will hang in there.”

  As soon as we're outside, Sid calls her travel agent and asks her to look into other accommodations in San Lucas. Then as we walk back to our room, she calls her friend Vicki and informs her that their time-share investment might have “a few little kinks to work out.” She tactfully tells Vicki about the mix-up on the dates.