Read Online Wanderlove by Kirsten Hubbard - Free Book Online

over the backs of chairs, piled on the dresser. Underwear dangles from the bedpost. Cosmetics are strewn across the floor. My sketchbook sits on the bed, the elastic strap still wound around it. I hope Starling’s not the type to snoop.
    “I called Hal to let Rowan know you’re officially a member of the family,” she says. “For two weeks, at least.” I smile weakly. My boldness from moments ago is dissipating by the second.
    “But this . . .” Starling spreads her arms. “This is disastrous.
    The worst case of overpacking I’ve ever seen. I’ve managed to pare it down. But you’re not going to like it.” I push aside a pair of denim shorts with the tags still attached and sit on the bed, one hand on my sketchbook.
    “Which pile do I get to keep?”
    “The one beside you.”
    “And what am I supposed to do with all my other stuff?”
    “In theory, you could mail it home. But it might not get there. And it would be really expensive. The noble thing to do is to give it away—though I don’t think the villagers will want anything to do with this.” She twirls a glittery halter top around her index finger.
    “That’s not mine.”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “No, seriously. It’s my friend Olivia’s. I’ve never even worn it.”
    “Olivia must be an interesting girl.” Starling stretches the top between her fingers and shoots it into the trash. I picture Olivia’s reaction and smirk. I’d love to see Olivia and Starling stuck in an elevator. As long as I wasn’t stuck inside with them.
    “How about we shove your extraneous shit in your suitcase and leave it on the sidewalk? With a sign: ‘finders keepers,’ in Spanish. Then we’ll locate a backpack.”
    “Can I at least look through the stuff I’m giving away?” Without waiting for a reply, I shove aside my pink quick-dry capris and swipe the white sweatshirt from Glenna’s bed.
    “This stays.”
    “Not a chance! It would take up half your backpack. And you’ll never need it. Where you’re going, even the rainiest days are warm.”
    I unfold the sweatshirt and hold it at arm’s length. I have it memorized: the ragged cuffs, the front pocket worn coarse inside. It reaches all the way to my knees when I wear it to sleep.
    I know Starling’s right. And it’s humiliating that I kept it in the first place, let alone brought it all the way to Central America. So I screw up my face and force myself to remember. Not the good parts, the parts that made me stay with Toby long past our expiration date. But the shitty parts. The betrayals.
    Like the way we ran into this girl from Toby’s old school, and he gripped the back of my neck a little too tightly so I wouldn’t say anything stupid, and after, got mad when I asked who she was.
    The way my mom thought he was just so cute , and acted way more enthusiastic about my having a boyfriend than she ever did about my drawings.
    The way he wouldn’t even get out of the car the only time I took him to my favorite beach. I t’s way too cold , he said. He only opened the door to toss out the condom wrapper.
    The way, when we talked about attending SCAA together, he said no matter what , over and over, like a promise.
    Maybe I was stupid for believing, and even more stupid for wanting to believe. But either way, he fooled me. When it all fell apart, I was genuinely surprised.
    With that, I shove the sweatshirt into the trash can so forcefully it tips over, while Starling looks on, her expression impossible to read.

    Day 4, Afternoon:
    Wanderlove
    I follow Starling down Calle Santander with a garbage bag, containing the fortunate few of my belongings, slung over my shoulder. Not a single spangle desecrates the lot. The bag still weighs a ton, but that’s partially my fault. I insisted on including a second pair of jeans.
    “You’re going to swelter,” Starling says, tugging up her drawstring pants.
    “I’d rather swelter than look like a belly dancer.” She snorts, then links her arm through mine.