Wanderlove Read Online Free PDF

Forget being a blank canvas. This time, I want to know. I pull out my Global Vagabonds itinerary from where I stuck it in my sketchbook, and unfold it. I locate Day 4: Chichicastenango and drop my finger to the next heading.
    Panajachel and Lake Atitlán, Guatemala
    Scenic drive (approx. 2 hrs) from Chichicastenango to Panajachel, a Mayan village on the shores of Lake Atitlán—famously called “the most beautiful lake in the world” by Brave New World author Aldous Huxley.
    “ ‘The most beautiful lake in the world,’ ” I read out loud.
    Suddenly, the minibus lurches to the side. A chicken bus—a retired American school bus painted in riotous hues—has careened into our lane to pass another. It swerves back just in time. For an instant, I look into the faces pressed against the oily bus windows.
    My gut still churning, I glance again at Glenna. No signs of life.
    We crawl through the narrow streets of a village called Sololá, a cluster of shabby buildings and courtyards surrounding a bustling park. Then we begin to descend. When the lake comes into view again, this time it remains. The stunning shade of blue isn’t just the lake—it’s the contrast of sky against heaps of white clouds, and the three volcanoes arching over the water like hooded gods.
    My heart’s so swollen with lake-love, I decide to wake Glenna.
    “Are we there yet?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.
    “Almost. But look—”
    “Why’d you wake me up, then? I was having the most wonderful dream. Let’s see, there was this man with a mustache, and he had a briefcase, and I think he was selling—”
    “Glenna! Look out the window.”
    “Pretty,” she says, without looking. “Anyway, I forget what the man was selling. But there was this field of butter beans . . .”
    I open my sketchbook, tracing volcano shapes without ever actually touching my pencil to the page. From time to time, I glance back out the window, wondering which village is Santa Lucia. In the center of the haze of blue water, I think I see a boat.
    In our shared hotel room, Glenna sits on her bed and watches me fix my makeup. I’ve showered and changed into a pale blue tank top and a flowy white skirt with silver piping along the hem. As I drape a silver necklace around my neck, I imagine Toby Kelsey sitting in Glenna’s place. Watching me get dressed to attend a hostel party with a bunch of aimless ruffians.
    Picturing his face helps me ignore the anxiety prickling inside my stomach. With the exception of Tijuana, it’s been way, way too long since I’ve gone out.
    Parties weren’t Toby’s thing, but he hated when I attended them without him. I quickly learned the fun factor of holding back Olivia’s hair wasn’t worth the ensuing interrogation: Was Mark Schulman there? I saw him checking you out in physics.
    I hope it was worth it, because you realize we’ve got to send in our portfolios in just three weeks, right? In a way, it was nice having someone care so much, since my parents could be so damned useless in that department.
    And then, after Toby and I broke up, breakfast cereal and serial television trumped putting on my party pants every time.
    And now . . . It’s like my social muscles have atrophied.
    But I know I’ll regret it if I don’t go.
    I established my alibi as soon as we arrived at our hotel.
    “Tonight, we’ll be having dinner at a Paraguayan restaurant on Calle Santander,” Marcy announced, clapping her hands.
    “After you drop your suitcases off in your rooms, meet us back in the lobby.”
    Once the rest of the group had filtered upstairs, I approached Marcy. “I think I’m going to skip dinner,” I said.
    “I’m not feeling too well.”
    She smiled knowingly. “You ate something from a street cart, didn’t you?”
    Thank God I didn’t tell her about my stolen camera.
    Now I check the ancient clock radio beside my hotel bed.
    “I promise I’ll be back tonight,” I say, for my benefit as much as Glenna’s. I’m not one 100