Free Wanderlove by Kirsten Hubbard Page B

dozing in the shade. The glazed blue bowl of the lake.
    But something stalls on the journey between my eyes, my brain, and my fingers. I don’t even know what to call it. Fear isn’t quite right.
    I left my new/old backpack in the common room, along with the smaller daypack I bought in Panajachel. Though it’s barely dark out, the hostel buzzes with shouts and laughter, clinking bottles, the mournful plink-plunk of a mistuned guitar. Everyone’s gearing up for another evening of rooster beers and skinny-dipping. Everyone except me. I’m sure I’m damaging my backpacker cred—as if I have any to start with—but I want to be alone right now.
    I’ve only been sitting for fifteen minutes when I see Rowan approaching. I slip my sketchbook between my thighs. He has a novel under his arm: Atonement .
    “Oh,” he says when he sees me.
    “Hi, Rowan!” I say cheerfully in an attempt to offset his hostility, which is starting to get on my nerves. “What brings you out here on this gorgeous evening? Have I stolen your seat?”
    He blinks at me a moment, then recovers. “It’s not mine unless I’m sitting in it.”
    “Great! I thought we’d have to battle it out. I may be small, but I can kick some serious ass.” Half smirking, Rowan ruffles the pages of his book with his thumb. “Actually, I thought I’d go read down by the water.
    There’s a new group here tonight, I think I mentioned, and they’re dead set on a karaoke competition. My eardrums already ache in anticipation. Also, just too many people.”
    “You’re not big on people, are you?”
    “I wouldn’t say that. Just . . . when faced with the choice between small talk with strangers and peace and quiet, I’ll choose the latter every time. You know?”
    “It depends. Are we talking naked karaoke?” Rowan pauses a second and then cracks a smile. “Could be. But I assume naked karaoke with strangers isn’t your thing?”
    “Depends on the naked strangers.”
    We grin at each other for a moment past stupid, and it’s really decent, and I’m so proud of myself I could backflip. Finally, Rowan starts for the lake.
    “Are you coming?” he calls over his shoulder.
    I’m so surprised it takes me a second to reply. “Um, I don’t have a book.”
    “Did you say . . . no book? No book ?” He pretends to pull a knife from his chest. “We’ve got to remedy that. Just grab one from the book exchange inside. Hal won’t care. If you’re feeling overly ethical, leave a few quetzales.” My first impulse is to decline. Because—admit it—there’s something perversely appealing about sitting all alone, feeling sorry for yourself, especially when the scenery’s stunning and there’s a party going on behind you.
    But that’s not what this trip is about. It’s about jumping in. Making up for all the times I held back. And if I’m not quite ready to rip off my clothes and sing “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” I should probably go read by the lake.
    I’m about to stand up when Rowan shrugs. “No big deal.
    See you in the morning, then.”
    Apparently, I took too long to decide.
    I watch him trudge down the slope toward the water, allowing myself to feel shitty for exactly ten seconds. Then I open my sketchbook. I pick up my pen.
    And for the first time in months I draw.

    PART  2
    The Jungle
    Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction.
    ~Pablo Picasso
    The secret to so many artists living so long is that every painting is a new adventure. So, you see, they’re always looking ahead to something new and exciting. The secret is not to look back.
    ~Norman Rockwell
     

     
    Day 5: Breakdown
    Guatemala City, Guatemala
    Guatemala City is one of the most dangerous cities in Latin America. Petty theft is rampant, as are violent crimes. As a result, we will not be spending any more time than necessary in Guatemala City after our airplane lands.
    I crumple up my Global Vagabonds itinerary and shove it into my daypack. Most of the destinations