The Guadeloupe Squadeloupe

Chapter XXI: Janis

"What?" Bob asks in a clueless voice.

"Never mind," I tell him. "Let's go bike riding."

...

"Do you think they'll mind?" I ask as we walk into the rental shop.

"No, renting out bikes is their job," Bob says.

"Not these guys; the rest of the squad."

"I think they'll enjoy the exercise."

"Hola." A man has walked up while we were talking. He eyes us up and down, pleasantly smiling.

"Hola. Nessecitamos sies bicicletas," Bob replies, requesting 6 bikes.

The man smiles again and begins to walk to the back where I suppose they keep the bikes.

"Are we supposed to follow him?" I ask. Bob shrugs, beginning to look at pictures on the walls. They're all photographs of people mountain biking, and there are plenty of them.

"Hey! I used to have this bike!" Bob exclaims.

I peer over his shoulder. He points to a picture of a young man on a scenic trail somewhere in Chile. He smiles brightly at the camera, holding a rusty red mountain bike at his side. Out of the corner of his v-neck t-shirt I can see the curved edge of a tattoo. And he looks oddly familiar.

"He's near Santiago," Bob tells me. "That's the capital. I've been there. It's gorgeous. It makes you wonder why so many people want to live in the northern hemisphere."

"Well aren't you lucky you got stranded here," I say.

He smirks.

"Amigos, yo tengo sus bicicletas," the man says, walking back in. He hauls 6 run down mountain bikes behind him.

Bob and I awkwardly try to grab the bikes and the man fumbles with his hands to show us how to hold them. His hand flashes over mine for a second and he doesn't move it away. Instead, he rests his finger on the ring from the gas station. Bob glances over and I can swear he glares for a second. I yank my hand away and the man mutters a sorry in Spanish.

Paying the man as fast as he can, Bob helps me grab the bikes and we head out the door, wondering if weird situations will ever not happen to us.

...

With 6 new bikes, we begin to head back to camp.

"So where did you go?" I ask.

"After..."

"Maine."

"I don't know. I've never lived in a house besides Guad's hut. I've always traveled with my parents, like 24/7."

"You don't like your parents, right?"

"No, not at all."

"Oh," I mutter.

Bob flashes an apologetic smile and messes with one of the handles of the bikes.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did your parents take you everywhere? Why did they never teach you how to read?"

Bob shrugs. "I really think they knew Delgato. My mom was acting weird the day he abducted me." I could see that. I met his mother on a couple of occasions and she wasn't the cheery type. In fact, she told me never to see Bob again (as if I have control of that) and yelled something about my father being a bad person and ruining her life. These were both things I have never mentioned to another soul. 

I glance down to his arm. He's wearing a blue sweater we found and under the sleeve, his bar code sits on his forearm.

"Do you want to focus more on the summits of happiness and success rather than the valleys of frustration and failure?" Bob asks me, referring to the Calvin and Hobbes quote he used the other day.

"We can talk about Perry's cooking," I suggest.

"Huh?"

"Diana's told me quite the stories. Apparently he once set their kitchen on fire."

Bob smiles maliciously. "Oh, I'm so going to remind him of this."

Instead of replying, I wonder how many times a day Bob smiles. It's weird that someone who's been through what he's been through would be so happy. I hope they aren't fake smiles. I mentally slap myself. Alice would remind me not to pry. Even alone in my mind.

"So how's life, Jan-Jan?" Bob asks.

I temporarily choke and a shudder runs through me. That's too close. Too close to what my father used to call me. "Jan," he would say. No one else called me that, not even Alice. Bob is too close. "Excuse me?"

"I asked how your life is doing?"

"No the part after that."

"When I just explained to you what I asked?" Bob asks, obviously confused.

"No, the 'Jan-Jan' part."

"Oh yeah." Bob smiles with his innocent, lopsided grin. "That's your new nickname."

"Uh, I beg to differ."

"But it suits you," Bob whines.

"Excuse me, I resent that statement."

"I don't."

"No way!" I say sarcastically.

"Oh my gosh, you and Alice really are twins!" Bob gasps.

"Bah! Be quiet!"

"Ooh! Defensive!"

"Wait we're here," I say, cutting him off.

We're standing at the opening of the camp, all of the squad members staring at us.