99 Lies, Page 2

  The talk show host’s eyes widen, as if she hasn’t already heard this part. “And that’s when your kidnappers blew up the cruise ship?”

  “That’s when it exploded. Yes.” I can feel a follow-up question coming, so I continue before she can pick apart my careful phrasing. “But that was just yesterday. We haven’t had a chance to process any changes in our lives yet.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever process this,” Luke says with a glance around the live television studio, and Lydia laughs. She’s charmed by his wide-eyed awe and by the sparse stubble he hasn’t shaved yet, because he wants to look like the boy I fell for in the jungle, rather than the one I never noticed in fifth-period calculus.

  Like the rest of the country, the host of Rise and Shine Miami! is also charmed by our narrative. By the story of the fifteen-year-old Boy Scout and the diabetic sister of a murdered hostage who fell for each other while they fought to make it out of the jungle alive.

  Our story and the sudden national media attention is all we have. I’m determined to shine this spotlight on Genesis, so people can’t forget she’s still out there. So the United States government can’t forget that she still needs help.

  “But the ship can’t be coincidence, can it?” Lydia leans forward again, as if we are friends having an intimate chat. “The Splendor”—she glances at one of her note cards—“a twelve-deck, twenty-five-hundred passenger cruise ship—belonged to your uncle, Hernán Valencia. Your captors blew up the ship, killing more than one thousand people, within sight of the camp where they were holding you hostage. I can’t be the only one wondering about that connection.”

  “I don’t . . .” I clear my throat and start over. “Um . . . we don’t have all those details, and the ones we do have, we’re not at liberty to discuss. There’s an ongoing investigation.” I’ve said the same thing to every reporter who’s dug up my home phone number, and I’m grateful for the legal shield to hide behind.

  I know exactly what the victims and their families are going through, and the last thing I want to do is withhold information from them. But I can’t tell them what really happened to the Splendor.

  Family first.

  “But surely there’s something you can tell us,” Lydia presses. “How did your captors get access to your uncle’s cruise ship? Why blow it up at all? I would assume that was to make sure their ransom demands were taken seriously, except they never actually made any ransom demands, did they?”

  “Um . . .” I clear my throat again, then Luke takes my hand, and the warmth of his palm against mine gives me focus. “Luke and I spent most of our time looking for the camp where the others were being held. We don’t know what happened before we got there.”

  “And you?” Lydia fixes an expectant, bright-eyed gaze on Penelope. “Did you hear your kidnappers make any ransom demands?”

  “No.” Penelope looks like she’s only half listening. “But they didn’t tell us everything.”

  “I just don’t understand that!” Lydia is like a dog with a bone. “Your captors had in their possession an Olympic silver medalist, the heir to a multibillion dollar pharmaceutical manufacturer, and the heiress to the largest freight shipping company in the world, yet none of your families reported being asked for a ransom. How do you explain that?”

  Penelope’s mouth opens. Then it closes. She has no idea what to say, because the truth—that their only demand was for my uncle to ship explosives into the US—is part of the FBI investigation into my family’s ties to the people who kidnapped us. The people who still have Genesis.

  Assuming she’s still alive.

  “Lydia, kidnappers don’t typically reveal the details of their plans to their hostages, do they?” I point out in my most reasonable voice.

  Our host frowns. “I would assume they don’t.” She glances at her notes again. “Okay, then, I have just one more question for you all this morning.” Her expression softens as she glances from Luke to Pen, then back to me. “If you could say one thing to the hostages who didn’t make it out, what would that be?”

  I turn to face the camera directly—the one with the red “live” light shining. This is what I came for. “Just hang in there,” I say to my cousin, a continent away. I know from experience that her captors might let her listen, even if only to torture her. “We’re going to find you. We’re going to bring you home, Genesis.”

  “And Holden,” Penelope adds. “We’re going to get him back too.”

  I would sleep just fine with the news that Holden Wainwright’s corpse is rotting in the jungle. But the truth never makes anyone look sympathetic on live television, so I nod. “Of course we want Holden back too.” Even though he ran off and left us all to fend for ourselves. “If you have any information about the kidnapping, please call 1-555-GENESIS. The number is international and toll-free.” My uncle set it up the moment he found out his daughter didn’t make it out of the jungle.

  Lydia turns to face the camera. “That’s all the time we have today on Rise and Shine Miami! I’d like to thank my guests, Maddie Valencia, Luke Hazelwood, and Olympic silver medalist Penelope Goh, for sharing their story of American courage and fearless spirit. We wish them and their families the best in this trying time. Our thoughts and prayers are also with all the Splendor cruise ship victims and their families, as the dust begins to settle after yesterday’s early morning explosion. Please check out our website for ways you can help the survivors and their families.”

  Lydia’s solemn expression stays frozen in place until the red light on the camera blinks out. Someone behind the bright lights announces that we’re off the air, and our host thanks us again for appearing on her show, then disappears into her dressing room.

  “I can’t do that again,” Penelope says as we make our way through the crowd of crew members going about their off-air duties. “We do know how and why those bombs were on your uncle’s cruise ship,” she whispers as I pull her aside with a tight grip on her arm. “And everyone who lost someone on board deserves to know it’s because Gen’s dad is a drug trafficker!”

  “Was,” I hiss into her ear, and I’m almost scared by how easy it’s become to channel my cousin’s ferocity. “He was a drug trafficker, and announcing that won’t help the victims, but it will impede the FBI investigation and turn people against Genesis. Which will make it harder to keep public pressure on the government to find her.” I take a deep breath and let her go before someone other than Luke notices tension between two of the rescued hostages. “You lied to your best friend for weeks about sleeping with her boyfriend,” I whisper fiercely. “You can damn well tell this lie to save her life.”

  I’m glad you’re here.

  GENESIS

  Holden sits across the room from me, trying to pluck splinters from his palm. He hasn’t said a word in hours. Normally, I’d consider that a blessing, but this silence is unnerving and I need a distraction from the cramping vacuum my stomach has become.

  And Holden might have information I want.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “We’re in the jungle, Genesis. Beyond that . . .” Shadows shift as he shrugs in the dark. “What am I, a human GPS?”

  “I woke up in this cabin, but you walked here. What direction did you come from? Could you hear the ocean? How long were you alone in the jungle?” I demand. “Did the sun rise before they caught you?” Have I been here one day, or two?

  “Why does it matter?” Holden goes back to his splinters.

  It matters because the real cage I’m trapped in isn’t this room; it’s my own mind.

  I can see through the crack into the main cabin, but the front windows are boarded up and the door is closed. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know if I should be asleep or awake. I don’t know how many meals I’ve missed. I don’t know whether or not my friends got away. If I hadn’t seen the door open when they brought Holden in, I wouldn’t even be entirely sure that the world outside this cabin still exists.

 
But saying any of that would make me sound desperate.

  More interminable minutes drag past in silence, but for the scrape of Holden’s fingernail against the pad of his palm.

  I’m too hungry to think straight. I haven’t been fed since I got here, and though I have no way to track time, my stomach insists that’s been at least two days.

  “Are they going to feed us?” Holden suddenly demands. “Or do they expect us to battle to the death, then eat the dead one? Because my money’s on me.”

  He’s bluffing again. Holden plays lacrosse at school, and a week ago, he outweighed me by seventy pounds. But I have a black belt in Krav Maga. I know how to use his weight against him. What’s left of him anyway.

  When they shoved him into the room, his cheekbones looked like they might slice through his skin. Even in the dark, I can see his hands shaking. I can hear exhaustion in his voice.

  I’m exhausted because Sebastián’s been starving me. What’s Holden’s excuse?

  “When was the last time you ate?” I ask.

  “The last time they fed us at the base camp.”

  “Why didn’t you eat in the jungle?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” he demands. “Wave my magic wand around?”

  “You were supposed to look up! Fruit grows from trees, Holden! Even if you couldn’t catch fish or rabbits, you could have had bananas. Avocados. Mangoes.” I huff at him in disgust. “I was in here starving, and you were walking right by a virtual buffet!”

  “I heard the explosion,” Holden says, an edge of cruelty in his voice. “I was really hoping you died in the blast.”

  Hoping I died . . . ? Oh. He thinks I blew up a tent full of bombs on the beach. Which had still been the plan, when he’d abandoned the rest of us.

  A familiar scraping sound comes from the front room. Like a chair being dragged across the floor. “I have news,” Sebastián calls, and wood creaks as he sinks into the chair.

  There’s nothing in the world—short of freedom and food—that I want more than news from outside this room, but I know better than to admit that. Everything I say to Sebastián will later be used against me.

  “The American media says your father’s been arrested. One of your friends must have turned him in. Maybe your cousin?”

  “Bullshit,” I spit into the dark. “Maddie wouldn’t do that.” We might not be best friends, but family comes first. She believes that as much as I do.

  “She would if she thinks it’ll help them find you.” Holden sounds practically gleeful. “Or if they threatened to charge her with obstruction of justice.”

  “They’ve frozen your papi’s assets.” Sebastián’s laughter scrapes along my spine like nails on a chalkboard. “There’s no one left to ransom you, princesa. You better pray David finds some other use for you.”

  A new ache begins deep in my chest, rivaling the pain in my empty, cramping stomach. “You’re lying.”

  “I have no reason to lie. And there’s more, princesa. Your friends were on TV this morning, talking about their ‘ordeal.’” His voice drips with sarcasm. “They’re celebrities now. Everyone wants to talk to them. But you know who wasn’t with them?”

  I won’t take the bait. It’s all bullshit anyway.

  “Your new boyfriend. The news says he’s dead.” Sebastián laughs again as he drags the chair away.

  Indiana.

  The last time I saw him, he was unconscious in the bottom of a boat still rocking violently from the explosion.

  Sebastián’s lying. Indiana can survive a head wound. I survived mine. But what if his was more than a concussion? I’ve spent hours—days?—trying not to dwell on that possibility, but now I can’t shake it from my thoughts.

  “You got your new boyfriend killed,” Holden says. “Damn. Dating you ought to come with hazard pay.”

  “Indiana’s not dead.” He can’t be. “But you would be if Sebastián hadn’t saved you from starving in a jungle full of fruit.”

  Hatred rolls off him like heat from a blaze. “I’m glad you’re here,” he announces after a few minutes. “If anyone deserves this, it’s you.”

  I don’t care what he thinks. So why do his words sting?

  Because they’re true.

  Holden cheated on me with my best friend. He tried to get our captors to execute me. Then he abandoned Penelope and escaped on his own. But is any of that worse than what I did?

  Does it even matter that I was trying to save lives, if I wound up taking them instead?

  9 DAYS, 2 HOURS EARLIER

  That was totally a compliment.

  MADDIE

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this?” I whisper as Penelope rings the doorbell to the right of a massive set of iron-and-glass doors.

  “Because Neda’s a friend.”

  “She’s your friend. Why do Luke and I have to be here?”

  Penelope turns on me, dark brows drawn low. “You said we should use our celebrity to get Genesis and Holden back.” Before I can remind her that I never said a word about getting Holden back, she rushes on. “When we were kidnapped and Neda went on the radio, her old beauty vlogs went viral. Millions of views, in just a few days.”

  Luke shoves his hands into his pockets. “And you really think the US government will feel pressure to continue an international search effort because of what some beauty vlogger says online?”

  Pen frowns up at him. “I think this is an avenue of exposure we can’t afford to turn down. For Holden and Genesis. Besides, Neda knows us. This is friendly media.”

  She doesn’t seem to understand that there’s no such thing.

  The right-hand door swings open, and Penelope whirls around just in time to be pulled into Neda’s embrace. “I can’t believe you bitches did Rise and Shine Miami! before you did my show!” she scolds me and Luke over Pen’s shoulder.

  “You don’t go live until five,” Luke points out, as if logic plays any role in Neda’s complaint. Or her life. “Rise and Shine Miami! filmed at seven this morning.”

  “Whatever.” Neda waves us into the house, and the click of her three-inch heels echoes from the walls and tall windows of her two-story living room. “Come on. It’s right through here.” She turns without missing a step on the glossy marble tile, and I notice that her ankle has made a complete recovery from the injury that got her airlifted out of the jungle the night before the rest of us were taken hostage. “We just finished the remodel yesterday. My mom said that if I was going to host one of the most popular webshows ever, I should do it right.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance she was talking about journalistic integrity?” I ask as she throws open a set of double doors with a dramatic flourish.

  “Holy shit,” Luke breathes.

  “Damn.” Penelope glances around in awe. “I’ve been interviewed in television studios that didn’t look this good.”

  “It used to be a spare bedroom, but we have, like, six of those, so my dad called in a favor and they put this little studio together for me in under a week.” Neda steps into the center of the room and spreads her arms, her brown eyes sparkling in the blinding light from overhead. “What do you think?”

  I think we’ve reached a new pinnacle in the art of illusion.

  The actual walls, darkly paneled, of Neda’s new web studio have been hidden from view of the professional webcam by a seven-foot-tall, three-walled studio facade, painted in broad horizontal strokes of pink, blue, and green to look like a cotton-candy-colored living room.

  Or, more accurately, a girl-cave.

  “The teleprompter, I get.” Luke waves a hand at the table-mounted hooded mirror connected at a ninety-degree angle to an iPad attached to the camera. It’s already displaying text ready to scroll for the broadcast. “But why did you need fake walls?”

  “Because wood paneling only makes an effective backdrop for old white men smoking pipes and talking about the ‘good old days.’ And it’s easier to light the smaller space.” Neda points overhead a
t a small but impressive system of studio lights mounted from bars attached to the ceiling. “Have a seat.” She glances at her phone screen, then shoves it into the back pocket of a snug pair of white designer jeans. “We have about ten minutes.”

  Luke blinks at a pair of overstuffed pink couches artfully angled toward each other on a shaggy white patch of carpet. He doesn’t sit until I tug him down next to me.

  “I’ve been hyping this interview all day, and I sent out the reminder blitz an hour ago. There are already eighteen thousand people signed in to watch live, and the views will grow exponentially once I post the recording.”

  I’m pretty sure her understanding of exponential growth is no more accurate than her habitual abuse of the word “literally,” but the size of her audience suggests I may be the only one on the planet who cares. Except for Luke.

  Neda takes her seat next to Penelope on the other couch and picks up a small remote control from a blue table, where expensive bottles of sparkling water are waiting for each of us. “You’re my first-ever live guests, so I’ll be improvising on the format. But what I really need from you guys, if I’m going to make a name for myself, is the juicy stuff.”

  “The juicy stuff?” Why is Neda looking at Luke and me? She doesn’t even like us.

  “Yeah. Something you didn’t say on Rise and Shine Miami! Or in that interview with the Herald. Everyone loves the ‘geeks in love’ angle, so—”

  Suddenly I understand why we’re here. Neda wants to be famous, and Luke and I are her ticket.

  “Did you just insult us while asking us for a favor?” he says, and I slide my hand into his grip. I love the confidence he gained in the jungle.

  “That was totally a compliment. Geeks are hot now, right?” Neda presses buttons on her remote, and the camera whirrs as it focuses. “Are you guys ready? I’m going to start with an endorsement, then we’ll get right to the story.”