Without Borders (30 page)

She picked it up and turned the fabric between her fingers. “What
is
this, the world’s skimpiest man-thong? Did you decide to give up medicine to become a stripper?”

Felipe rolled his eyes. “Juan.” He plucked the G-string from her hands and replaced it with a tattered, purple notebook. A giant muddy thumbprint streaked the back.

“My journal!” In her mad packing crunch, Annie had left it on the floor of the resort with all her torn t-shirts.

During application season, Felipe had typed up the entries she needed and sent them to her. It took her an email or two to get over the mortification of him flipping through her most private thoughts, but he deadened the pain by adding ridiculous stories to each one. Sometimes it was Annie being attacked by a swarm of monkeys. Once, he wrote an entire page about her falling so in love with
gallo pinto
that she swore to eat nothing but rice and beans for the rest of her life. He added bits in Spanish she had to translate and ended each email the same way.
I miss you.

She thought the day of the banquet would never come.

“Open it.” His face was still blank.

Annie chewed her bottom lip. This wasn’t quite the reunion she had dreamed of every night since they’d set the date of the fundraiser. “Is everything okay? You don’t seem—”

“Open it.” He ran a hand through his hair.

She pulled back the cover. On the front page was a collapsed fortune teller. Typed words ran across the page in every direction. “Hey, you finally figured it out. Did you make it on the plane?”

Felipe shifted his weight and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Unfold it.”

“What? That’s not how it works.”

“Annie.”

“Okay, okay.” She set the journal on the table and unfolded the paper with shaky hands, careful to keep it from tearing. Her eyes skimmed over the page, the words swirling.

“I am tired of missing you all the time,” Felipe said. “But I will not come if you do not want—”

She held up a hand to stop him, still dizzy with disbelief, and read the words a second time. It was all there in heavy black type, unchanged.

Dear Dr. Felipe Gutierrez: Welcome to the Brown University School of Public Health.

Annie let the paper flutter to the ground and pressed her forehead to his. The words tangled in her throat, but she forced them out. “I definitely want.” Somehow, some way, they’d stolen a little more time together, and there was nothing she wanted more.

Years ago, I spent a summer in Sahsa, Nicaragua, a real place, filled with real people, in the North Atlantic Autonomous Region of Nicaragua. I volunteered with a public health organization, traveled with a medical brigade, saw beautiful rainforests, and learned the words to dozens of Sandinista songs. To the people I met that summer, especially Don José and Edith, I will be forever indebted—in more ways than one. And, as much as Sahsa is a real place filled with real people, many of the communities in
Without Borders
are fictional. Created for story purposes but inspired by the places I visited and the people who welcomed this sunburned gringa into their homes time and time again, feeding me armadillo (armadillo is seriously tasty, folks) and giving me a place to sleep at night. I hope I did justice to these communities (both the fictional and the real), but I am human. And flawed. And sometimes (a lot of times) I screw things up. If I did that here, I am truly sorry.

Turning a bunch of words into an actual book is a group effort, and I’m lucky to have a lot of fabulous people in my corner. My agent extraordinaire, Jessica Watterson, who promised me we’d make this happen and somehow made it so. Everyone at Diversion Books who had a hand in bringing this story to life, but especially Randall Klein, Beth Brown, Sarah Masterson Hally, and Trent Hart. The world’s best writing group, The Pen Gangstas—Heather, Laura, Stephanie, Larry, and Cortez—there would be no book if it weren’t for you guys. Of that I am certain. And the critique partners—Debbie, Nicole, and Marty—who helped me make these characters come alive.

Even though this is a group effort, publishing can be exceptionally lonely sometimes. Without my author friends, I would have lost what little sanity I have long ago. Special thanks to the NAC—Jamie, Wenphia, Marie, Annika, Jessica, Tegan, Meredith, Ara, Diana, Marnee, Kate, and Laura—for your friendship, support, and Facebook threads full of hot guys. Also, so much love to the ladies of the Life Raft—Samantha, Kelly, Anise, Tara, Colleen, Brenna, Emily, Heather, and Kimberly—you’ve kept me afloat more times than I can count. (And extra thanks to my pop culture soul mate, Brenna, who made her husband fix my Spanglish. Boomer, you’re the best.)

Many thanks to Karen Sander, who first inspired my wanderlust years ago and let me pick her brilliant bilingual brain to put the final touches on this story. To my parents, who kept me flush in
Baby-Sitters Club
books, even though it wasn’t always cheap or easy. To Keegan-Michael Key, who sits firmly at the top of my celebrity crush list—people who skim this will now think we know each other. Score. Finally, all the thanks to my husband, Matt, who’s my biggest fan, favorite plotting partner, and best proofreader.

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• Without Borders
  
• Copyright
  
• Dedication
  
• Day One
  
• Day Two
  
• Day Three
  
• Day Four
  
• Day Five
  
• Day Six
  
• Day Seven
  
• Day Eight
  
• Day Nine
  
• Day Ten
  
• Day Eleven
  
• Day Twelve
  
• Day Thirteen
  
• Day Fourteen
  
• Day Fifteen
  
• Day Sixteen
  
• Day Seventeen
  
• Day Eighteen
  
• Day Nineteen
  
• Day Twenty
  
• Day Twenty-One
  
• Day Twenty-Two
  
• Day Twenty-Three
  
• Day Twenty-Four
  
• Day Twenty-Five
  
• Day Twenty-Six
  
• Day Twenty-Seven
  
• Day Twenty-Eight
  
• Day Three Hundred and Four
  
• Author’s Note & Acknowledgements
  
• Connect with Diversion Books