I felt myself crumple, my knees going weak. I moved to grasp the bar next to me to keep upright, but I missed. I was certain I was going to collapse, when at the very last minute, Claire was there next to me, concern strong in her eyes. She grabbed me, held me up, ordered me a water. She didn’t ask what had happened. I guess my expression made clear I couldn’t talk about it.
Instead, she just said in her soft voice, “It looks like he has a small penis anyway.”
And just like that, the memory dissolved into peals of laughter.
“This way,” grunts Nick Gould now, leading our group laden with suitcases and excitement in the direction of the shuttle bus heclaims will be our second home for the rest of the trip, transporting us between all our future destinations. We leave the airport and head down a highway that wouldn’t look out of place back in Atlanta, until we exit onto a boulevard with a distant sighting of the ocean. Just as I think we’re headed in that direction, the bus makes a sharp turn down a four-lane road, bisected in the middle by parking spots and a smattering of halfhearted landscaping.
Souvenir shops, tattoo parlors, and kiosks advertising reef diving and jungle adventures line both sides of the street, with a vibe vaguely reminiscent of a childhood vacation to Myrtle Beach. The bus pulls up outside a large open arcade decorated with a cartoonish orange sign labeling the building asGilroy’s Hostel.
We leave the bus, grabbing our suitcases as we exit and dragging them through the open arcade, past a vast space that apparently serves as the restaurant and nightclub, the sight of which brings a smile to my face. We continue, drawn by the lure of a crowded pool towards the back of the building, before Nick Gould gestures us into the heavily air-conditioned hostel lobby.
“You’ll be sharing two rooms. Guys in one, ladies in the other. Four beds per room. Hari and I will each have our own,” Nick orders after he’s secured and distributed our room keys. “Now, get ready and meet back down here in twenty.”
My head snaps up, and I can tell instantly I’m not the only one disappointed by this news.
“I thought we had the night off from educational events,” Josh pipes up. I steal a glance through the lobby window to where dusk is settling on the street, the screech of birds from the fig treesgrowing more prominent as the sun sneaks closer to the pavement. In the minutes since we arrived, I’ve already planned out a perfect night: drinks by the hostel pool in the back, followed by barhopping up the boulevard, hopefully culminating with Kyan and me stumbling into bed. Drinking—which had seemed so new and foreign when I first arrived—has now become a regular part of my time here. It’s a nightly fixture, a respite after all our cultural activities during the days. And I find myself counting down the minutes until that first sip of liquor settles in my stomach, when the confidence I need to fake during the daylight hours will start to come naturally. The hangovers that arrive the mornings after are a small price to pay.
“You thought wrong,” Nick tells Josh. “Twenty minutes. And dress reasonably. No high heels or tight skirts or any of that shit.”
“Athletic clothes,” Hari clarifies helpfully, with a mischievous wink.
***
Twenty-five minutes later, after I’ve deposited my suitcase on one of the creaky bunk beds in our four-person dorm room and rushed to change, we’re all back on the shuttle. Twilight has fallen on the city, casting the boulevards in a low glow.
Nick and Hari still haven’t told us where we’re going, and our earlier disappointment at a wasted night of, well, getting wasted, has lightened, replaced instead with a feeling of suspense that buzzes through the rows of the bus.
Josh, who’s sitting with Declan in front of Claire and me, props his elbows on the back of his seat and turns to us.
“I swear, if Nick pulls an evening educational experience out of his ass, I may need to hitch a flight home tonight,” he says, softly enough so Nick can’t hear.
But Hari, who’s a few rows ahead, turns back our way, that same glint in her eye from earlier. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Josh. I think you’re going to like this.”
Declan turns, and I catch him share a glance with Claire, who blushes as she usually does any time he turns his attention on her. It’s clear there’s something there, some chemistry, but neither one has had the courage to make a move, despite my not-so-subtle prompting.
“Maybe it’ll be somewhere romantic,” I propose. Declan catches the wink I shoot his way and smiles, while the red in Claire’s cheeks deepen. God, these kids.
A few minutes later, we’ve left the city, the evening darkening around us as the pavement and buildings are replaced by lush green. We’re entering the jungle.
“What the…?” Claire mutters, reflecting my thoughts.
It’s not long until a sign appears, dimly lit among blooming gum trees, beckoning visitors with only two words:Sky Adventures.
Nick takes this as his cue, standing as the bus continues to roll up a stark incline.
“You were promised adventure on this trip, and here you have it. This is one of Australia’s most popular bungee-jumping destinations.”
I instantly feel Claire tense next to me, my own heart rate accelerating to match hers. Sure, bungee jumping sounds cool and adventurous—in theory. But now, as an enormous, multistory stairwell that looks far too unstable to hold actual people looms into view, it seems more than a touch insane.
I can tell we’re not the only ones on the bus having second thoughts. The excitement from earlier has devolved into anxious giggles or, in Tomas’s case, a white face and pure silence.
There’s little conversation as we pile off the bus and run through the required logistics. Signing disclosures, forking over identity cards, getting weighed on a giant scale. And then it’s time.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Claire says quietly as we stand at the foot of the stairs.
“Yes, you can,” I whisper back. “You’re stronger than you think. And this thing looks sturdy enough. Plus, I dare you.” I nudge her side jokingly. “You have no choice but to accept.”
I take her hand, squeezing it, and lead her up the steep stairwell. The first set is fine, just like walking up the steps to our old dorm room at Hamilton, I try to tell myself. But by the third story, I don’t believe the lie. Wind rocks through the stairwell, shaking the entire structure.
