Page 49 of The Big Race
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For jumping today. For talking tonight. For... still being here.”
“Thank you for being worth it,” I replied, and was surprised to find I meant it completely.
In the darkness, I heard the rustle of sheets, and then Ray's voice, closer than before.
"Can I..." he started, then stopped.
"What?"
"Can I hold your hand? Just for a minute?"
I reached across the space between our beds, our fingers finding each other in the dark. His palm was warm, slightly damp with nervous sweat, but familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
Chapter 22
Monkey Business
The next morning, we woke unsure where the day would take us. We were already down two teams—Vivian and Walter in Panama, and Keisha and Lamar the day before in Henri Pittier Park. Would we be heading back to the airport? Or staying in the park for another day?
When we reached the Stop’n’Go at six, we learned that Adrienne and Fletcher had already left at four. I opened our clue when our time came. “It’s called Bird Watch,” I said. “Navigate your way through the lush Venezuelan jungle to find one of ten stuffed toucans, recognizable by their bright multicolored plumage. Return the toucan to the Venezuelan birdwatcher to receive your next clue.”
“We should get a move on,” Ray said. “That jungle looks dense.”
I hesitated, recalling how that episode also highlighted the pitfalls of rushing without thorough planning. “But couldn’t we get lost if we don’t orient ourselves properly?” I countered. “Check the position of the sun, figure out a way to track our path so we can get back easily?”
Tension crackled between us. Sensing the weight of the moment, I took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it your way,” I conceded, handing him the compass. “Lead the way.”
Ray shot me a surprised glance but nodded, taking charge with his characteristic confidence. We plunged into the jungle, Ray navigating swiftly through the underbrush. I followed closely, trying to suppress my doubts.
The Venezuelan jungle pressed in around us like a living wall. Towering trees stretched skyward, their massive trunks wider than I could wrap my arms around, crowned by umbrella-shaped canopies that filtered the sunlight into shifting patterns of gold and green. Thick vines - some as wide as my arm - twisted around the enormous trunks, creating natural ladders that disappeared into the misty canopy overhead. The air was so thick with humidity it felt like breathing through wet cotton, and the earthy scent of decomposing leaves mixed with the sweet perfume of hidden orchids.
Every step squelched slightly in the spongy forest floor, and the symphony of unseen life surrounded us—bird calls echoing from impossible heights, the rustle of something large moving through the understory, the distant crash of a branch falling somewhere deep in the green maze.
Minutes turned into an hour, and despite the forest's shade, the stifling humidity made every breath feel thick and heavy. Sweat plastered my shirt to my back, and even Ray was beginning to show signs of fatigue, his usual boundless energy sapped by the relentless humidity. There was one good aspect—as Floridians, we were probably better suited to the climate than the rest of the teams other than the food truck chefs.
Then a flash of brilliant yellow caught my eye through the dense foliage—a burst of color so vivid it seemed electric against the endless green. "Ray, look!" I whispered urgently, pointing toward the movement.
Ray's eyes lit up with excitement, his exhaustion forgotten. "There! I saw it too—that bright yellow!" He started pushing through a tangle of vines toward where we'd glimpsed the color.
But as we fought our way through the vegetation, another flash appeared—this time orange and black, darting between branches about thirty feet away. Then another burst of color, blue and red, higher up in the canopy.
"Those are real toucans," I realized, watching as a magnificent bird with a rainbow-colored beak landed on a branch just visible through the leaves. "We're chasing actual wildlife."
Ray stopped abruptly, his face falling as the reality hit him. The toucan tilted its oversized head at us curiously before launching itself deeper into the forest with a few powerful wingbeats, its colors disappearing into the green tapestry.
"This doesn't make sense," Ray muttered, scanning the map with evident frustration. "We should've found the hidden toucan by now."
I stepped beside him, peering at the map and then our surroundings. The jungle seemed to pulse with life around us—somewhere overhead, a real toucan called, as if mocking our search efforts. A realization dawned on me. "I think we've been interpreting the map incorrectly," I said cautiously. "The symbols here suggest that the toucan is near a water source. Listen, can you hear that? There's the faint sound of running water to our left."
I saw his disappointment at being fooled by the real birds. "Come on," I said gently. "The hidden one has to be close. Those real toucans are probably a good sign—they like the same habitat."
Ray's brow furrowed as he listened. The distant murmur of a stream was indeed audible beneath the forest's constant chatter.He exhaled deeply, his competitive focus returning. "Lead the way," he said, passing me the compass.
Taking the lead, I guided us toward the sound. Sure enough, nestled beside a bubbling brook, we found the pile of stuffed birds partially concealed beneath a cluster of ferns. Triumph surged through me, not just from the success of the challenge, but from the collaborative effort it represented.
We turned to Cody with pleasure, holding up the stuffed bird.
