No, she was the one who hadn’t been able to land a good job after they’d graduated （thanks to Ford swiping her opportunity）。 The one who’d started teaching at some random third-tier school and only made her way to Berkeley after Archaeological Digest ran that ten-page story about one of her many digs that had gone awry but had a happy—and unexpected—ending. The story had included a couple of full-length color photos of her in a pair of short-shorts and a low-cut tank top. She’d become the talk of the town after that story, and whether it was because of her badass dig story or because of her fine ass, that story had led to her next teaching gig, which had then led to Berkeley. And even then, she suspected the reason Berkeley had hired her had more to do with trying to increase enrollment, given the buzz around her name （and picture）， and less to do with her actual skills. She only hoped that someday people would stop thinking of her as that one curvy, sexy Latina archaeologist and maybe as that archaeologist who helped discover Chimalli.
Or, you know, maybe even that archaeologist.
One day she’d prove to all the stuffy old relics that she was a badass and a genius, and she’d prove it all on her own. In the meantime, maybe if they found Chimalli’s remains on this dig, even if it was just an asterisk next to her name while Ford took most of the credit, maybe people would see beyond her tits, ass, and wild shenanigans.
Dammit. Guess she wouldn’t leave him after all.
“Hey . . .” Ford said as he finally approached. “Look, what I said back there—”
Corrie cut him off by tossing the walkie at him. “Jon and Memo haven’t found anything. They’re on their way back right now.”
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Nah, I’m good.” She stood and walked over to the raft, fidgeting with some of the bags to make sure they were secure.
Just because she wasn’t going to leave him didn’t mean she needed to be his BFF.
“Corrie, come on.” He moved beside her, blocking her way.
“Yeah . . . you know, I’m all talked out from yesterday.” She looked up from the raft and flashed him the brattiest smile she could muster.
“Oh, so when you want to talk and I don’t want to, you keep pressing, but when it’s the other way around then you’re all talked out?”
“Oh, wow, Ford. Look at that. You finally get me.” Standing tall, she batted her lashes and clasped her hands together over her heart. “Now move, please,” she said, elbowing him out of her way and inspecting one of the oars.
“Okay. Got it. Glad we sorted this out, Cor. A real pleasure.”
By the time Jon and Memo returned, the sun had started to dip. But the Boss wanted to keep going so they could make sure they made it back to camp before sundown tomorrow. Corrie thought about protesting. After all, they didn’t know this river or any of its potential treacheries. But she wanted to get this over with as much as he did. They pressed on, agreeing to paddle until six o’clock so they could make sure they had enough time to pitch their tents and make dinner.
Jon and Memo carried on in the front of the raft, talking about not wanting to miss the World Series. Something about someone’s brother’s girlfriend’s cousin’s friend knowing an usher at Dodger Stadium and how they might be able to get seats during the playoffs. Corrie couldn’t care less about baseball, but at least their excited discussion provided some entertainment and distraction. Because there certainly wasn’t anything going on in the back of the boat, where she paddled with Ford.
She checked on him out of the corner of her eye—under the guise of boat guiding, of course. But he paid her no attention. Instead, he stared off to the side of the river, focused only on getting them to where they needed to go.
A few drops of water from Ford’s oar splashed onto the inside of his arm. He wiped away the droplets, then stopped with his fingers brushing over his mother’s initials tattooed on his skin, clearly deep in thought. Seconds later, he straightened up and resumed paddling, but not before Corrie noticed him rub the corner of his eye.
Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have blown him off. It was pretty childish, after all.
But could he really blame her?
And it wasn’t even that he was being a jerk. She was mostly upset because she was disappointed. Disappointed that the guy she’d spent hours laughing with yesterday was still back at camp. Or maybe he didn’t even exist.
And that sucked because she actually liked that guy. She’d almost kissed that guy. If only he hadn’t let go of her hand and backed away last night, she would have made a move.
A rumbling in the distance snapped Corrie out of her thoughts. The others didn’t notice. But no . . . something wasn’t right.
She stood in the raft, finally catching Ford’s attention.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shh.” She craned her neck to see in front of them. There.
Rapids.
“We’ve got rapids.” She rushed to sit. “Everyone, keep calm.”
“Are they gonna flip us over?” Jon asked, all the color draining from his face.
“I don’t know. I can’t see how big they are.” Shit. This was a bad idea. They had no idea what was on this river. For all they knew, they were about to head into class V rapids. And they were still far from any potential waterfalls.
Right?
Shit. Corrie reached for the ziplocked map and rechecked the topo lines. Phew. Didn’t look like there were falls this far up the river. Hopefully that meant just a short section of rapids and then smooth sailing.
“What should we do?” Memo asked.
“Keep paddling. And try to keep the raft straight. But if you fall out, try to swim to the bank. And don’t jump in after anyone. The last thing we need is to save two people instead of one.” She glanced over at Ford. “Ford, you should take off your glasses.”
“But I need them to see.”
“Well, you’re not going to see anything if they fall off in the river, so unless you have a spare pair, I’d ditch them now.”
He stared at her for two solid beats before tearing off his glasses and diving toward the gear to tuck them into a pocket. His hands trembled as he fidgeted with a buckle, dropping the glasses into the raft before finally managing to find a secure place in his bag.
“Don’t forget to secure that rope so the bags don’t fall out,” Corrie called over to him.
But he couldn’t work fast enough. His hands malfunctioned as if he were a bumbling fool.
“Ford!”
“I’m trying!”
“Ford, grab your paddle! Just get back! Get back!”
Whoosh!
The first crash against the rapids hit with a spray, knocking Ford backward into the raft.
“Are you okay?” she called out to him.
“Yeah.”
He climbed to his perch on the side of the raft and began paddling. Corrie called out commands to the group, though each bump and spin threw them off their rhythm. Under normal circumstances the cool spray would have been refreshing on a sweltering day like today. Under normal circumstances, though, they wouldn’t have been in a boat in the middle of a Mexican jungle with limited supplies and no guide.