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“See, these lines tell me that you two have very strong feelings for each other. Ah, I remember what it was like to be a teen and be in love.”

I swallow the urge to correct him and tell him we are most definitely not in love.

Lukmi peers at the cup again. “But this line says your relationship is very new.”

My heart thumps wildly, my stomach twisting and turning like a wet shirt being wrung dry. I can’t believe our lie is being called out by a freaking latte-art reading.

“Probably because they’ve been dating long-distance and have only just started seeing each other in person,” Kiki pipes up.

I shoot her a grateful look.

“Oh yeah, that’ll explain it,” he says. “This shows mutual respect, a deepening friendship, and…oooh.” He grins straight into the camera. “A strong physical attraction.”

Everyone whistles and hoots. George turns lipstick red. I’m pretty sure my whole face is on fire. Because, goddammit, despite the fact that I don’t believe in any of this woo-woo BS, there is definitely a “strong physical attraction” on my part. And I feel very, very exposed.

Lukmi laughs at our obvious embarrassment and says, “I’m just messing with you. Come on, latte-art class is done. Let’s have some breakfast, ya?”

He leads us to a table where we’re served more cups of coffee as well as nasi bakar—fragrant rice stuffed with roast pork and wrapped in banana leaves before being grilled. The nasi bakar is topped with sambal matah, which is Balinese chili made of shallots, lemongrass, and chilies, chopped and soaked in coconut oil. The grilled rice is delicious, but the sambal matah is to die for. When I run out of nasi bakar, I end up eating the sambal matah with a spoon.

“You might want to be careful with that,” George says.

“I know I’m half bule, but I can handle spice.”

“I know, but remember last night’s conversation with my cousins?”

For a second, I stare at him uncomprehendingly. Then I recallhis cousins asking me if I’ve been poisoned yet. “Ah,” I say with a nod. “Gotcha.”

“Here, you should probably take a charcoal pill, just to be safe.” He hands me a tube of activated charcoal pills called Norit.

“Thanks.” I wonder if he brought this tube of charcoal pills just for me. The thought is a surprisingly nice one and I find myself smiling at George as we walk out of the café and into the Alphard.

“Next up on the itinerary: white water rafting at the Ayung River!” Eleanor crows. “I can’t wait. Have you ever gone rafting before, sis-in-law? I’ve been twice, and both times weresofun. Don’t worry, I’ll help you if you don’t know how to do it.”

George gives me a look, then leans over and mutters, “Shouldn’t have given her any coffee.”

I bite back my grin. It’s impossible not to love George’s bouncy little sister. “Actually, yeah, I’ve been once, in LA. But we went at the wrong time—there had been a drought, so the water level was really low and there was no current. In fact, we ended up having to paddle downriver because the wind kept blowing us upriver.”

Kiki laughs. “Okay, that is definitely not going to be an issue at Ayung.”

She’s right. When we get to the rafting place and I see the river in person, I’m filled with uncertainty. It looks…really fucking fast. I look back at everyone else and notice with some relief that Rina is also looking uncertain. She’s saying something to the cameraman, who’s also looking worried.

“…gear get wet,” he’s saying.

Ah, of course. It makes sense that he’d be worried about his camera getting drenched.

“No worries,” the rafting shop owner calls out. “Leave your gear here. We’ve got just the thing for the occasion.” He comes around from behind the counter carrying a large box.

A camera drone. Great. Just what I need—a high-def cam to catch every single terrified expression on my face.

The problem with white water rafting is that it seems a lot more fun than it actually is. Like, I’d see photos and videos of my friends on social media rafting down the Ayung River, accompanied by dramatic splashes of water, and I’d think, Huh, that looks like fun. And then I’d remember that I did it once or twice before, when I was about Eleanor’s age, and I’d remember the adrenaline rush and how it had indeed been fun.

But what I completely failed to remember is also the un-fun parts—how crazy wet it is, and how the water often splashes right into your face and up your nose and blinds you, and also how terrifying the whole thing can be. Of course, with the camera drone flying over us, I have to make my best efforts to appear to be having fun. I can just hear Eighth Aunt and Papa discussing how the family company shares plummeted after a video of me shrieking in terror down the Ayung River went viral.

Our guide, Sita, is in her mid-twenties. Her muscled arms are covered with intricate traditional Balinese tattoos and she speaks with the authority that comes with the knowledge thatshe’s the best person for the job. After giving us a short lecture on safety regulations—keep our life jackets and helmets on at all times, don’t freaking stand up and so on and so forth—she helps us into the raft.

Here’s the other thing I’ve forgotten about white water rafting: It’s really hard keeping your balance on the rubber raft. It wobbles from side to side and every move you make on it makes this horribly loud, screeching rubber sound. I have never felt as large and lumbering as I do on a raft. Of course, Eleanor, trained by years of gymnastics, practically cartwheels into the raft, stepping lightly and easily and taking her seat in the middle. Kiki struts in as though she were walking the runway, followed by Sharlot, who for the record is looking as uncertain as I feel. Sharlot navigates her way onto the raft with far less grace than the other two, which makes me feel a bit better. Thank god we’re both equally clumsy and uncoordinated. Without thinking, I hold out my hand to her. She takes it, and then the next second, the raft wobbles and she crashes into my arms. I smell her shampoo first, the scent of it filling my senses, and the next moment my mind reminds me that I’m holding a very attractive girl in my arms. Well, this is awkward. Somehow, my hands are around her waist. As soon as I realize this, I whip them away and help her up before sitting down on the side of the raft. Neither of us can look at each other, though I am painfully aware of the way that Eleanor and Kiki are leering at us.

Rina and the camera guy get on as well; he’s got a smaller camera that’s been wrapped up in a waterproof bag, because of course. With everyone on board, we’re off.