My trip to Puerto Vallarta Part 1 and 2

CHAPTER 1 — WELCOME TO PARADISE
Aeromexico flight 487 landed at the Puerto Vallarta International Airport at 2:35 PM. Eighteen minutes later than scheduled, but Leonardo Ortega Mendoza didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that he was there: alone, free, with a whole week ahead and the acceptance letter from UNAM still shining in his retina like a golden seal. Systems Engineering. Pride swelled his chest as he retrieved his backpack from the overhead compartment.

It was hot. A humid, sticky heat, completely different from the dry coolness of Mexico City. As he stepped off the plane, the blast of air ruffled his black bangs and made him squint. At eighteen years old, having just turned, Leonardo had just made the first truly adult decision of his life: to celebrate alone, without asking permission, without giving explanations.

His parents believed he was at a college prep camp in Querétaro. A simple lie, well rehearsed. They knew nothing about that week in Vallarta. And even less about the other thing. What Leonardo had been swallowing in silence for years at every family dinner, at every Sunday mass, at every "when are you going to introduce a girlfriend, son". That was a problem for another day.

Right now his only problem was the suitcase that wasn't appearing on the conveyor belt.

It took another twenty minutes to come out. He picked it up with a snort and headed to the taxi line. Puerto Vallarta smelled of salt, fried fish, and sunscreen. As the taxi took him along the coastal road, Leonardo pressed his nose against the window like a child. The sea was a blue and green tongue licking the golden sand, and for a moment his head filled with images: himself on the beach, a beer in hand, maybe meeting someone... someone he wouldn't have to pretend with. Someone who wouldn't ask him about girlfriends.

"Which hotel are we going to, kid?" asked the taxi driver, a dark-skinned man with a gray mustache.

Leonardo gave him the address he had noted on his cell phone: Hotel Brisas del Pacífico, Flamingos Street 142, North Hotel Zone.

The taxi driver frowned.

"Are you sure? That area isn't a hotel zone."

"It's the one I booked."

The man shrugged and kept driving.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of a three-story abandoned building. The windows were broken, the facade peeling, and a dirty mattress lay thrown in the entrance next to a rusty Coca-Cola cooler. A mangy dog looked at Leonardo from the shadow and lay back down.

"Here it is," said the taxi driver, not bothering to hide a smile.

"This can't be."

But it was. The address matched. Leonardo frantically searched for the reservation in his email, in the booking app, in his bank history. The money had left his account: 4,800 pesos. The confirmation email had fake logos, spelling errors, and a phone number that rang to a full mailbox when dialed.

Sc...