Читать книгу Deborah Kerbel's YA Fiction 3-Book Bundle - Deborah Kerbel - Страница 21

“You’re going where?” Marla practically screamed over the phone. “With who?”

“Shhhh … keep your voice down,” I pleaded. She was so loud I was worried that Dad might hear her through the walls. “I’m meeting Nasir at Emek Refaim,” I whispered, hoping she would get the hint and follow suit. “I told Einstein that I was going to your house. I need you to cover for me in case he calls.”

“But I thought he didn’t let you out at night,” she said, sounding suspicious. “Isn’t seven o’clock your curfew?”

“Yeah, normally it is, but I whined and complained that I haven’t seen you in three weeks. I think he felt badly, because he gave in pretty quickly.”

“I don’t know — I don’t like this at all,” she clucked in my ear.

“Thanks for your concern, Marla, but I already have one overprotective parent. I don’t need another.”

“Fine, but you and Nasir are both going to get hurt,” she warned. “You do realize that this can only end badly, right?”

I couldn’t believe she was giving me such a hard time about one lousy favour.

“Fine, whatever,” I snapped. “But will you cover for me?”

There was an unnaturally long sigh on the other end of the phone, followed by a pause, and then finally a small, reluctant “Okay.”

“Thanks Mar! I owe you!” I chirped, hanging up the phone and running to get dressed. I had no idea if this qualified as an actual date or not, but I wanted to look amazing anyway, just in case Nasir had any doubts about how much he liked me. Digging through my closet and dresser, I scrambled to find something that he hadn’t already seen me wear. But, considering how often I’d been in his store over the past three months, that was next to impossible. So in the end, I finally settled on my favourite blue T-shirt — the one I was wearing that day he touched my face.

I was hoping it would be lucky for me again tonight.

“Bye, Dad!” I called out over my shoulder as I ran out the door.

“Goodbye, Mack,” he replied, his voice following me down the hallway. “Be back by ten! No later!”

Nasir was waiting for me on the curb in front of Aroma, just like he said he would be. It was so bizarre to see him out in the real world that it took me a couple of seconds to recognize him. I could tell he had made an extra effort to look nice. He had on a fresh shirt and he smelled faintly of cologne — which made his usual scent of laundry and toothpaste even better.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I squeaked, so nervous I sounded just like a munchkin from The Wizard of Oz. “What a beautiful night,” I added, clearing my throat and hoping he’d never seen that movie before.

If he had, he didn’t mention anything. He just smiled awkwardly and started walking. We walked up and down the street for what seemed like miles. It was so nice to be out at night. The air was fresh, the heat of the day was gone, and the neighbourhood seemed to come alive after dark. The shops and patios were open, the sidewalks were crowded, and the cafés were jam-packed with people.

We talked the entire time. Now that we were away from the store, Nasir seemed like a different person — more confident and definitely more relaxed. He told me that he was sixteen, he lived with his parents and three sisters, and he went to a mostly Arab high school in East Jerusalem. He told me how passionate he was about soccer and how he’d once considered playing professionally. And he told me how never in his dreams did he ever imagine meeting a girl from as far away and exotic a place as Canada.

There was that word, exotic, again. I lapped it up like soft ice cream on a hot day.

“So, you’ve lived in Israel all your life?” I asked, eager for more information.

“Yes … I was born here in Jerusalem.”

“And how long have you been working at that little store?”

“Oh … um, on and off for a while,” he replied vaguely. “In between school and soccer — you know, just to make some extra money.”

Something in his voice gave me the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t ask anymore. Maybe I’d made him uncomfortable by asking about his job. Maybe his family was poor and he was embarrassed at having to work for extra money.

Worried that I’d overstepped my bounds on our very first date, I started talking about myself. I told him all about Canada: how cold the winters are, how you can drive for days without reaching a border, how there’s a whole season dedicated to maple syrup, how we have bears and moose and beavers and evergreen forests that go on forever and hundreds upon hundreds of freshwater lakes.

I told him about my high school and my old friends and how they used to call me Snow White. I told him about my old house and the neighbourhood where I grew up. I told him about Dad and how goofy he could be and how he’s a visiting professor here at Hebrew U. I basically gave him every detail of my life. I was flattered that he was so interested. Every time I stopped talking he’d ask me something else. I definitely never met any other boy like him before. He seemed so genuinely into me and everything I had to say.

“How does your family like it in Israel? What was your house like in Canada? Did you know Avril Lavigne? Did you have your own car there? Do you want to be a professor, too?”

Eager to please, I didn’t hold any detail back. I even told him about Mom, which surprised me, since I normally did anything to avoid mentioning her. But opening up to Marla must have really helped. And Nasir was so easy to talk to, it kind of just came out.

By the time I’d finished telling him everything he wanted to know, it was nine-thirty. Our night was coming to an end and there was still one little thing I was itching to find out.

“So, Nasir, let me ask you something now.” God, I loved hearing myself say his name!

“Sure — anything.”

I twirled a thin strand of hair around my finger and chose my words carefully.

“Um, well, why are you so scared to talk to me when you’re at work?”

He shrugged. “You know, the Arab community is pretty close. Somebody might tell my family if they saw us together.”

“And would that be really terrible?” I asked, although after Marla’s reaction I was almost sure I knew what his answer would be.

He confirmed it with a sombre nod.

“They would never approve. I’m expected to marry a Muslim girl.”

“Marry?” I giggled, trying to lighten up the conversation. “Who said anything about getting married? I’m only fifteen, you know!”

“Trust me, they wouldn’t care how old you are,” he replied, tossing his brown hair lightly from side to side. “Dating isn’t allowed, either … until you’re engaged, that is.”

“Oh …”

“And neither is kissing,” he added.

“It’s not?” I whispered, feeling my poor heart sink into my shoes. I wanted to kiss him so badly my lips were burning.

“No, it’s not.”

I was about to ask him how anybody would ever know when he suddenly stopped walking and reached for my hands. I prayed he wouldn’t notice my ugly fingernails. Note to self: stop biting them!

“But thankfully, I don’t believe in any of that stuff,” he said, pulling me gently towards him. Before I knew it, his mouth was touching mine. His lips were so soft — I could taste the faintest bit of toothpaste on them, but it was nice. I think he was nervous, ’cause I could feel his hands trembling in mine. And me? My head was spinning, my knees felt weak, and my heart felt like it was going to pound itself right out of my chest. Could he feel that, too? I think if he hadn’t been holding my hands I might have fallen over. I knew what we were doing was forbidden and yet that was, strangely enough, a good thing. Like the most dangerous thing I’d allowed myself to do in a long time.

When we finally came up for air, I looked into his deep brown eyes and felt myself disappearing inside them.

Just like the desert.