Читать книгу Deborah Kerbel's YA Fiction 3-Book Bundle - Deborah Kerbel - Страница 26

It happened on the sixteenth of January — the day we skipped school and Marla thought it would be a kick to go shopping in the Arab souk.

That was the day that changed everything.

“So, are you sure it’s safe to be there on our own?” I asked as we bounced up and down in our seats on the bus to the Old City. Over the past few months the two of us had been all over Jerusalem and I’d long ago given up any qualms about dying a violent death at the hands of a terrorist. But today I just couldn’t get those early words of warning from Dad’s professor friend out of my head.

You’re in the Middle East, now— a long way from North America. There are people and places in this city that can be dangerous for young girls on their own.

But Marla didn’t seem worried at all. “Of course it’s safe,” she assured me. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but Dad was with me.”

“Don’t worry, it’s no big deal as long as we stick together. Trust me, it’ll be fun. We’ll get some good bargains.”

Still, I was nervous. I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that this was a mistake.

We arrived and began making our way through the winding streets of the market. Marla knew exactly what she was looking for.

“Today I want to get a purse, a pair of sandals, and some new earrings,” she declared as we poked around in the stores. “What about you?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just look around.”

As we walked, Marla gave me some tips on how to haggle for the best prices.

“It’s like an art form here, so pay attention. Never look too interested in anything. And never ever ever accept the asking price,” she warned. “The asking price is only for fools and suckers. Counter with half and always be prepared to walk away.”

Wow, she was fierce!

We stopped at several shops while she bargained with the sellers for the best price. I watched over and over again as both sides passed their offers back and forth — like tennis players in a professional match. Each transaction seemed to follow a similar formula — a cycle of haggling (where friendly banter was followed by discussion of price, which was quickly followed by hurt looks and gasps of indignation) repeated several times until a deal was finally reached.

By the time we were preparing to leave the souk an hour later, Marla got everything she wanted. But I still hadn’t found anything to buy.

“So, aren’t you going to get anything?” she asked, looking a little disappointed that I wasn’t keeping up.

I picked up a beaded necklace from a nearby stall, held it up to my neck for a second, then put it back down. It’s not like I didn’t have any money. Actually, since I stopped buying gum every day I’d been able to save a little. I just didn’t know if I was ready to be broke again so soon.

“I don’t know.” I frowned. “Dad’s fiftieth birthday is coming up next week, so maybe something for him. Or maybe a little present for Nasir.”

She smirked at the mention of his name. “What about buying yourself a veil?” she asked. “He’d love it, I’m sure.”

I walked past her, pretending not to hear. As much as I loved Marla, it seemed like the more time I spent with Nasir, the nastier she got. It was so ironic! After all this time I finally had a boyfriend of my own and I had nobody to talk about it with.

Then it dawned on me: an idea so far out, so ridiculously absurd, I knew deep down it had to be true.

Oh my God — she’s jealous!

That had to be it. Just as I was about to call her on it, a man stepped out of a doorway and cleared his throat. He had close-set eyes and a high forehead that made his face appear unusually long. His nose was slightly bulbous and underneath it sat a bushy moustache that was in desperate need of a trim. Although he was smiling, he had a look of emptiness in his eyes that immediately put me on my guard.

“Ahem. Good afternoon, ladies. Are you doing some sightseeing?” he asked in a raspy voice that was thick with accent. “Maybe I can offer you some directions.”

I could tell right away the man’s accent wasn’t the usual Middle Eastern variety — it definitely sounded different. European, maybe?

“No thanks,” Marla replied politely, grabbing my hand. “We’re not sightseeing, we’re here to shop.”

The man stepped forward and spoke again, his smile widening.

“Shopping? For that junk?” he asked, gesturing towards the neighbouring stores. “Perhaps you’d be interested in a real souvenir.” He turned slightly and cocked his thumb towards the small, brightly lit shop behind him. “Why don’t you come take a look? I’ve got all kinds of treasures for sale.”

I didn’t know what to do. This guy looked creepy to me. But obviously Marla didn’t share my concerns. The word “treasure” must have caught her attention.