“I know you’ve been helping out with your salary from the store,” he continued. “But it’s just not enough.”
Nasir nodded again. “What do you want me to do?”
Baba leaned his head close to his son’s and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. Clearly, he didn’t want Mama to hear what he was about to say. But that would be difficult. Their apartment was too small to keep many secrets — a fact that was made embarrassingly clear to Nasir every few nights when noises from his parents’ room travelled through the walls and into his mortified ears.
“I’ve found a way to make some extra money,” he whispered. “I’m going to need your help and strong arms to do it. It’s going to mean hard work and late hours — you might have to miss some soccer games.”
Nasir watched his father’s eyes moisten with sadness as he spoke. Baba had grown up in Askar, moving to Jerusalem only after his parents arranged his marriage to Mama, who was already an Israeli citizen. Because of the tight border regulations, he’d only been back to visit them a handful of times over the past twenty years. Nasir could only guess how hard it was for him to be away from his family. And it was probably even harder not to have enough money to support them.
Years ago, Baba used to earn a decent living as a tour guide. But ever since the second intifada began, the whole tourism industry had really suffered. Lately he’d only been working sporadically. As the oldest child and only son, Nasir had always known that he would one day be expected to stand beside his father and help support their family. But he never imagined the day would come when he would be asked to take a second job. And especially not while he was only sixteen.
The call to prayer sounded in the distance, bringing a quick end to their conversation. Baba jumped up from the couch and reached for his prayer rug, which had been carefully rolled and placed in the corner of the room. Nasir went to get his, too. The Hadad household was a fairly traditional one. Mama still covered her hair in public and Baba prayed five times every day. He expected his son to pray, too, and Nasir went along with it to please him. Over the years, this had all become a well-established routine.
In almost perfect synchrony they washed their hands, removed their shoes, turned towards Mecca, and rolled out their prayer rugs side by side on the floor. Then they dropped to their knees and brought their foreheads down to meet the matted woollen fibres of their rugs.
But that is where the similarities of their routines ended. As usual, while Baba started praying, Nasir’s mind began to wander. Against all his best efforts, his thoughts crept back to the girl. He wondered if she’d ever noticed him watching her. He wondered what it must be like to have the money to waste on gum and candy every day. He wondered what her name was and what her voice sounded like.
Every time she came up to the counter he opened his mouth to talk to her, but always ended up losing his courage. Maybe he would manage to say something tomorrow — he was almost certain she’d be back.
Turning his head slightly, he snuck a quick peek at his father praying so intently beside him. Their conversation replayed itself again in his mind. He knew his father felt guilty for living in Israel while their relatives languished in a refugee camp. Nasir sometimes wondered whether he should feel guilty, too. But he never did. He was very happy not to be over there. In fact, most of the time he didn’t even want to be over here. He couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life this way. There were places in the world where people didn’t have to struggle so hard to support their families — places in the world where life was easier. Nasir knew this for a fact.
Just then, Baba opened his eyes and saw his son watching him. Nasir quickly turned his eyes back down to his rug and continued on through the motions of his prayer.
Chapter 6
I decided the dark-skinned boy with the big brown eyes had a crush on me.
Although we hadn’t spoken yet, I was almost positive it was true. Every time I went into in his little hole-in-the-wall store, his eyes would follow me up and down the aisles. Even when he was helping another customer, it seemed like he was always watching me. It was pretty shameless — he didn’t even try to hide it. And I could see his hands trembling whenever I came up to the counter.
It made me nervous. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t know what to do, either. It was just so embarrassing.
Sometimes I’d steal a glance or two from underneath the thin veil of my hair while he was busy at the cash register. He had thick dark hair that was almost long enough to brush his shoulders, smooth tanned skin, and a thin white scar cutting across the bottom of his chin.
And of course, those eyes! They were rimmed with lashes so long and dark that he almost looked like he was wearing mascara. Every time I looked at him I felt jealous. Why should a boy have lashes like that? My own blond eyelashes were practically invisible.
At first I only dropped into the store on my way to Ulpan when I needed something like a pack of gum or a roll of Life Savers. Every time I walked in I could feel the intensity of his gaze. Those brown eyes would burn into me until I had no choice but to just get out of there as fast as I could. But I would always find myself coming back for more a few days later. I have to admit, it was flattering. Never in my life had a boy stared at me like that, and I’d begun to like it. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something unusual about him — something different from the guys I went to school with back in Canada. I started finding excuses to go to his store as often as I could. I must have seemed like a crazy girl with an obsessive gum habit, but it was the only thing I could afford to buy on such a regular basis. I wondered what he thought of me and why he looked at me that way. Harrison Finch never once looked at Hailey Wintrop like that, and they’d almost gone all the way!
When I told Marla about it, her reaction surprised me.
“You mean that Arab boy at the local makolet?” she gasped.
“Mako-what?”
“Trust me, you’ve got to forget about him!” she warned, ignoring my question. “Sure he’s cute, but he’s also Muslim! His parents will never let him date you!”
“I never said I wanted to date him!” I replied, suddenly feeling very defensive. “I just think he’s nice looking. And anyway, why not?”
“Why not? Don’t you see?” she asked, shaking her finger at me. “You’re white and Christian. It’s not going to happen!”
Still, I couldn’t get him out of my head. I dreamed about him at night. I got dressed in the mornings totally based on what I thought he’d like. It’s funny, at home just bumping into a guy wouldn’t put me over the edge like this, but I guess when you’re in a foreign country, any male attention is better than nothing. Soon enough, I found myself going into his shop every single day. Between coffee and gum, I was running out of money fast.
I think I was getting a crush on him, too. And I didn’t even know his name!
Chapter 7
By coincidence, my fifteenth birthday fell on the last day of Ulpan.
I don’t know if Dad called and told him or what, but somehow my teacher got wind of it and led the whole class in a shaky chorus of the Hebrew happy birthday song. As you can imagine, it was mortifying. Of course, I turned red as a beet. I always do when people sing “Happy Birthday” to me.
Later that night, Dad took me out for dinner at a local shish kebab place and gave me my present over a plate of shwarma. At first when I opened the box and found a cellphone, I was ecstatic. Pretty awesome birthday present, right? Well, as it turned out, not so much.
“This is for emergency use only, Mack,” Dad explained in his most authoritative parental