An Infidel in Paradise (19 page)

“What’s that up ahead?”

“A village,” says Angie. “We won’t go into it, but we’ll stop just above it.”

The path begins to head up more steeply, and we breathe heavily as we climb over ground that is increasingly rutted with rocky outcroppings. I’m watching my feet, trying not to trip, so I don’t notice that Angie has stopped until I bump into her. She points ahead to where dozens of huge creatures loom out of the darkness. Sharp tusks jut out from upturned jaws like spears, and hair bristles out of hunched backs.

“Monsters,” I whisper, my heart thudding.

“Wild boar,” she whispers back.

“They’re going to eat us?”

Angie shakes her head.

“They’re gentle?” I ask, trying to imagine their toothy jaws spreading into friendly smiles.

“No, they might kill us,” she says. “They just won’t eat us.”

I give her an annoyed look, which is lost on her in the darkness.

“They’re territorial,” she whispers. “We need to back up. Slowly.”

I creep backward several feet and trip, crashing to the ground.

“Slowly and
quietly
,” Angie hisses as several of the beasts begin advancing toward us.

Keeping my movements slow so I don’t further antagonize them, I rise and decide to face forward this time – even if it means I can’t keep an eye on the predators.
What are we doing out here, anyway?

We descend a ways, then leave the path to walk across the hillside directly parallel to the herd, but below them.

“We can cut back up when we get beyond them,” Angie says, her voice still barely above a whisper.

We begin climbing uphill again and have to stop talking because it’s much harder going this time. There’s no path, and we’re ascending more steeply. It seems like we climb for close to an hour before we finally hit the path again and, sometime later, the summit.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The foothills of the Himalayas,” says Angie, and I can hear the satisfaction in her voice. “The view is awesome. I wish you could see it in daylight.”

I look down at the clusters of flickering lights. “Are they fires?” I say.

“And lanterns,” she replies. “Sometimes, when my life seems too hard or complicated, I come up here and watch the villagers going back and forth, the little kids walking for miles to fetch a bucket of water and carrying it all the way home, kids our age with stacks
of firewood on their heads that weigh more than they do. It kind of puts things in perspective.”

There’s something in her tone that makes my mouth go dry. “Why are we here, Angie?”

“I’m leaving,” she says quietly, like she doesn’t want to shatter the beauty of the night.

“What do mean, you’re leaving?” I try to keep the note of panic out of my voice.

“They bombed two of our embassies in Africa. We just got the news tonight.”

“What does that have to do with anything? We’re nowhere near Africa.”

“They think Islamabad will be the next target.”

We’re silent for several minutes. I think Angie is giving me time to process, but the truth is, I can’t. I don’t know if I should be feeling sad that they just suffered massive bombings on another continent.
Did people die? How bad was it?
Maybe I should be worried that they think Islamabad is a target. Their embassy is a stone’s throw from my bedroom. It doesn’t take a genius to work out those implications. But all I can think about is that’s she’s leaving. I made the stupid mistake of letting myself care about someone again. After everything I’ve been through, you’d think I’d have figured it out by now. You can’t count on anyone to stick around. All relationships are transient. Only fools let themselves get attached.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and I’m glad it’s too dark to see her clearly because I know she’s crying.

“It’s okay,” I say, even though it isn’t. But it’s not her fault. I sink down to the ground, and when she collapses next to me, I put my arm around her.

“It’s not the end of our friendship,” she sputters through heaving sobs. “If things calm down, they might send us back. We can stay in touch. E-mail and chat online.”

I pat her back and watch the flickering lights in the valley below.

I don’t tell her I’ve given up on long-distance friendships. In fact, after tonight, I may have given up on friendship completely. I don’t want this to be any harder for her than it already is, but I can’t lie to her either. I know her dad didn’t bail on her, but she’s a rotational kid, like me. She’s been through the grief of losing friends, the agony of starting over. Sooner or later, like me, she’s going to realize that relationships always end.

“Nothing lasts forever,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.”

I stop listening as she spends several minutes telling me how often we’ll write, what days we’ll Skype, how we’re going to manage the time difference. Finally, she peters out and looks at me. I haven’t shed a tear. She probably thinks I’m in shock, that I can’t make sense of this abrupt severing of our bond. But it’s the opposite. Deep in my heart, I knew this would happen. It always does, and now that it has, I just want it over quickly. I stand up and start walking.

“Don’t be angry, Emma,” she calls after me. “Please, don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” I call back, but I don’t slow my pace. I hear her footfalls behind me as she runs to catch up.

She makes a few more attempts to get me talking, but I don’t respond. Eventually she gives up, and we walk in silence. Pink streaks of light appear on the horizon as the sun begins to rise. We stay on the path this time and pass near the village, skirting a cluster of simple mud houses. Women are already outside starting the cooking fires. A few pause to watch us pass. Children carrying empty buckets and jerricans join the path and descend with us. The braver ones say
salaam
, and we answer politely.

It must be almost time for school when we get to the crossroads at the edge of both our compounds, and I wonder if anyone has noticed I’m missing. I look at Angie. It’s the first time I see her face clearly since this long night began. Her eyes are puffy and still brimming with tears, while my own are as dry as the landscape that surrounds us.

“I’ll e-mail you,” she says.

I nod because I know she will. I don’t promise to write her back. I want to thank her for being my friend, but the words stick in my throat, too trivial to express what I feel. She steps forward and hugs me, and I hug her back, fiercely, like I can stop this day from snatching her away. Yet in the end, I pull away first, turn without another word, and run all the way home.

T
he school is like a refugee camp after a cataclysmic event. Those of us left search for the faces of friends in every cluster of students. More than half the school population, including teachers, is gone. The superintendent is the rare exception, and he waits in the parking lot, greeting kids as they arrive, trying to fool us into thinking it’s business as usual.

I’ve lost the person I least wanted to lose, and I’m grateful to Angie for letting me make that discovery in private. There are many kids in tears as they get the news on arrival. I wonder about Jazzy and look for her when I walk into the upper-school quad.

“What are
you
doing here?”

I’m startled out of my personal misery by an unfriendly voice.

Aisha is standing with her princessy friends, eyeing me like I’m a lower life-form. Of course, all of
them
are present and accounted for.

“Shouldn’t you be on a plane by now?” asks Aisha,
walking forward to confront me.

I hate her with a white-hot fury, and I relish the reprieve from sadness as I round on her, fists balled at my sides.

“I refused to leave, Aisha,” I sneer. “I just knew you’d be devastated without me.”

“Believe me, darling, I would have managed somehow.”

“Maybe,” I say as if I’m giving it some thought. “But your boyfriend wouldn’t.”

For a minute, I think she’s going to slap me, and I wish she would because I’d be more than ready to hit her back. In the same instant, we both notice Mustapha striding across the courtyard toward us. Aisha takes a step back and turns to him, her face wreathed in a smile.

“Mustapha, look who hasn’t been deported yet,” she says in a cheery voice, like we’ve just been exchanging fashion tips.

“Aisha,” says Mustapha, smiling indulgently. “No one was deported. They were evacuated.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she exclaims and turns her cold eyes back to me. “They left when they realized they weren’t wanted. So, where’s your little friend? Angie, wasn’t it?”

I don’t know if it’s hearing her name spoken aloud by this hateful girl or the overwhelming realization that Angie really is gone and that this girl and her friends are whom I’m left with, but I have to get away. Fast.

I do my best not to run as I rush to the nearest girls’ washroom. I’m relieved to find it empty and go into a stall and lock the door. Leaning my head on it, I take deep gulping breaths, fighting the nausea that competes with tears busting to get out. The outside door opens.
Damn
.

“Emma, are you in there?”

Mustapha?

“Emma, come out. I want to see you.”

This is a girls’ bathroom. He can’t come in here.

I jump as he raps on the stall door.

“Just come out so I can see you’re okay. Then if you want me to leave, I will.” His voice is soft and cajoling.
Is there a female on the planet who could resist that voice?

I come out.

He gives me a searching look, and I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel the hot wetness on my cheeks. He steps forward and pulls me into his arms, and it’s exactly where I want to be. I rest my face on his chest and wrap my own arms around him. It’s comforting and safe, and then it changes. I don’t know how it changes, though I know enough about biology that I could probably work it out, but suddenly we’re kissing. Not sweet, friendly kisses either. His tongue is in my mouth and mine is in his, and it’s like we’re trying to devour each other. It’s
so hot
. And for once, I’m not talking about the weather.

He pulls away first, but he holds my head in his hands and looks deeply into my eyes. I can just feel that this is
the moment where he’ll declare his undying love, and I’m ready to do the same.

“I can’t do this,” he murmurs.

That wasn’t quite the declaration I was expecting. But before I have time to respond, we’re kissing again. I’m a little confused now, but it’s no less passionate. The bell goes for first class, and with a groan he pulls away again, giving me such an intensely longing look that my entire body trembles. I’m pretty sure there are birds singing just for us and a crescendo of music in the background.

“Emma.”

“Yes,” I say, and I’m not sure what I’m saying yes to, but at this moment, I can’t think of anything I would deny this beautiful boy.

“This can never happen again,” he says, and giving me a last longing look, he turns and walks out.

I slump to the ground, and it goes through my mind that I’m sitting on the floor of a public bathroom, which is totally gross, but I can’t get up. My heart gradually slows to something approaching normal, but my mind is racing, replaying the last few moments. The heat that suffused my body at Mustapha’s touch has left me quivering, but I force myself to my feet, using the stall door for support. I take a long shaky breath and avoid the mirrors as I walk out. I think one look at my puffy, tear-stained face would finish me.

The classrooms are completely empty when I arrive in the upper-school courtyard. I imagine there’s a reasonable explanation, but I allow myself a few minutes
to fantasize that everyone, particularly Mustapha and the ice princess, has been abducted by aliens and are right at this minute undergoing invasive medical procedures that will leave them emotionally scarred for life. But unfortunately, I remember that my siblings and the few people I do like would also have been abducted, which is a total buzz kill.

When I walk into the middle-school quad and find those classrooms also empty, I figure there must be an assembly. I could go along to the theater. Or not.