The Dig (3 page)

―Wow.‖

But ―wow‖ doesn‘t cut it. The massive beige block is the most daunting thing I‘ve ever seen. I want to run down the hill and explore every inch, but I also want to stand here and keep taking it in because, from afar, it‘s astounding. It‘s the definition of ancient.

―One thousand BC,‖ Uncle Alex says softly. ―The oldest Hellenic temple ever discovered.

Until now, everyone thought Greek temples were built no earlier than the sixth century. It upsets the entire historical record.‖ He looks like he might cry, and I don‘t blame him. My eyes are welling up too. Suddenly, I have to get closer right
now
. Only I forgot the worst thing about adults.

It‘s like they have a sixth sense and can tell exactly when you desperately want to do something—and then they have to block you from doing it by giving you a lecture. Here we go.

―Number one: No iPhone.‖

―No iPhone.‖

Uncle Alex has a thing against iPhones. He‘s convinced that I photograph every single precious artifact I cross paths with and that I use a flash and that the flash destroys the integrity of their findings. So two years ago, he initiated a strict policy: No smart phones on site.

―Number two: ‗No entry‘ means no entry. You obey all red tape.

Understood?‖

―As always.‖

―Good. Number three: Take your time hiking down. The sand is very malleable and I don‘t want you falling and spraining an ankle.‖

―Uncle Alex, I‘m fine.‖

―And be sure to drink the water in your pack. I don‘t want you getting dehydrated.‖

―I don‘t have water in my pack.‖

He smirks. I unzip my backpack to find two bottles of water, granola bars and single-serving packs of almonds and macadamia nuts.

I groan. ―I‘m seventeen years old, Uncle Alex. I love Aunt Sophia but sometimes she treats me like a baby.‖

He unzips his own backpack, revealing a similar bounty of snacks, ―Me too, kiddo. Now then, off you go.‖

I‘m not a hugger, but I throw my arms around him. ―Thank you, Uncle Alex.‖

―Have fun,‖ he tells me.

I set off at a quick pace. Nobody can see me so I let myself smile broadly. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And though I would never admit it, I‘m grateful for my aunt‘s snack attack. I‘m also grateful that Alex and Sophia are the kind of guardians who look the other way.

They know me. They know I have my iPhone. In fact, it was bulging out of my pocket as I stood there promising I didn‘t have it. They also know that I never saw a piece of red tape I didn‘t want to cross. But they trust me. They know that—

―Whoa!‖

I slip and land flat on my back. The sandbank was steeper than I realized. I lie there a minute and stare at the jarringly blue sky. I can‘t help but grin. Greece is growing on me, with its tricky terrain, its startling color scheme and up there, way to the left, a mountain that looks like something out of one of those mythology cartoon books you get when you‘re a little kid. I can understand how the ancient people were where I am now, flat on their backs, studying the sharp lines of the rock, the impossibly opaque clouds, and believing that gods were up there, ethereal yet tangible all at once.―Greece,‖ I say, even though no one is around to hear me. ―I love you.‖

―I love you too.‖

I hear him before I see him. His voice is husky and close. I bolt upright and scan the area but there‘s no one around. Then a few palm fronds swish forward, confirming that I‘m not alone.

I brush my hair out of my eyes, looking for him. Any second now, he will appear.

Whoever he is.

Darren has shaggy brown hair and an unruly beard that makes him look older than the Columbia junior archeology major he is. Pulling me up from the sand, he grins and tells me that my aunt sent him to help me with the excavation.

―I don‘t need anyone‘s help,‖ I tell him, brushing myself off.

―Just because you‘re related to the two greatest working archeologists in the world doesn‘t make you Lara Croft.‖

―I know my way around a dig site,‖ I retort. ―I‘ve spent the past six summers doing this.

I‘ve got more experience than you do.‖ He stops and eyes me. ―You know, you‘re kinda cute when you get defensive.‖

―I‘m not being defensive,‖ I hiss, though I can feel the color rush to my cheeks.

―There you go again,‖ he says and winks at me.

I hate Columbia Darren. And not in the way girls hate boys because they like them. When he first said the ―L‖ word, it seemed like one of those magic moments. What a story to tell CeeCee: I have a boyfriend! He‘s older! The first words he ever said to me were ―I love you!‖ But everything he‘s said since then has been semi-obnoxious. I will never fall in love. At least not this summer, anyway.

I rush off toward the excavation site with Darren following close behind me. I walk as fast as possible without actually breaking into a run.

―Hey!‖ he calls out after me. ―Your aunt said you have water.‖

―I do,‖ I reply without turning around.

―Well I‘m really thirsty.‖

With a big, annoyed sigh, I reach into my backpack. One of the waters is dented from the fall. Perfect. He takes off his stupid hat, which looks like it came from a gift shop at the American Museum of Natural History, and dumps the bottle over his head. I guess I‘m supposed to swoon or something.

―Are you all right?‖ he asks.

―I‘m just hungry. And a little dehydrated.‖ Sheepishly, he offers me the mostly empty bottle. Here we are, standing at the foot of the temple. We are the only two people in this section.

Isn‘t this what romance is all about? If CeeCee were in my shoes right now, she would be enthralled with him, take all his little jabs as playful attempts at flirting.

―So what else are you into…besides this?‖ he asks.

―Besides archeology?‖

There‘s a nervous sincerity in his eyes that wins me over for a second.

Throw him a bone, I tell myself. Be normal.

―Well, I‘m obsessed with
Sex and the City
.‖ It‘s a lie. But CeeCee is obsessed, so I can hold my own in a conversation about it.

―You
are
?‖

I shrug. The heat is getting to me. I want to go into the temple. I feel dizzy and exhausted.

Why is it so hard to talk to boys? I mean, it‘s hard to talk to girls too, which is probably why I don‘t exactly have a long list of close friends. But it just seems like kids are so quick to put you in a little box. Then again, I‘m not being myself either. I want to run. Aristotle would be easier to talk to than Columbia Darren.

―Why are you so surprised?‖ I ask.

He shrugs and slips on his sunglasses. I can‘t see his eyes anymore. ―You just seemed different, I guess. Whatever. You wanna go in?‖ I let him lead the way into the temple, even though I should be leading because I‘ve studied the map.

Boys ruin everything. Here I am, in the coolest place I‘ve ever been—

marveling at the awesomely high ceilings of the grand entrance and on my way to help uncover ancient inscriptions on these giant fragile walls—

feeling overwhelmed by the sheer scope of it all, and yet I‘m in a funk and I have no one to blame but myself.

Why did I tell Darren that I love a show I don‘t love? Why can‘t I just be myself with boys?

I could have told him that I subscribe to
Nature
magazine, that I‘m obsessed with the Mayans. I could have been myself. I don‘t know who‘s worse, me or him.

―You want to check out that alcove where the pros are going to be scraping later?‖

―Sure,‖ I say. ―But I‘ve just got to scram for a second.‖ He laughs. Everyone knows what it means when you say you have to scram. ―Scram‖ is code for pee. ―I can wait,‖ he says. ―I don‘t want you to get lost trying to catch up to me. This place is like a maze.‖

―That‘s okay. I‘m good at mazes.‖

―Are you sure? There‘s no rush.‖

―Seriously, go on ahead. I‘ll find you.‖ He starts crossing the cavernous marble room at a rapid pace and I wonder if something is wrong with me. Why did I just lie to him about having to go to the bathroom so that he would leave me alone? If I were a normal girl, I would call out after him and run into his arms. Instead I just watch him go. CeeCee says that I make boys insecure, that I put myself on a pedestal where nobody can reach me. Then again, do I
want
smug, shaggy-haired Darren to reach me? Doesn‘t matter. He‘s gone. I head toward a stone entryway cordoned off by red tape.

Crossing the ancient space, I feel tiny and small. But I also feel excited.

I strap a headlight around my head. I‘m about to crawl on all fours through a small, unexplored tunnel, breaking all the rules of the site. Wow, the lengths I‘ll go to in order to avoid intimacy.

I‘ve been crawling for ten minutes when the bulb in my headlight pops.

Suddenly I‘m alone in the dark. ―Darren?‖ I call out. ―Darren?!‖ No answer. Wherever Darren is in the temple, he‘s nowhere near me.

The only company I have is a huge and terrifying darkness. And with no space to turn around and head back to the great room, I have no choice but to go forward, blind, alone, like some kind of an animal, minus the self-preservation instincts that would have stopped me from being here in the first place.

I swallow. I murmur: ―Help.‖

Calm down. You‘ve been training your whole life for a moment like this, I tell myself. I mean, sure, I‘m on all fours in a dark labyrinth with more twists and turns than my frizzy hair on a hot summer day. But this maze is no different from the mazes on restaurant placemats that I tried to master with crayons when I was a kid. A lot of kids just started with the crayon pressed to the paper before they‘d studied the map. But I wasn‘t like that. I would analyze the map to the best of my ability. I would use my finger to trace out one path, and then, finding that it led to a dead end, I would start again.

I close my eyes. Pretend you‘re a crayon. Be still. I take a deep breath.

But my nostrils clog with dust and I cough. An echo! Yes! There is definitely an open space nearby. I just have to keep making noise and follow my sense of sound. Must. Make. Noise. But what does one talk to oneself about in a dark tunnel? Well, this one decides to sing.

Off-key. And loud.

I don‘t even really like Rihanna‘s ―Umbrella,‖ but CeeCee has this nervous habit of chanting those infectious (in the bad way, like they
infect
you) lyrics whenever she‘s about to see a guy she likes or take an English test. Singing a pop song makes me feel like nothing has changed, like I‘m back in the dorm begging CeeCee to stop singing or to sing a different song, like I can survive anything. I sense a shift in light and I pause. I take another deep breath and belt out the next lyrics.

Yes! The warbled lyrics are bouncing back at me. I reach forward and feel for the wall and there it is, to the right, the opening. I crawl through it in a rush of relief, shuffling toward freedom, my white cotton pants catching on every tiny pebble in my way. I am alive. I will live.

When I emerge from the narrow tunnel, I find myself standing in a large empty room with ceilings at least twenty feet high. If there‘s one thing I‘ve learned from going on digs and constantly breaking the rules, it‘s that you can always tell when you‘re the first person on site.

When people come in, they move the air around; they leave footprints and floodlights. Not here.

Nobody has been in this room yet.

Wondering what used to go on in this room, I run my hands along the walls. It is usually the first thing I do in any new place. The clues are often hidden beneath layers of dust. Sometimes there are drawings or epithets or carvings. Sometimes my finger dips into a groove and then I start dusting and eventually break through the cakey buildup to uncover a drawer. And sometimes, when pried open, the drawer turns out to be a casket with a sarcophagus inside. I always cry a little when we find tombs.

Once, Uncle Alex found a tiny slingshot-type toy and placed it in my gloved hands. ―This belonged to the little boy in here,‖ he said.

But after twenty minutes of rubbing the wall surrounding the tunnel, I have found nothing, which is puzzling.
Something
had to have happened in this room. Nobody builds a temple and includes a giant room for nothing, do they? The guidance counselors at Greeley say that every single one of us is special, even if we haven‘t figured out why yet. Most kids roll their eyes at this statement, and I‘ve never told anyone that hearing this always makes me feel good. I like the idea that there is neither a useless nor a dull room, and I sit down to give the room a chance to show itself, the way the counselors do with kids.

And…there it is. The room
is
special. The wall directly across from the tunnel entrance does not reach all the way up to the crusty ceiling. It stops about a foot short. There must be another, hidden room behind it.

I hunt around for an entrance, but it quickly becomes clear that the only way to access the hidden room is to get over the wall. I have some rope in my backpack, but without anything to attach it to, it won‘t do me any good. I‘m going to have climb up this twenty-foot wall without ropes, or hooks or anything.

I step forward, exhaling deeply. This isn‘t like the fake mountain climbing I do in gym class where I‘m tied to a rope and, if anything goes wrong, I fall onto a vinyl-encased mattress.

This is the real deal, and my backpack full of granola bars and water bottles won‘t do much to cushion a fall.Scanning for a good handhold among the craggy rock, I hook my boot into the wall and start the ascent. For a moment it seems as if it‘s going to be easy. Climbing this wall is not at all like climbing a wall in the gymnasium at school. I don‘t hear the cool girls gossiping at the nearby volleyball net and I don‘t flinch thinking that I‘m about to get walloped on the head by a boy‘s basketball. There are no teachers and no kids and no humans here to see me scaling it. But then, when I‘m almost to the top, the wall abruptly smooths out and I can‘t find another handhold.

I‘m trapped.

I run my free hand along the face of the rock in desperation. It‘s dark and I have to rely on touch to find where to grip. My left leg starts to shake, so I rotate my foot to flatten my hips and distribute more of my weight to my right leg. Even so, how long can I stay up here?