Freefall (11 page)

“Shira?” I manage to say, my voice sounding like a chord played on the wrong frets. “I haven't seen her since she got back.”

“On the phone,” he says, which we both know means that she'll be talking for at least another half hour. “Have a seat.”

Where? Panic. On the chair that's covered with clothes? On the floor? On his—
ohmigod
—bed?

Sensing my hesitation, he looks around, notices the mess, and I think he almost blushes as he whips his bedspread up over the wet towel and other stuff , shoving it all aside to make room for me on the clean white sheet tucked around the corner of his mattress.

I sit so far on the edge that I almost slip off. I stub my foot on the butt of his rifle, which is only half under his bed, and just catch my balance before making a total idiot of myself.

“Listen,” he says. “I think I've perfected the picking on this song.” He glances up at me with his soft hazel eyes, and I try to meet his look without wavering and not showing how I've totally lost control on the inside, where pulses beat, blood rushes chaotically, and my emotions have declared a state of anarchy.

He folds up his legs to make room. I scuttle back a bit, trying to get comfortable while keeping enough space between us. I can't stop looking everywhere. The book he's reading lies on the floor spine up. Twisting my head, I can just read the title,
On the Road
, and there's a picture of a guy leaning on a wall and smoking a cigarette. Another guitar in the corner is missing three strings. Crumpled pieces of paper litter the floor around the wastepaper basket. I want to take it all in. This is Noah, I think. The smell in his room is of worn clothes, oil rags for his gun, shoe polish, and shampoo.

Get a grip, I try telling myself.

“Do you know it?” he asks.

“Know what?” What did I miss? Has he asked me a question?

“The song. ‘April Comes She Will.'” He starts to play, singing softly, his eyebrows reaching upward as his voice stretches to meet the high notes.

But April is already gone, I think. And so has March. And it's already June, and this is the first time we've been alone again since you kissed me. Have you forgotten? Does it mean the same thing to you that it means to me?

His fingers move deftly along the neck of the guitar, a team of acrobats leaping from one position to the next. And just like the spectators at the circus, I gape in rapt suspense, my heart soaring and lunging with each move.

“Well?” He glances up at me, almost as if expecting my approval.

“Well what?”

“Did you like it?” He laughs. “You're daydreaming.”

The blood rushes to my face. “Music does that to me sometimes,” I say, feeling oh so adolescent.

He chuckles softly. “Me too.” Stretching his legs, he accidentally brushes my thigh, moves his foot aside without saying a word, looks at me as if he's forgotten the words to the verse he's been singing, and returns to the chorus.

I get up and move to his window. Shira will be off the phone any moment and will start yammering away at me about the Statue of Liberty, Staten Island, and all of Victoria's secrets. My thoughts are running so quickly that I don't realize the music has stopped until I feel his presence so close to me, my skin tingles.

“New moon,” he says.

“Where?” A big lemon tree in his yard obstructs my view.

Placing his hands on my shoulders, he tilts me sideways. “Up there.”

I look upward. He bends forward and rests the very tip of his chin on the crown on my head. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I say, though my eyes are closed.

“You're trembling.”

“Chilled,” I answer.

I hope he'll slide his arms around me and pull me tightly against him. But instead he takes a step back. I turn, the moon forgotten. He hands me one of his sweatshirts.

Slipping it over my head, I am suddenly engulfed in Noah. His smell. The maroon red of his sweatshirt reaches down to just above my knees. The sleeves swallow my hands. My hair is trapped within the collar but for a few unruly frizzes that break free.

“It's you,” he says.

I move to catch a glimpse of me in the mirror, but it's the reflection in Noah's eyes that holds me, making me feel like Miss Universe. The paratrooper's emblem is emblazoned across my chest, and though my feet are still grounded on the floor, inside I am soaring.

“We never got a chance to talk about …” He pauses as if to gather his thoughts. But I am in a hurry to hear. Shira will burst in any moment. His mother will call him. He'll have to rush out and return to the army.

“What?” I almost shout, the suspense too pressing to restrain.

“Boot camp?”

“Oh right,” I say, trying to recall, but my mind is focused on the kiss and doesn't he want to talk about that.

Before I can answer Shira barges in, throwing the cordless phone on the bed. “We need another line!” she hollers. “Call waiting, call waiting, call waiting, every two seconds. How's a person supposed to have a normal conversation when you're around?”

Noah looks at her and blinks. “Who called?”

“Who called? Who didn't call? Lital called three times. Donna called twice. And when Ella called, I told her to take a number and that you'll get back to her whenever.”

Somewhere between when Shira started hollering and now, Noah has retreated to his spot on the bed. His head bends forward over his guitar so that just the spiky buzz of his hair is visible and tiny specks of red on the tips of his ears.

“Come on, Aggie. Let's go. I just got off the phone with Ron. They're going to meet us downtown.”

She drags me out of the room as the phone starts ringing.

“What are you wearing?” she says, tugging at the sleeve of Noah's sweatshirt. “Tell me you aren't going out in public in that thing!”

I look back, wanting to see Noah's face when he answers Lital's, or Donna's, or Ella's call. The phone keeps ringing, but he doesn't pick it up, doesn't toss it aside, just goes back to his guitar as if he doesn't even hear it.

I grab the door jamb as Shira tugs me again. “Bye, Noah,” I say.

He looks up. His lips part as if I've just said something to amuse him, and his eyes catching mine are steady. “Bye, Aggie. Have fun tonight.”

Shira gives me a strange look. “What's that all about?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“Nothing,” she repeats. “Noah,” she mutters as she slams the front door behind her. “He thinks the world revolves around him.”

And I'm thinking, Yes, I could see why that would happen.

Though it's getting kind of old, we still meet at the same spot. Cat's Corner. Shira has insisted I lose the sweatshirt, so we're both shivering in our skinny tops while we wait for Ron and Ben to show up.

“It feels like a million years since we've had a chance to talk,” says Shira. “I haven't even shown you my pictures from the States.”

“I know. So much has been going on.”

Shira giggles. “And you've been holding out on me!” She puckers her purple lips and mimes a kiss. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“What?” My heart skyrockets. He told her? Confided in her? I want to grab her and shake out every detail. How did he look when he said it? Was he laughing? Serious? The fact that he even mentioned it! My mind races forward with a zillion questions.

“What did he say?” I ask, cringing in case it's not what I want to hear.

She laughs and mimicks the expression on my face. “Well, Ron didn't go into all the details.”

“Ron?”

“Yeah. He told me that Ben was all excited about it, as if it was meant to be. The four of us being friends—”

“What?” I realize that Shira has it all wrong. “No, no. It was one kiss! Come on, Shira. It's Ben we're talking about.”

She looks at me suspiciously. “Yes, Ben.” She pauses. “I thought you'd be thrilled.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “I've only been away for a few weeks, but between my trip, singing lessons, you and your boot camp, and Ben and Ron going into the army, it's like we've all morphed into different people.”

I have to tell her now, or she'll never forgive me. Ben and Ron will be here any minute. I can't have her thinking that I'm crazy about Ben when it's Noah I miss and I've only left him a few moments ago.

“Shira?” I shiver as a breeze of Jerusalem air slips under my shirt.

“Where are they already?” She stomps her feet to keep warm. “I'm freezing. Summer. Ha! You'd think the nights could warm up a bit.”

“Listen—”

“Hey!” shouts Ben, walking toward us. He stops a few meters away and takes an army stance. “Well, what do you think? See any difference?”

Shira giggles. “Show-off. Yes, we see that you are on the way to becoming a Navy SEAL—with the ego of a whale,” she teases.

Ron laughs. “You've got that right.”

I give Ron a quick hug. “Congratulations,” I say.

“Aggie?” says Ben. “I'm waiting.”

“You look great, too, Ben.” I give him a quick hug.

“Is that all?” he asks.

“Your dad must be thrilled.”

Ben smiles. “He sure is.” He moves toward me, but I've already linked arms with Shira. He gives me a puzzled look. I smile and shrug.

“Where should we go?” I ask, my voice too cheerful.

“I saw a bunch of guys from my unit hanging out at the square and said I'd take you girls over to meet them.”

“Great,” says Shira.

We cut through the narrow passages, passing bars, restaurants, bookstores, and tourist shops. “I could use a pizza,” I say, getting a whiff of melted cheese.

“Still serious about getting into that combat unit?” Ben tweaks my hips. “I'd say there's at least another inch here since the last time I checked.” I slip out of reach.

“You better watch it, Ben,” says Ron.

“Aggie,” says Shira, “you are the only person I know in the whole world who wants to put
on
weight.” She looks at me with exasperation. “I wish I had such problems.

Being on the stage, I have to be careful about every crumb I put in my mouth.”

Ben steps in front of us. Pulling me away from Shira, tugging me closer to him he says, “I've missed you.”

I press my palms against his chest to push him back. “Ben, wait.”

“Hey, don't be so mean. This is the last time I may be able to find your waist. Next time I might need a team of excavators to dig through the levels.”

“Ben!” says Shira.

He chuckles. “Just teasing. Even with a little extra meat, you'll always be my Aggie.”

He gets the laughs he's looking for, and sliding his hands from my waist around my back, holds me even closer. “School's out,” he whispers. “Exams are over. Military life is here. We've got a lot to catch up on and no time to waste. Let's relax and have some fun.” He nuzzles my neck and groans. “You smell great.”

“It's just Shira's jasmine perfume,” I mumble, thinking of how Noah had looked at me in the desert though I smelled of sweat and desert dust. And how, just moments earlier, Noah made my pulse race as the scruff of his unshaven face prickled my scalp.

“Hey, you two,” says Shira, smiling knowingly. “We're in the middle of the pedestrian mall—where people
walk
. You might want to move aside and let them pass.”

Ben releases me from his grip. The four of us get swept up in the crowd until we reach the square, where a motley group of musicians is jamming. Bongos, guitars, and wooden flutes draw us in. Three girls in long skirts and hair to their waists are dancing.

“I'll go find the guys,” says Ben.

The music pulses inside me. My hips sway. My feet pick up the rhythm. “Shira,” I say, wanting to confess and tell her everything. Tell her that though Ben isn't right for me, I still want us all to stay friends.

“Don't you love it?” she shouts over the music. “I could stay here forever. Freeze time so that nothing would ever change.”

But things have changed, I want to tell her. We've changed. I slide over to her. “I've got to tell you something. It's important.” But just then, over the beating of the drums, I hear someone calling my name.

“Aggie!”

It takes me a moment to recognize her, but when I do, I break into a run, and we meet in the center of the square and throw our arms around each other like long-lost sisters.

“Hadas, you look so different. I almost wouldn't have recognized you. What happened?”

North Carolina has exchanged her boots and army uniform for open-toed sandals, low-riding jeans, and a ribbed shirt that reveals a shoulder full of freckles. Her hair hangs loose, and like a sunburn turned to tan, some of her bewildered innocence seems to have faded.

“You look—you look so Israeli!”

We laugh and hug again. I catch Shira watching us, and I pull away from the music to where we can all talk.

“Hadas and I were in boot camp together.” I introduce her to Shira. “Have you heard anything yet?”

Hadas shakes her head. “I think it's still too early.”

Ben and Ron see us and come over. “Hadas has just immigrated here from the States,” I explain. “We met in boot camp.”

Ron's mouth drops open. “Really?” he says.

Hadas looks at him, raises an eyebrow, and glances back at me.

I swallow back a giggle. “What are you doing here?” I ask her.

“Good question,” says Shira. “What
are
you doing here?”

“Taking Hebrew classes. I also have all these bureaucratic things to do for my immigration status.” She groans. “It's such a hassle.”

“Then why bother?” asks Shira.

“Do I have a choice?” asks Hadas, her tone and pitch mimicking the well-worn phrase.

Ron laughs. “She says it without even an accent.”