How to Ruin My Teenage Life (15 page)

20

Jacob had twelve sons. Each became one of the twelve tribes of Israel (Numbers 1:4).
I wonder what tribe my decendants are from. I'm sure the Internet doesn't track birth records from that far back.

It takes a few minutes for me to comprehend what Avi just told me. Specialized fighting unit. Being the enemy. I pull back and look into his eyes. “We're supposed to see each other next summer when I come to visit. You promised me.”

“I got time off now instead.”

“Where are you going to be living in the summer?”

Avi gives me a small smile. “I'll be traveling a lot.”

“In the Middle East?” I ask.

“Yes. And Europe.”

“I don't like that,” I tell him. “Not one bit.” Taking a look at my watch, I realize we better head to Rosebud or my dad will be worried. “My dad's meeting us for dinner,” I tell Avi, then start walking but I feel like I'm in a trance.

Avi takes his place right next to me. “Did I freak you out?” he asks.

“Yep.” Totally freaked me out. All these thoughts are running through my head, especially the ones where men are captured and tortured and mutilated. I mean, it's inhumane what's going on in the world. I seriously like my life right here, as safe as I could be in a big city like Chicago.

I'm silent the rest of the walk to Rosebud. My dad is already there, sitting and waiting at a table. He waves us over and stands up to shake Avi's hand and to pat him on the back. Does my dad know? Does he have any idea Avi is about to risk his life for Israel just like he did at Avi's age?

I roll my eyes as they immediately start speaking in Hebrew, strange words and sounds pouring out of their mouths super fast. My phone vibrates with a text message. I read it under the table.

Jess: Where did you run off to?

Me: Dinner

Jess: Avi ok?

Me: Yep.

Jess: Does he know you XOXOed Nathan?

Me: NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The waitress is standing over to our table, but the guys are oblivious.

“I'll have a Coke,” I tell her. “No ice. No lemon.” There's nothing worse than watered-down Coke.

“Got it. And for the gentlemen?”

The
gentlemen
are gurgling and gargling their way through a very intense conversation. They're probably talking about Avi's army training because my dad is totally concentrated and impressed with whatever Avi's talking about. Boys and their gun talk …

I just want to forget about guns and army and elite forces these next seven days. I'm going to treat his military service as if it doesn't exist. Ignorance keeps me sane sometimes. “When you're ready to speak Engish, just wake me up,” I say, then lay my head down on the table.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” my dad says. “I was just telling Avi your mom is pregnant.”

“Thanks,
Aba
,” I tell him sarcastically. “I'm sure I couldn't have told him that myself.” I don't understand why everyone in my life just can't keep their mouths shut.

As my temperature is rising and my heart is pounding, I feel Avi's hand reach under the table for mine. As soon as our fingers touch, I take a calming breath. It's as if Avi knew I was starting to panic about everything. He gets big brownie points for this.

Even though I'm usually carb-conscious, I can't resist the warm bread at Rosebud. The loaf is crunchy on the outside and soft and warm on the inside. Taking the jug of olive oil, I pour some of the golden liquid onto my little appetizer plate and spoon parmesan cheese on top.

Avi is staring at me strangely. “What are you doing?”

“Tell me you've never dipped bread in oil and parmesan.”

“I've dipped pita into hummus,” he says.

“Not the same.” I rip off a piece of bread and hand it to Avi. “Here, try it.”

He tries it and nods. “That's awesome. Totally unhealthy, but awesome.”

When our dishes come, Avi digs in to his food with gusto.

His mouth is going to get spoiled eating Chicago food. We have the best restaurants in the entire country, the largest portions, and probably one of the highest obesity rates.

“Are you watching me eat?” Avi asks, slowing his chewing rate.

“I just want to make sure you like it.”

“Amy, in the army you get eggs, jam, bread, and slow-cooked meat. As long as I'm not eating any of those, I'm in heaven.”

My dad laughs, then goes into a long, detailed story on the horrible food they served when he was in the army. I stop listening when he talks about bees being stuck in the jam. The rest of the dinner is okay, except that it's mostly my dad and Avi talking and me just wondering when I can get some alone time with my non-boyfriend.

I guess now is better than ever to break it to my dad before he finds out from someone else. “Mutt kind of had an incident this afternoon at the dog park.”

Both of them look at me.

“What kind of incident?” my dad asks.

I start peeling away the nail polish from the manicure I just had. “He sort of impregnated Princess. Well, I'm not one hundred percent sure, but Mr. Obermeyer seems to think he did and he's more of an expert on these things than I am.”

My dad's hand slaps over his face and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“Mr. Obermeyer almost called the police.” Then I blurt out, “But he didn't, so it's okay.”

“Okay?
Okay
? Amy, I told you Mutt needs to be fixed.”

I throw my hands up in the air and say, “I get it, Dad.”

“A little late, don't you think?”

I stand up, glad the meal is over, and start walking out of the restaurant. The last thing I need is for Avi to see me and my dad fight. He probably already thinks I'm the drama queen everyone accuses me of being.

Avi catches up to me at the front door. “Amy,” he calls out.

I stop and turn around. “I'm not the girl you thought I was, Avi. I screw up my life, like ninety-nine percent of the time. I'm like a mistake that won't stop.” I was born a mistake and will always be one.

Avi grabs my shoulders and makes me face him. “Say one good thing.”

“Huh?”

“One thing that's not a mistake. One thing you don't screw up.”

I search through the recesses of my brain to come up with something, with no luck. “That's the problem, Avi. I screw up
everything
.”

My dad comes out of the restaurant before we can finish our conversation. He looks tired and worn out.

“
Aba
, I'm sorry about the Mutt fiasco,” I say. “I didn't mean for it to happen.”

“I know,” my dad says. “I know,” he repeats. “Listen, I'll take care of Mr. Obermeyer, Amy. You just keep a better eye on Mutt. Deal?”

“Deal.”

We start walking back to the condo and Avi takes my hand in his, then blows on my fingers with his warm breath. It feels so good. I want to moan and give him my other hand, too, but then I'd have to shuffle sideways and that would be dorky.

At the condo, Mutt runs into the foyer so fast he can't stop on the tile floor and flies into the wall. I look over at Avi, who's smiling with those sexy lips of his that were on mine a few hours ago. Avi, his lips, and that kiss stressed me out.

Right now, those lips formed in a tender smile make me less stressed.

“Mutt needs a walk,” I say, then grab his leash and clip it to his collar.

I have to say, that's one negative thing about living in the city. In the 'burbs, people just open their doors and dogs run outside in their own yards and do their thing. In the city, it's a whole ordeal. Poop bags, leashes, elevators …

“I'll take him,” my dad says, stepping forward and taking the leash from me.

“Cool.” I give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks,
Aba
.”

My dad says something in Hebrew to Avi which I obviously can't understand. Avi steps away from me. Oh, God, I hope my dad didn't warn Avi away from me like he did over the summer. Sometimes fathers can be too overprotective. If anything, this summer Avi was the one who stopped us from going too far physically, not me. It was like one minute I was a sane sixteen-year-old who had always vowed to be a virgin when I got married to one who was questioning everything because I was caught up in the moment with a guy who I had a major connection with.

“Be good,” my dad says right before he leaves us alone in the foyer.

Parents shouldn't say “be good.” If they know teenagers rebel against authority, saying “be good” to a teen is asking for trouble. I'm tempted not to “be good” just to show him how independent I am.

“What are you thinking?” Avi asks.

I swallow, hard. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“You seem nervous. You don't have to be nervous.”

Yeah, I do, when I'm thinking about being a rebel. “I'm not,” I say, then start walking backward. “Do you want a tour of the condo?”

“
Ken
.” I know enough Hebrew to know that
ken
means “yes.”

I start rambling while showing him the kitchen, the bathroom, the office, my dad's room, and finally my own bedroom.

In my room, Avi eyes the perfumes on my dresser and the messy, unmade bed. I lean down nonchalantly and pick up yesterday's panties off the floor and throw them into the closet with the rest of the clothes I have to wash. “I'm not usually this messy, and if I knew you were coming and you didn't
surprise
me, I would have actually cleaned up for you.”

Avi picks up a picture of me, Jessica, and Cami on Halloween last year. We dressed as the three blind mice. We all wore black leotards with tails, ears, and black sunglasses. “Cute,” he says.

I sit on my bed and hug an old Care Bear my mom bought me when I was six and had gotten my tooth knocked out when I was learning how to ride a bike. She let go and instead of me pedaling faster, I turned my head to make sure she was still holding on. When I realized she wasn't, I totally panicked and stopped so fast the bike fell over and I hit the pavement teeth first. I was okay, until I saw my mom's face. She was panicked, and when I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and saw it full of blood, I cried so hard it took me over an hour to stop doing that heavy, jerky I'm-trying-to-stop-crying-but-can't breathing.

I bet if Avi saw me back then, in hysterics and snot running down my bloody face, he wouldn't think I was so cute.

I've grown up since then. Well, sort of. I still hate riding bikes. I prefer walking. And deep water scares me, but Avi already knows that.

Avi studies my tennis trophies I won, lined up on my shelf. “You still play?” he asks.

“Not on the team.” I didn't make the team this year, partly due to the fact that I didn't go to tennis camp last summer. It's also partly because I've been really busy with conversion class and hanging with friends. Being on a team at CA is totally time-consuming and I missed a whole day of tryouts to go on Jess's parents' boat the day before they were going to sail it to Wisconsin and dock it there for the winter. Before this year I would have never thought anything was more important than getting on the tennis team.

Avi focuses on the picture of him on my nightstand. “I remember that picture. It was your last day in Israel.”

“It was before you were in the army.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you hate it?”

“What, the army? I'm proud to serve my country, if that's what you mean. All guys get a high on the range, shooting a weapon so strong it could take out an entire three-story building. Makes you feel invincible.”

“But you're not.”

“You learn that, too. Especially during combat training. With an instructor trained in kicking ass, watch out.”