Chapter 3

Everything from your sunglasses to your suitcase should reflect your unique style and attitude.

With my designer sunglasses protecting my eyes, my backpack on my back, and a suitcase rolling in each hand, I'm walking slowly down the road. We're passing offices and off-white buildings made out of cement. I'm painfully aware of the many Israeli soldiers pointing to the three of us and snickering.

Yes, gawk at the American girls struggling with their luggage, I want to say, but don't. We must look totally out of place with our Abercrombie outfits and pimped-out suitcases. Listen, I don't blame them for laughing. I'm definitely out of my element.

I silently pray for Avi to come to my rescue and take my luggage to the barracks for me.

Sweat rolls down my forehead. Where is my boyfriend? And how big is this army base anyway?

"Come on, girls!" Ronit urges from far down the road.

Jess puts on a huge fake smile and waves to our leader. "We're coming!" she says, mimicking Ronit s cheery tone. Jess and I know she's making fun of Ronit, but I doubt anyone else does.

"Don't they have a bellman?" She wipes her upper lip that's beading with sweat. "They better have air-conditioned rooms. I just got my lip waxed and don't have anything for the sweat to cling to."

"Ugh, TMI," I tell her. "It's true, Amy. Do you have another portable fan with you, Miranda?"

She shakes her head. I look left and right to see if I can catch a glimpse of my boyfriend. "Avi has got to be around here somewhere, right?"

Jess sighs. She misses Tarik, her boyfriend. He's Palestinian, and although he's not thrilled about her spending part of her summer on an Israeli military base, he understands her commitment to her religion because he feels the same about his.

Jessica is Jewish and Tarik is Muslim. You'd think they'd avoid each other like I avoid political debates, but ever since they met they've chosen to ignore the obvious obstacles in their relationship. So who am I to bring it up? I'm a huge fan of living in ignorant bliss. I'm wondering when this lugging-luggage torture will be over. My suitcases are kicking up dust from the gravel road. Now I'm not only sweaty, but dirty too. I pull harder. Visions of a hot shower with my papaya-scented bath gell and a nice relaxing nap on a featherbed dance in my brain. Suddenly, I hear a snap and watch one of the wheels on my beautiful, designer, hot-pink suitcase roll away from me and bounce to the bottom of a ditch. I suck in a horrified breath.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 672