"Um, you don't really want to hear my opinion, Amy. Trust me."
My eyebrows furrow as I slowly realize Jessica, my very dearest friend in the world, isn't going to back me up one hundred and ten percent.
"It's a war zone!" I say it slowly so she gets the full impact.
Is that a laugh I hear on the other end of the line?
"Are you kidding?" Jessica says. "Heck, my mom goes to Tel Aviv every year to go shopping. She says they have the clearest diamonds ever cut. You know the little black dress I love? She got it for me there. They have the best European styles and--"
"I need support here, Jess, not some crap about diamonds and clothes," I say, cutting off her 'Israel is all that' speech. Jeez!
"Sorry. You're right," she says.
"Don't you ever watch the news?"
"Sure, Israel has its share of problems. But my parents say a lot of what we see on TV is propaganda. Just don't hang out at bus stops or go to coffee shops. Ron will keep you safe."
"Ha," I say.
"Are you mad at me?" Jess asks. "I could lie and tell you your life is ruined beyond repair. Would that make you feel better?"
Jessica is the only person who can make fun of me and get away with it. "You're just a laugh a minute, Jess. You know I'd never get mad at you, you're my BFF."
Although what does it say about our friendship when my BFF has no problems sending me into a war zone?
Less than twenty-four hours later I'm sitting in the airport waiting for our El Al Israel Airlines flight to start boarding.
Looking around, I watch a guy in a dark suit as he crouches on the floor and examines the underside of each row of benches. If he finds a bomb, will he know how to disarm it?
I glance at my biological father, the almost non-existent man in my life, who's reading the newspaper. He tried talking to me on the way to the airport. I cut him off by putting on my headphones and listening to my iPod.
As if he knows I'm staring at him, he puts his paper down and turns my way. His hair is short. It's thick and dark, just like mine. I know if he'd grow it out it would be curly, too. As hard as it is, I straighten my curly hair every morning. I hate my hair.
My mom's eyes are green, mine are blue. People say my eyes are such a bright blue they glow. I consider my eyes my best feature.
Unfortunately, the main thing I inherited from Mom is a big chest. Besides changing my hair, I'd like to have smaller boobs. When I play tennis, they get in the way. Have you ever tried a two-handed backhand with mongo boobs? They seriously should have handicaps in tennis for people with big chests.
When I get older maybe I'll get a reduction. But Jessica said during a boob reduction the doctor removes your whole areola ...you know, that pinky part in the middle of your boob, and then after they take out the excess boob they reattach the areola.
I don't think I'd like my pinky parts detached at all.
As I think about detached areolas, I realize Ron is still looking at me. Although from the expression on his face he probably thinks I'm disgusted with him. I can't possibly explain I'm thinking of what I'd actually look like with detached pinky parts.
Anyway, I'm still mad at him for bringing me on this stupid trip in the first place. Because of him, I had to drop out of tennis camp this summer. Which means I probably won't make it on the high school team when tryouts start in the fall. I totally want to make the varsity team.
To make matters worse, Mitch, my boyfriend, won't even know I'm gone. He went camping with his dad for a couple weeks on a 'cell phone free' vacation. It's still a new relationship. If we're not together the rest of the summer, he just might find someone else who will be there for him.
I don't even know why Ron wants me to go with him. He doesn't even like me. Mom probably wanted me out of the house so she could have privacy with her latest guy.
Her current boyfriend, Marc with a 'c', thinks he's the one. As if. Doesn't he realize once Mom meets someone bigger or better he's out of the picture?
"I'm going to the bathroom," I say to Ron.
I really don't have to go, but I take my purse and walk down the hallway. When I get out of Ron's line of vision, I take out my trusty cell phone and keep walking. Mom got me the cell "for emergencies only."
I'm definitely feeling an emergency coming on.
CHAPTER 2
Being on an airplane for twelve hours should be outlawed.
I walk farther down the hallway and dial Jessica's number.
"Please be home," I pray as I stop by a window and look out at airplanes parked at their gates.
I usually don't pray; it's not in my nature. But desperate times call for desperate measures and I'm nothing if not flexible. Well, sometimes.
"Amy?"
I feel better already hearing her voice.
"Yeah, it's me. My flight is delayed."
"Are you still freaking out?"
"Yes. Tell me again why I shouldn't be worried?"
"Amy, it won't be so bad. If there was anything I could do ..."
It's time to tell Jess of my plan. I just thought of it.
"There is one thing ..."
"What is it?"
"Come get me at the airport. International terminal. I'll be hiding by the, uh, Air Iberia arrivals. Wait for me there."
"Then what?"
"Then I'll somehow get to go to tennis camp and ...oh, I don't know. Ron wants me to be a perfect daughter, but he's the crappiest dad ever--"