When I hear his laugh, I turn around and jump down the piles of hay until I reach the ground. Wouldn't you know it a feeling of rationality comes over me right now. And I think:
I don't know why tears are rolling down my face.
I don't know why I just blew up at two people I'm going to have to see for the next month.
And I sure as hell don't know why I agreed to go on a camping trip in the middle of a war zone with people who hate me.
God, I'm in Israel, the Holy Land. Where are you?
CHAPTER 15
When the pickins are slim, you take what you can get.
That night after dinner, I'm watching television with Doda Yucky when Snotty's friends come barging in the door. Why don't people lock their doors around here?
Snotty and Ofra come out of the bedroom dressed in slinky, short, tight-fitting dresses. Avi, Doo-Doo, and O'dead are wearing jeans with long-sleeve T-shirts.
I don't ask where they're going tonight, because I don't care. I'm perfectly happy to sit in front of the television all day. I've been pleasantly surprised that there's a lot of American shows on TV in Israel. That's probably why Israelis know so much English.
Ron, who has been talking on the phone most of the evening, comes over to me. "The kids are going to a disco."
A disco? Discos went out in, like, the seventies. "Good for them," I say.
"Don't you want to go?"
"No."
"It might be fun to get off the moshav."
If he only knew what I said to O'snot earlier. I insulted her clothes and her boobs. I'm not about to admit those little facts to Ron.
"I'm going to ask them to take you," he says, and before I can stop him he stands up and walks over to Snotty. He says something in Hebrew to her.
She says something back.
At this point Doda Yucky interrupts her, her voice in a scolding tone. Then my aunt walks over to me and takes my hand. "O'snot wants to take you out with her friends."
Yeah, right. But the lady just fought on my behalf, and I don't have the heart to argue with her. Instead, I shoot a scalding look at Ron, the person who got me into this mess in the first place.
Ten minutes later I find myself in Avi's car, being driven down the mountain. Avi and Snotty ignore me, but I don't blame them. I hate them, they hate me. It's a mutual
hate-hate relationship.
When we pull up to the "disco," I get out of the car and follow Snotty, Ofra, Doo-Doo, O'dead, and Avi to the entrance. It looks like a large warehouse. Loud music is blaring from the place and colorful, blinking lights are shining through large windows.
I halt as soon as I scan the long line of people waiting to get in. "Is it safe?" I ask.
"I promise there aren't any snakes inside for you to accidentally step on," Snotty says, then laughs at me.
My eyes flash in outrage as I focus on Avi. How could he have told Snotty about the snake-guts mishap? What a betrayal. Now I feel humiliated because of him.
"Come on," Ofra says, locking my arm with hers as she leads me to the line.
I toss my hair back and stand in line. When I reach the front, an army guard makes me open my purse and he checks the contents. I expect him to ask me for an ID, but he doesn't. I guess in Israel there are no age restrictions for dance clubs. When the army guy waves me on, I have to go through a metal detector in order to enter the 'disco.'
Boy, they're not taking any chances. If we had a soldier at the entrance to every town, shopping mall, and bar in the United States, we'd be out of soldiers. There wouldn't be anyone left to protect our country.
I walk in, and the floor is vibrating to the beat of the music because it's so loud. Snotty, Ofra, O'dead, and Doo-Doo go directly to the dance floor and start dancing. Avi is leaning against a railing, brooding as usual. But he's surrounded by girls while he's standing there so he doesn't look like a loner.
Me? Well, I'm standing here alone because I don't feel like dancing right now. It's wall-to-wall people, but I manage to squeeze through the crowd, heading for the bar. I need a Coke, or at least something in my hand so I'm not just standing around staring at people.
Luckily, I snag the only open barstool before anyone else can get their butt on it.
I take a moment to take it all in. The people at the disco are wearing very trendy outfits. They're also dancing, laughing, and drinking. The air smells like cigarette smoke; obviously there aren't smoking laws here.
I don't go to clubs back home because I'm only sixteen and they won't let me in until I'm twenty-one. But when I do, I'm going to have as much fun as these Israelis.
The bartender says something to me in Hebrew and places a beer mug in front of me with yellow liquid inside.
"I speak English," I say at the top of my lungs so he can hear me above the music.
He leans forward and says in my ear, "The guy over there bought you the drink."
He points to the other end of the bar, where a guy wearing a white button-down shirt with most of the buttons undone is sitting. Is he kidding? The guy looks as if he's about Avi's age, and has long hair. And it's not cool long hair, it looks like it's been greased back with too much hair gel. He's probably the one uncool guy in the whole place.
Great. I'm an uncool guy magnet.
To my horror, the guy is walking over to me as if he's some macho dude. He's wearing a huge grin on his face, which looks like it hasn't been shaved in a week.