"Do I have to?" I ask. "I got to pee."
"Can you hold it for a few minutes longer? I really need to talk with you before you meet my family."
This I have to hear. I open the car door and walk outside. We stroll in silence to the edge of the mountain. When I look over the edge, it reminds me of a scene from a postcard.
"They don't know about you," Ron blurts out.
Huh?
"Who doesn't know about me?"
"My mudder, my brudder and his wife ..."
A pang of pain stabs my chest as if something pierced it. My heart starts beating fast and I'm breathing heavily. "Why?" I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
"It's complicated," he says, and then looks away from me. "You see, when I came to America I wanted to prove to everyone back here I could make it. You know, The
American Dream."
"And you didn't expect me to come along and ruin your dream," I say.
"I met your mom the first weekend I was in the U.S. I was a cocky Israeli who just wanted to have a good time. A few months later I found out I was going to be a fadder."
I start walking away from him. What does he want me to do, apologize for being born?
"I hate you," I say as I head back to the car. I wipe the stupid tears I can't help from falling down my cheeks.
"Amy, please. For once let me set the record straight--"
"Just unlock the door." I hear the click and get inside the car. He's looking at me like he wants to explain more, but I don't want to hear it. "Let's go already!" I yell.
He gets back in the car and we ride up to the top of the mountain. I thought I was ready to meet Ron's family, but now all I want to do is crawl into a hole.
Because he's not just going to introduce me to his family, he's going to tell them for the first time he has an illegitimate daughter.
Chapter 5
If I close my eyes, will life stop spinning out of control?
We reach a gate and a guy with a large machine gun comes up to our car. I've never even seen a machine gun before today and cringe every time I think about what they're used for.
Ron says something in Hebrew. The guy smiles and signals for the gate to open. We drive down a dirt road on top of the mountain and pass six rows of houses. There are about seven to ten houses down each road on either side. Ron turns down one of them and parks in front of a house.
"I'm not going in until you tell them who I am," I say.
I think he's going to argue and I ready myself for a fight. But Ron just says, "Fair enough."
He gets out of the car and I stay put. I watch as he enters the small one-story house.
The windows are open in the car, but there's no breeze. And it's not only hot, I think the devil himself must live on this mountain because sweat is pouring down my face, neck, and chest. My Abercrombie & Fitch shirt has wet marks on it already from disgusting armpit sweat.
How can these people stand the heat? I look at my nail before biting on it. What is Ron saying to them? Is he sweating as much as I am? I hope so.
I step out of the car and lean against the side of it, listening for the scolding Safta should be giving Ron. Boy is he going to get it. If I were Safta I'd rip him a new one for denying her, well, me. But I don't hear yelling. In fact, I don't hear much coming from the house.
Instead, something hits my arm. Hard.
"Hey!" I yell and panic.
I'm not stupid, I know it's not a bullet. Not that I wouldn't be surprised if Ron's family decided "do away" with his illegitimate daughter once they heard the truth.
As I have that thought, I look down and see the offending object.
A soccer ball.
" Tizreki le'kan" a voice bellows from behind the car. As if I can understand. But I can't, so I ignore it. Besides, I already feel a bruise forming on my arm.
The sound of running footsteps echoes before I'm face to face with an Israeli boy about my age.
"Shalom" he says.
He's wearing jeans, has a dusty and ripped white T-shirt on, and is wearing Greek sandals. You know, the ones like the Greek philosophers wore. But that's not the worst part. The guy is wearing white socks along with the sandals. Socks with sandals! Seeing that makes me laugh so I look up at his face instead of his feet. I don't want to insult the guy.
"Hi," I say.
Does he speak English? I don't know so I just stand there in silence.
Two more boys run up to us. One starts to talk to the boy in Hebrew but becomes silent when he notices me.
"I America," I say slowly and loud like I'm talking to a chimpanzee. I'm hoping by some miracle they'll understand me.
They turn to each other with confused looks on their faces and I realize these next three months are going to be like living in a bubble. A bubble with people who don't understand a word I'm saying, except for the Sperm Donor. Could my summer vacation be ruined more?
The first boy steps closer to me. He has dark blond hair and a rugged, boyish grin. I know, I know, rugged and boyish don't really go together. But on this guy it does, trust me. "You speak English?" he asks with a heavy accent.
Huh? "Yes. Do you?"
"Yes. But what does 'I America' mean?"
"Nothing. Just forget it."
"You a friend us not?" he asks.
Huh? Obviously his English isn't good. Was he asking if I'm a friend or not? I'm almost afraid to say no. "Yes."