"Nathan left his backpack in the café," my dad says. "Amy wanted to bring it back to him."
Mr. Keener smiles and opens the door. "You can go give it to him. He's in the guest room. It's the second door on the right."
My dad puts his hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward. I've never been into their condo. Mr. and Mrs. Keener keep pretty much to themselves. I step inside the foyer. I'm feeling awkward so I'm glad my dad is backing me up.
A cell phone rings; it's my dad's ring tone. The national anthem of Israel. Dorky, but totally him. He's still in the hallway as he answers the call. "Sorry, motek, I have to take this," he says as he waves and leaves me in the Keeners' condo.
Oh, just great.
So now I'm faced with going into Nathan's room. All alone. With absolutely no backup.
Mr. Keener waves me toward Nathan's room. Okay, I'll do it. I'm not afraid of that guy. In fact, after I shove his backpack at him, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind.
Because nobody makes a fool out of Amy Nelson-Barak.
I walk with purpose to the second door on the right. The door is closed, so I have to knock. Looking back, I see Mr. Keener hasn't followed. I knock lightly at first with the hand not holding the backpack. No response. I knock a little harder.
After I get no response again, I think he might not be home after all. Which is a good thing, I think. I mean, I want to confront him and everything but I'm not sure I want to do it on his turf. I know the advantage to warfare. On your own turf you have the upper hand.
I check the doorknob to see if it's locked. Nope. I turn the knob and crack the door open so I can peek inside.
Nathan's in the room, but he's listening to his iPod while banging a pencil against a binder, so he can't hear me.
Sure enough, as soon as I look at his face I catch two green eyes narrowing at me.
"I can see you," he says.
Damn. I open the door wide and walk in, watching as he takes the earphones out of his ears. "You left your backpack at Perk Me Up! I brought it as a goodwill gesture."
The guy just shrugs. Thanks would have been nice. Nathan is in dire need of etiquette lessons.
As I drop his backpack, I scan the room. It's obviously the guest room. Old bookshelves line the side wall and a pullout bed is open and takes up most of the room. Nathan is leaning on the bed, against the back, just staring at me.
"Who's the girl?" I ask, picking up a picture of a cute blonde girl in a bikini with short hair and abs I can't even imagine having. "Your sister?"
Nathan pushes his glasses up his nose and says, "It's my girlfriend."
Yeah, right. There is absolutely no way this is Nathan's girlfriend. I'd bet my dog on it.
"What's her name?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
"Bicky."
Wait. What did he say? "Becky?" I ask. The other alternative is downright ludicrous. "Bicky," he says again. "Bicky!"
"Now you're acting Barbie all over again."
"Was she born with that name or is it a nickname?" I ask, ignoring the insult.
Nathan slides off the bed and snatches the picture out of my hand. "Her name is Bicky. No nickname. Just Bicky."
While he shoves the picture into his half-zippered suitcase, I say, "You accuse me of being so Barbie when you're the one who's deliberately spreading untrue rumors about me just so you could seem cool."
"I did no such thing," he says. "And I definitely don't want to hang around with your friends, if that's what you mean."
"You told Kyle I joined a dating service. For your information... and not that it's any of your business, but I signed my dad up."
Nathan shrugs, as if falsely tarnishing my reputation is no biggie.
"Why do you hate me so much?"
He rubs his hand on top of his shaggy, light brown hair that resembles the color of maple syrup, and sighs. "I don't hate you, Amy. I just hate people like you."
"Same difference," I say, then storm out of the condo. When I stomp into my own place, my dad is sitting at the dining room table, still on the phone as he shuffles through some papers.
Men. I feel the taste for revenge. I head to the back office, where the computer is, and type in www.pjsn.com. It prompts me to type in my login name and password.
I have fifty-five new people who left messages on my dad's profile and the two women I asked out for my dad responded. Wow. The human resources worker, Kelly, would love to do coffee, how about next week? and the lawyer, Wendy, says she's looking for an American guy so she's not interested.
Good. I didn't want a lawyer to be my stepmom anyway. Lawyers probably follow all the rules and regs in life. That's not my style. I live inside the gray areas and love it.
I e-mail the human resources lady back and ask her to meet me (aka my dad) at Perk Me Up! tomorrow night at seven.
As I settle into the chair, I hear a crinkling sound from my back pocket. Oh my God. I can't believe I forgot with all the Nathan-and-my-dad commotion to open Avi's letter. Is my forgetfulness a betrayal of our relationship?
Uncrinkling it, I sink back in my bed and open the envelope.
"Sorry, Avi." He can't hear me, but maybe my conscience can.
As I unfold the letter, my heartbeat starts racing.
Amy,
You know I'm not good with letters, but I promised to write so I'm writing. I'm assigned to a new army base, but I can't tell you where it is. Top secret stuff I can tell you that I shot a new gun today. I know you hate guns, but this one was cool. It shoots around corners. We run every day until I think my legs are going to fall off. Tomorrow my unit will be dropped off in the Negev in the middle of the night to see if we can navigate with nothing but the stars to guide us through the desert. I guess that's it. If I survive desert training I'll write you again. You know I miss you, don't you?