"Tell me your names?"
Everyone is staring at us. We're in big trouble. Oh, crap. "Amy," I squeak out. Guess he didn't remember we already were introduced by the barracks.
"Nathan, sir!" I hear from my best guy friend/enemy/ annoyance beside me. He says it loud and clear, like he's been in the military his entire life instead of just one and a half hours.
"Amy, what was I just explaining?" the sergeant asks me.
Double oh-crap. I dare not tell the guy I was expecting to get the shortened version by asking my friends. Deciding there's no other way around it, I tell him the truth.
"I don't know... SIR!" I figure adding the 'sir' might earn me some brownie points--it seemed to work for Nathan. But from the sergeant's eyebrow-furrowing expression, I realize my 'sir didn't work.
He stands in front of Nathan and asks the same question. Nathan's response is the same as mine.
"You and you," the sergeant says, pointing to each of us. "Follow me."
We follow the guy to the front of the entire American trainee unit. Looking ahead, I see Jessica with a worried expression. She knows I'm not into the whole military thing.
"Give me twenty," the sergeant commands, with his hands on his hips.
"You mean like dollars?" I ask. "Or shekels? I mean, I left my purse back in my suitcase."
Nathan nudges me. "He means pushups, Amy. Not money."
Oh. Right. "I knew that," I lie. I'm sorry if when someone says "give me twenty" my mind doesn't automatically think of physical activity.
Nathan flashes me a "loser" sign on his forehead.
The sergeant points to us, then the ground.
Nathan gets into position on the ground, supporting himself by his toes and hands.
"Can I do it the girlie way?" I ask. "Our gym teacher Mr. Haraldson lets us." When the sergeant looks confused I add, "You know, with my knees on the ground."
"Fine."
I get in position next to Nathan, knowing my white shorts are now beyond repair. When Nathan starts, I start. My knees are on gravel, and rocks are digging into my skin.
After I do one pushup, sweat drips off my forehead and lands on the gravel beneath me. I do a few more, then stop to look over at Nathan. He's groaning after a few minutes and lies down on the dirt exhausted and sweaty like me.
"You both are weak. Get up."
The sergeant has Nathan and me stand side by side in front of everyone. "Small ' is left, yamean is right. When I say small, you march with your left foot. When I say yamean, you march with your right foot. Understand?"
Nathan says, "Yes, sir!" like a total kiss-ass army recruit.
I raise my hand. "Excuse me, I have a question."
The sergeant looks at me as if I'm the stupidest person on earth. Sure, when it comes to marching I might lack the basic natural instincts. But get me on my own turf and I know all there is to know about the city and how to maneuver in it. Some people call Chicago a jungle, but it's my jungle and my turf.
I'm not used to this military jungle, though.
"What zee problem?" he says impatiently. It's weird-- when Israelis get upset their accent gets more pronounced. I know that from my dad, because he's Israeli.
Everyone is still watching, which makes me nervous. I even hear a few snickers from the American guys. Remind me to listen to every single syllable Sergeant "Don't-Call-Me-Ben"-Shimon (from now on referred to as Sergeant B-S) says from this second forward. I don't want to be put front and center again.
The sun is glaring in my eyes. I squint up at the sergeant and silently curse the poop hole I dropped my sunglasses in. "Yeah, I was um... I was wondering if you lift your foot on the smalls and ya'means or if you put your foot down on them. Could you clarify, please?"
"You put your foot down on them," my boyfriend's voice says from behind me.
Chapter 6
Avoid public humiliation at all costs -- especially in front of your boyfriend.
I whirl around to see Avi. He's a few yards away, walking toward me. His face is tan and his profile is chiseled like a Roman statue. His hair is a little grown out from his buzz cut. He's so hot and sexy I can't help but stare in awe at my boyfriend who professed his love to me in letters (yes, he actually sits down and writes actual letters to me when he can't call), and in voicemail messages he left when he visited me in Chicago. I've saved them all and listen to them every time I need to hear his voice. Not being able to hold myself still any longer, I catapult forward and wrap my arms around his neck.
"Avi!" I cry into his chest. "Are you surprised?" "Very." He gently takes my wrists and unwinds them from around his neck. He salutes the sergeant, who says something in Hebrew. Avi answers.
So this is a time when I wish I knew Hebrew. I take Spanish. A few months ago I told my dad to stop speaking to me in English and only speak to me in Hebrew. That lasted about an hour, because I wanted to rip my hair out from not understanding him and got annoyed by his hand gestures when he pointed to objects, trying to give me hints. I wanted to learn Hebrew, not play charades.
Avi looks down at me. "We can't talk now."
Beside me, Nathan is tense. The last time I was reunited with Avi, back in January when he came to Chicago, he'd caught Nathan with his arm around my shoulders. It was not a happy time in our relationship, especially when Avi found out a few days later that Nathan and I had kissed in the cafeteria at school in front of half of the Chicago Academy student body.