An Infidel in Paradise (22 page)

Aisha’s guard begins to object, but Aisha holds up her hand to silence him. So it’s one crazy white girl, a breathtakingly beautiful Pakistani princess, an ever-growing number of mud-spattered children, several stray dogs, a bodyguard, and a driver who spend the next hour walking through the village adding and subtracting everything from chickens’ eggs to cooking pots.

By the time Aisha and I are back in the car, there are so many villagers crowded around us we can only roll forward an inch at a time, much to the grumbling of her driver. Aisha and I are now both rock stars, and we keep waving until I think my hand’s going to drop off. We’re close to the end of the village when Mehri appears at my window, running alongside the car. I roll it down and put out my hand. Mehri takes it in both of hers, and we grin at each other like long-lost friends. Aisha tells the driver to stop.

Mehri says something, which I don’t understand.

Aisha translates. “She says she’ll come to your class next time. Her father has never allowed her to go to school before, but Esfandyar has convinced him.”

“That’s wonderful,” I say and give her a big smile so she gets the spirit, if not the words.

“
Dost
,” she says, touching her chest.

“Friends,” I agree and touch my own.

We clear the town and drive in silence, staring out our windows, each lost in our own thoughts.

“I didn’t want to bring you,” says Aisha, turning to me. “Mustapha said I really hurt you with that comment about your friend leaving. I only agreed to bring you because he said it would take your mind off her, and I felt I owed you that.”

I nod.

“But these children,” she says, “their misery isn’t here for anyone’s distraction.”

“I know that.”

“Yes,” she says. “I realized that tonight. I hope you’ll come back. I think we make a good team.”

I smile at her and she smiles back.

“You know, you’re going to have to lose the stick,” I say.

“That’s the trouble with you foreigners,” she grouses. And for a moment, it’s the old Aisha. “You always think you know better.” She gives me a reproving look, but even in the dwindling light, I can see the sparkle in her eyes.

I
’m not surprised when they send us home early on Friday. After keeping us late last Friday, they probably want to be extra sure we make it home before the post-prayer demonstrations. It’s still weird to me that the result of attending a service of worship is to march around chanting death threats to a bunch of people you don’t even know. Anyway, last week’s evacuation of half the school population has everyone on edge, so it’s a relief to leave.

What’s surprising is that Mustapha is waiting for me outside my classroom when we get dismissed. He falls in step as I walk to my locker, and my heart starts skipping for joy, even as I firmly remind myself that he’s taken.

“How did it go yesterday?” he asks.

“Not bad. It turns out your girlfriend isn’t that heinous after all.”

“You’re too kind. How did she win you over?”

“Haven’t you talked to her about this?” I open my
locker and begin piling books into my bag. The amount of homework we have to do at this school is insane.

“Yeah, she said it went well. Actually, I was thinking – since you two are friends now – maybe you’d like to come to my party tomorrow night.”

“What party?” I stop loading books and turn to look at him.

He shifts his feet and flushes. “The one you weren’t invited to when you thought my girlfriend was heinous.”

“Oh, I see.” I turn back to my book bag, throwing in the last few items and zipping it shut. “So this is one of those last-minute, bottom-of-the-barrel afterthought invites.” I try to keep my voice light, but it hurts that he would have a party and not invite me until I passed the Aisha test.

“Yeah, pretty much.” I look up at him and he grins to take the sting out of it. “So, will you come?”

“I don’t know.” I slam my locker closed and hoist my ridiculously heavy bag over my shoulder. “Is this going to be one of those drinking too much, doing things you won’t want to remember in the morning, and vomiting in the rhododendrons kind of party, or is it more of a sitting in your games room watching you boys play Nintendo party?”

“Well, technically, alcohol’s illegal in this country.…” He slides his hand under the strap of my bag, grazing the bare flesh of my arm, and lifts my bag up, tossing it effortlessly over his own shoulder. “So it’s probably more likely to be the Nintendo-type party.”

“Well, it does sound really exciting,” I say sarcastically, trying to ignore my thumping heart and the flutters in my stomach caused by the nanosecond our skin touched. And now he’s carrying my bag.
How romantic is that? Could I
be
more pathetic?

“Will your mom be there?” I ask. I start taking slow, deep breaths to try to slow my heart.

“Do you want my mom to be there?” He sounds surprised.

“Not really,” I say in a neutral voice. If we’re going to get married, I’ll have to get used to his mother.

“My parents are in Paris, but my Aunt Faatina will be chaperoning, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Yeah, right,” I smirk, having found my cool. Deep breathing really
does
work. “I’m a sixteen-year-old North American girl. Making sure we’re properly chaperoned at a party really is my top priority.”

“So you’ll come, then.” He looks so hopeful that my heart starts bouncing around again.

“Are Tahira and Leela invited?” I stall as we start walking toward the parking lot.

“Do you want me to invite them?”

“Only if you want
me
to come.”

This is so wrong. I’m totally flirting with him.
What is wrong with me?

“Then they’re absolutely invited.”

He is totally flirting back.

But he’s with Aisha.

“What about Johan?” We’ve reached my van now,
and I rest my hand on the open door, trying to look casual. Unfortunately, I forgot that metal heats to a zillion degrees in this country, and I quickly drop my charred hand to my side.

“Yeah, he’s invited.”

“You invited Johan before you invited me?”

Reality check
. He invited me only after I made friends with Aisha.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes cloud with concern. “Do you want me to un-invite him? I will. Just say the word.”

“You’re shameless.” I laugh, reassured of his undying love. “You can’t un-invite people just to get me to come.” Except Aisha. He could definitely un-invite Aisha.

Aisha, my new friend.

I am a truly bad person.

“So, you will come?”

“If Leela and Tahira agree and you don’t un-invite anyone, I’ll come.”

He leans forward and I raise my face, certain that this is the moment he’ll seal the deal and our lips will meet in hot passion.

He chucks my bag onto the front seat of the van and steps back.

“See you tomorrow morning, then.”

“Your party is in the morning?”

“No, but you’re going shopping with Tahira and Leela to buy clothes for Tahira’s brother’s wedding. Faarooq and I are chaperoning.”

“
You
are chaperoning
me
,” I say in disbelief.

“Not just me,” he says defensively. “Faarooq will be there as well. You didn’t think you girls could go trailing through markets on your own, did you?” He sounds genuinely incredulous.

“Gee, let me think about that,” I snap. “I’m not in elementary school. I’m not brain-dead. So yeah, I did think we could go shopping without seventeen-year-old boys tagging along.”

“Well, you can’t,” he says firmly. “Anything could happen. If Tahira’s mother were free, you would go with her, but she isn’t, and you can’t go on your own.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” I say heatedly.

He raises one eyebrow and doesn’t answer.

Obviously, in this situation, he can tell me what to do.

“Whatever.” I heave myself into the van, turning my face away from him.

Only after a few more seconds of fuming do I realize that for the first time in several days, I don’t feel like kissing him.

Progress?

“Emma.”

I turn to look at him, still standing at the van’s open door.

“What?” I snarl, looking down at him from my sparkling new tower of indifference.

“I’m really looking forward to spending the day with you tomorrow,” he says, beaming his heartbreaking smile.

And the tower crumbles.

“Y
ou can’t wear that.”

Tahira and Leela have both come to the door to get me, and they’re united in their horror at my loose-fitting T-shirt and jeans. I already cleared it with my mom, so I don’t know what they’re going on about.
Do they think I look too slovenly?

“You need to completely cover your arms,” says Tahira.

“And your bottom,” says Leela.

“My
bottom
?”

“Definitely,” agrees Tahira. “You need a long-sleeved, loose-fitting shirt that covers your bottom and loose pants that don’t show off your legs.”

“You mean, I need to wear something that looks exactly like a shalwar kameez?” I say, trying hard not to sound irritated, even though I had the same conversation two days ago with Aisha and am getting a little sick of feeling like my body is something to be ashamed of. At least she came prepared with an
outfit. I know if Angie were here, she’d make a joke, and the whole thing would seem funny rather than annoying.

“A shalwar kameez would be perfect,” gushes Leela. “Do you have one?”

“No,” I say. “That’s why we’re going shopping. Remember?”

“Well, let’s go look at what you do have,” Leela says soothingly, squeezing past me into the house. “I’m sure you have something suitable.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting on my bed, sweating in spite of the AC. Clothes that have been pulled from the closet and drawers lie in scattered heaps around the room.

“You really need some new outfits,” says Tahira. “You don’t have
anything
appropriate.”

“The T-shirt actually was the best thing she has,” says Leela, her voice betraying her amazement. “Everything she owns is so …” She struggles to find the right word. “Tight.”

I sigh and don’t bother defending myself. I’ve never considered myself a slutty dresser. Until now.

Footsteps pound up the stairs, and I have a second to consider that things are about to get a lot more embarrassing before Faarooq and Mustapha burst into the room.

“What’s taking you girls so long?” demands Faarooq. “We don’t have all day for this, you know. I have to help Mustapha set up for his party.”

“She has nothing to wear,” says Tahira before I can stop her.

I stand up and move to the doorway, hoping to prevent the boys from entering. I am not going through my wardrobe again with Mustapha.

He looks past me at the chaos of the clothes. “Where’s Vince’s room?” he asks with an amused expression.

“Down the hall,” I say warily.
Is he going to go tell Vince that his sister dresses like a skank?

Mustapha disappears from the doorway, and I push past Faarooq to follow him down the hall.

“Vince isn’t home,” I say.

Mustapha knocks lightly on Vince’s door, and when there’s no reply, he opens it and walks in. I stand in the doorway and keep an eye on him as he goes over to Vince’s open closet and begins rifling through his clothes.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer as he pulls out several shirts, holds them up, and returns them to the closet. Finally, he pulls out one of Vince’s dress shirts, a dark gray, long-sleeved cotton shirt. Mustapha smiles in satisfaction and tosses it to me.

“Try it on,” he says.

“I am not wearing Vince’s clothes.” I glare at him.

“Try it on,” he repeats evenly.

I sigh for the second time and shrug into Vince’s shirt. It’s miles too big. My hands are trapped inches from the end of the sleeves, and the bottom of the shirt brushes the tops of my knees.

“Satisfied?” I ask, starting to take it off.

“Wait.” He walks over to me.