HWJN (English 2nd Edition) (14 page)

From our next novel: Hunaak! (Somewhere!)

Hours passed as we sang and played music. I remembered most of the songs I had heard in my life, from the songs of Um
Kalthoom to cartoon themes. Carlos Santana would be emotionally distressed and retire if he heard me playing his song on the guitar! I could not dare ask Beethoven to teach me how to play the guitar, if I did, I think he probably would have smashed it over my head.

I deeply enjoyed my time with
Layan and her sisters until Malak suddenly crashed our party. She stood right in front of me with her arms crossed, and her beauty turned into jealousy and anger. I didn’t notice her at first, as I was immersed in my singing and playing. Then Layan got nervous, and Layana’s face turned yellow, and Leen stiffened. I raised my head toward Malak.

She said:
“学
习中国人吗？太棒
了
!”

Of course I did not understand what she was babbling. I did, however, realize it was an angry statement in Mandarin, which I was supposed to be learning instead of wasting my time with
Layan and her sisters. I implicitly felt pain in my ear, and even though Malak had not grabbed me by it, I felt myself pulled toward the elevator. The Nymphs held their laughter as I moved like a child who was about to be harshly reprimanded.

“So, Your Excellency, you are not doing your work and are trying to impress the girls?” Malak
asked. She was so angry as she took me back to my room.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Just give me an hour and I’ll learn Mandarin—and Martian too!”

“Luckily for you, Mr. Bruce speaks English.”

“I told you from the start there’s no need for all of this fuss. Let’s just make do with English or a translation device.”

“And I told you there is nothing better than communicating with someone in his own language!”

She disappeared into the dressing room and returned with a yellow sport suit with two black stripes on the sleeves.

“I remember!” I yelled

“You remember Mr. Bruce?”

“No! I remember I’m a hardcore Ittihadi fan! How did you know I’m an Ittihadi?”

Her jealousy was still on fire, and I didn’t blame her. Honestly there’s a unique pleasure in igniting a girl’s jealousy, though I should’ve behaved myself even when I was thinking, as she could read my thoughts.

She threw the suit at my face. “You have three minutes to change your clothes while I bring the car around. If you’re late I’ll go without you.”

She said it in a clear, demanding voice that didn’t in any way go along with her soft, feminine look. But she was still l
uscious even at the peak of her