Freefall Page 8

  He laughs. “It was too good to be true. But what are you doing here?” He pushes up the sleeves on his uniform. I notice burn marks on the inside of his arm: small ovals the size of bullet shells.

  “We just got back from an overnight field test.”

  He raises his eyebrows, a puzzled smile on his lips.

  “I think I’ve just passed the first test to get into a combat unit.” It feels so strange and unbelievably terrifying to actually say it out loud.

  “Combat?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Not for a second,” he says, his dimples playing a game of hide-and-seek. He rubs his chin, where a scruff of beard has grown since the last time I saw him. “It takes a certain type.”

  The girls have fallen silent. I can feel them grouping behind me. “And you don’t think I’m that type?”

  “No, not at all,” he says, quickly. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?” I’m about to step closer and quiz him when I remember that I’m preshower. My face turns bright red—not that he would notice under the layer of grime.

  “Aggie,” says Lily, “are you planning on showering in hot water?” She grabs my arm and pulls me back.

  Noah fiddles with the gun strap across his chest like I’ve seen him do with his guitar strap. “They’re giving us a night off so I’m going home now.” He clears his throat. “Maybe we can continue talking about this later, at my house.”

  “Hey, Noah,” says one of the other raccoon-faced soldiers. “Why don’t you introduce us to her friends?”

  “After a shower, buddy,” says Argentina.

  “She’s got a point. Later, Number Eighteen,” says Noah, giving my tag a playful flick. And he walks off, leaving me wondering yet again if he’s teasing me and why these meetings with him make me feel so confused. Then as I run my fingers through my hair, I remember how I must look.

  “Ohmigod. I can’t believe he came within a kilometer of me. I’m disgusting.”

  Lily laughs. “And did you get a look at him?”

  “Did I ever; didn’t you?”

  Lily groans. “You spent one night in the field without a shower. He’s been there a week. You do the math.”

  She drags me to the bathroom, where all nine of us strip naked and soap up.

  “Heaven,” I moan as the dirt washes away in rivers by my feet.

  Of course the hot water finishes faster than it takes us to lather up, but who cares?

  As I’m tying up the laces on my running shoes, a shadow falls over me. Looking up, I see Lily wearing a tight burgundy tank top, low-riding black jeans, and dangerous heels. She smells like an overgrown botanical garden. Three gold bangles loop from her right ear and she has a single stud in the left. Her eyelashes look like they’ve sprouted another foot in the last five minutes.

  “Wow! You look—you look …” Words fail me.

  Lily laughs. “Hang around me and you’ll learn everything you’ve got to know about accessorizing. First you need to get yourself one of them padded push-ups.” She punches me in the arm. “Just kidding. Anyway. Congratulations, Sugarpear,” she says. “We did it.”

  “There were a few moments there when I wasn’t so sure we would.”

  “Loyalty. Trust. Friendship,” she says, and smiles at me, a full-toothed Lily grin. “Believing in yourself as much as you do the other guy. That’s what’s important. Through fire and water.” She hoots. “Yesterday when I saw you get off the bus I thought, ‘That one won’t make it past lunch.’ But you did. You’re a real fighter.” She pauses. “And thanks to you, I passed, too.”

  I shrug, and hope she can’t read my mind, especially the thoughts I’d had about her earlier. But now I feel the kind of bond with her that took Shira and me years to build.

  “The commander said I’ve got to keep my weight up, though. If I drop under fifty kilo, they may reconsider.”

  “Now that’s one problem I’ve never had to deal with! Take down my cell phone number. A couple of my mom’s meals and you’ll have all the extra weight you’ll need. I am living proof.”

  We exchange numbers. Grabbing our bags, we head for the bus.

  “I can’t wait to get home,” says Pigtails. “I think I miss my chickens more than anything.”

  “A kibbutz girl,” says Argentina. “No wonder the dirt didn’t faze her. She lives for the smell of cow.”

  “Hey—”

  “She’s teasing, Pigtails,” says Noga. “You were an inspiration.”

  Pigtails beams. “You’re all welcome to come and visit me anytime.”

  We hear the grinding gears of the bus before we see it round the hill.

  “My boyfriend sent me one hundred twenty-two text messages.” Noga’s phone beeps in another one. “He’s already waiting for me at the bus depot.”

  “How about you, Sugarpear?”

  “Another hot shower. Dinner and then—” And then Noah, I think but am too shy to say. “What about you?” I ask her. “What are you doing later?”

  “I’m going to party!” Lily does the samba and everything sambas with her.

  “Look at my nails.” Sonya moans. “I’ll have to get them all redone.”

  “Hey, Carolina,” says Argentina. “Do you have a place to go?”

  We all stop and turn, remembering that she’s here on her own with no family. She’s got a new backpack over her shoulder, and her face has burned a bright red from the desert sun. She oozed confidence these last two days, but now she stands apart listening to us without contributing a word. There’s an awkward silence.

  “Come over to my place,” says Lily. “My mom says there are so many of us she’s stopped counting how many plates she puts on the table.”

  I’m about to say that we could share a room when Carolina starts laughing and shaking her head. “Are y’all out of your minds? After two days with you guys, y’all think I’d volunteer for more time?”

  Her face looks even brighter red and her eyes are gleaming. “Just kidding. Thanks, girls; you’re the best. I’ve got an aunt who lives near Nazareth and she’s waiting for me.”

  The bus chugs to a stop, and the doors wheeze open. “Put your stuff underneath. No bags in the aisle!” shouts Shmulik. He climbs down and opens the storage compartment. “It’s your lucky day, girls: you’ve got the first stop. By the time I make the rounds through the base there won’t be a place to squeeze in a scorpion.”

  I’m about to toss in my stuff when I hear a voice behind me say, “Girls.”

  That’s a voice we’d recognize in our sleep. Snapping to attention, we turn around.

  Our commander is standing there in her tightly pressed army fatigues. As usual, not a hair is out of place and not a hint of a smile slips through her steely countenance.

  “Something’s come up. We need eight extra girls for guard duty tonight.”

  “Now?” says Sonya. “But we’re done. You said we could go home.”

  Our commander doesn’t answer.

  We look at one another, waiting for someone to clear up this mistake. We’d come for one night, not two.

  “Can she make us stay?” asks Argentina.

  “It would be on a voluntary basis,” says our commander.

  “I wouldn’t mind, but my boyfriend’s waiting for me,”

  says Noga. “At the bus depot,” she adds, holding up her phone. “I have to see him. It’s been over twenty-four hours.”

  “My chickens,” says Pigtails. “I didn’t arrange for anyone to feed the animals tonight. I thought I’d be back.”

  Lily huffs. “I can’t believe this.”

  “If there is a problem, Lily,” says the commander, “I can’t force you to stay.”

  “No problem, Commander. My mom is going to wonder why I didn’t get back, that’s all.”

  “You have a cell phone. Send her a message. One of you can go, though.”

  We avoid looking at one another.

  “Sarah should go,” I say,
breaking the silence. “We’re all planning to go home and relax. She’s got those chickens counting on her.”

  “Thanks, Aggie,” she says. “Honestly, I would stay—”

  “It’s okay,” says Sonya. She sighs. “Really, my nails can wait another day.”

  Shmulik climbs back on the bus and revs the motor. “Hey, girls, lighten up. I’ll be back tomorrow to come get you.”

  Sarah throws her bag inside and climbs on.

  We don’t move.

  Shmulik slams the bus doors closed—with us on the wrong side.

  “He’s really going,” says Hadas.

  “Without us,” says Argentina.

  “My mom is waiting for me,” says Amber. “No one told us that we might have to stay an extra night.”

  “There goes freedom.” Lily groans. “Smelling like a stinky city engine, spewing out black smoke, and growling like it’s on its last legs.”

  “Somehow,” says Argentina, “it feels a whole lot worse to lose something you didn’t even know you had until it is taken out from under you.”

  “Snatched,” Hadas corrects her. “Snatched before you realize how much it means not to be able to go home when you were told you would be able to.”

  “Freedom.” My voice cracks. I watch enviously as the bus pulls to the next stop outside barracks nine through twelve and a bunch of soldiers, laughing and jostling one another, fight to get on first and secure seats. One of them is surely Noah. He’s going home for a twenty-four- hour leave, but I won’t get to see him. I can’t believe this is happening.

  “Snatched,” says Hadas, kicking at one of the lime-covered stones.

  “Snatched,” we agree, and lug our duffel bags back to the barracks.

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s open!” Shira’s mom calls as I raise my hand to knock on the door.

  I walk into the hall and almost trip over a pair of scruffy, red army boots. A rush of adrenaline wells inside me.

  Noah. He’s home!

  “Come on in, Aggie.” Shira’s mother pokes her head out of the laundry room, which is at the far end of their kitchen. “You kids have gotten so busy lately. I don’t think I’ve seen you since Passover. How was your holiday?”

  “Fine, thanks,” I say, glancing at the piles of army-issued uniforms, gray socks, and clothes in heaps that litter the floor, waiting for their sergeant to move them from one strategic point to the next. Wash, rinse, dry, fold, and back into army kit bag until the next operation.

  “Shira had a wonderful time celebrating the holidays with her cousins in the States—though she missed you.” Then with a smile, as if noticing my impatience to run upstairs, she says, “Go on. I’m sure you’ve got a million things to catch up on.” She empties a few loose bullets out of Noah’s army uniform before tossing his pants into the washing machine. “Noah’s home, too,” she adds, her voice singing the words as if they’re the refrain of her favorite song.

  I dash upstairs and tiptoe past Noah’s room, where guitar strumming drifts through the partially open door. My toes are tingling, as well as other parts of me.

  It’s not that I’m holding my breath; I’ve just stopped breathing.

  “Hey, Aggie,” he calls, just as I think I’ve made it past his room unnoticed. I step back and smile at him from his doorway.

  “Oh, you’re home,” I say, as if the sight of his army boots, his kit bag, his clothes strewn across the floor next to the kitchen, and the smells of all his favorite foods cooking had escaped my notice. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “I’d like Shira to hear you say that.” He laughs softly and hums a bar of the piece he was just playing. “She complains that when I come home the whole world starts revolving in Noah orbits.” He dimples at me. “Come on in to Planet Noah. I’m only here for twenty-four hours—and half of it’s already gone. I was hoping you’d come by.” He pauses. “I was sorry that I missed seeing you after your boot camp. I’ve been wanting to hear how it went.”

  Taking a tentative step in, I’m not sure how to stand, wishing my commander were around to order “at ease.” I lean against the wall next to his dresser, which is piled high with guitar music, clothes, old school textbooks, used batteries, a model airplane kit, and other odds and ends. He’s watching me. It takes all my self-control not to fidget as his eyes skip over me, taking in the frizz in my hair to the laces of my shoes. I tug at the end of my shirt, noticing how his glance pauses on the slip of skin between the hem of my top and the belt of my jeans.

  Quickly he averts his gaze and strums his fingers across the strings. He’s sitting on his bed, back against the wall, legs stretched out, wearing blue sweatpants and a faded button-down shirt that’s mostly unbuttoned. A wet towel hangs over the edge of his bed, and soap smells linger in the air. I want to stay but don’t know if I’ve already stayed longer than I should.

  “Shira?” I manage to say, my voice sounding like a chord played on the wrong frets. “I haven’t seen her since she got back.”

  “On the phone,” he says, which we both know means that she’ll be talking for at least another half hour. “Have a seat.”

  Where? Panic. On the chair that’s covered with clothes? On the floor? On his—ohmigod—bed?

  Sensing my hesitation, he looks around, notices the mess, and I think he almost blushes as he whips his bedspread up over the wet towel and other stuff , shoving it all aside to make room for me on the clean white sheet tucked around the corner of his mattress.

  I sit so far on the edge that I almost slip off. I stub my foot on the butt of his rifle, which is only half under his bed, and just catch my balance before making a total idiot of myself.

  “Listen,” he says. “I think I’ve perfected the picking on this song.” He glances up at me with his soft hazel eyes, and I try to meet his look without wavering and not showing how I’ve totally lost control on the inside, where pulses beat, blood rushes chaotically, and my emotions have declared a state of anarchy.

  He folds up his legs to make room. I scuttle back a bit, trying to get comfortable while keeping enough space between us. I can’t stop looking everywhere. The book he’s reading lies on the floor spine up. Twisting my head, I can just read the title, On the Road, and there’s a picture of a guy leaning on a wall and smoking a cigarette. Another guitar in the corner is missing three strings. Crumpled pieces of paper litter the floor around the wastepaper basket. I want to take it all in. This is Noah, I think. The smell in his room is of worn clothes, oil rags for his gun, shoe polish, and shampoo.

  Get a grip, I try telling myself.

  “Do you know it?” he asks.

  “Know what?” What did I miss? Has he asked me a question?

  “The song. ‘April Comes She Will.’” He starts to play, singing softly, his eyebrows reaching upward as his voice stretches to meet the high notes.

  But April is already gone, I think. And so has March. And it’s already June, and this is the first time we’ve been alone again since you kissed me. Have you forgotten? Does it mean the same thing to you that it means to me?

  His fingers move deftly along the neck of the guitar, a team of acrobats leaping from one position to the next. And just like the spectators at the circus, I gape in rapt suspense, my heart soaring and lunging with each move.

  “Well?” He glances up at me, almost as if expecting my approval.

  “Well what?”

  “Did you like it?” He laughs. “You’re daydreaming.”

  The blood rushes to my face. “Music does that to me sometimes,” I say, feeling oh so adolescent.

  He chuckles softly. “Me too.” Stretching his legs, he accidentally brushes my thigh, moves his foot aside without saying a word, looks at me as if he’s forgotten the words to the verse he’s been singing, and returns to the chorus.

  I get up and move to his window. Shira will be off the phone any moment and will start yammering away at me about the Statue of Liberty, Staten Island, and all of Victoria’s secrets. My thou
ghts are running so quickly that I don’t realize the music has stopped until I feel his presence so close to me, my skin tingles.

  “New moon,” he says.

  “Where?” A big lemon tree in his yard obstructs my view.

  Placing his hands on my shoulders, he tilts me sideways. “Up there.”

  I look upward. He bends forward and rests the very tip of his chin on the crown on my head. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I say, though my eyes are closed.

  “You’re trembling.”

  “Chilled,” I answer.

  I hope he’ll slide his arms around me and pull me tightly against him. But instead he takes a step back. I turn, the moon forgotten. He hands me one of his sweatshirts.

  Slipping it over my head, I am suddenly engulfed in Noah. His smell. The maroon red of his sweatshirt reaches down to just above my knees. The sleeves swallow my hands. My hair is trapped within the collar but for a few unruly frizzes that break free.

  “It’s you,” he says.

  I move to catch a glimpse of me in the mirror, but it’s the reflection in Noah’s eyes that holds me, making me feel like Miss Universe. The paratrooper’s emblem is emblazoned across my chest, and though my feet are still grounded on the floor, inside I am soaring.

  “We never got a chance to talk about …” He pauses as if to gather his thoughts. But I am in a hurry to hear. Shira will burst in any moment. His mother will call him. He’ll have to rush out and return to the army.

  “What?” I almost shout, the suspense too pressing to restrain.

  “Boot camp?”

  “Oh right,” I say, trying to recall, but my mind is focused on the kiss and doesn’t he want to talk about that.

  Before I can answer Shira barges in, throwing the cordless phone on the bed. “We need another line!” she hollers. “Call waiting, call waiting, call waiting, every two seconds. How’s a person supposed to have a normal conversation when you’re around?”

  Noah looks at her and blinks. “Who called?”

  “Who called? Who didn’t call? Lital called three times. Donna called twice. And when Ella called, I told her to take a number and that you’ll get back to her whenever.”