by Holly Rayner
Alim tilted his head, halting quickly. With his eyes sparkling, he protested, saying, “Sure, you can get anyone in Al-Jarra. But it’s because you’re the Sheikh’s son, Rami. No other reason. You’re a local celebrity, and that’s that. If you can’t see that—”
“Ah, but there’s so much more to it than that!” I told him, smacking my palms together. With a sudden lurch of curiosity, I said, “What if we make this interesting, hey? Make it into a challenge?”
Alim turned his head away from me. Beyond us, we watched as an older man, his hair an impossibly bright white, meandered past, leading a donkey. His back was hunched, showing years of hard labor. But after giving me a stern look, he saluted me. I felt a wave of affection for all of Al-Jarra. I felt more self-assured than ever before.
“See? Even he wants to date you because you’re the Sheikh’s son,” Alim said.
“I don’t think I hear a hint of jealousy, do I?” I asked, teasing him.
“Stop it.”
We walked along for a few minutes, both of us stirring with a strange mix of resentment and pure, unvarnished friendship. We’d been together for too long for us to not be holding both sides of this friendship coin. To feel more like brothers than anything else.
“All right,” Alim said, his voice growing more certain. “I have the perfect bet for you, if you’re up for the challenge.”
“When have I not been up for a challenge?” I told him, waggling my eyebrows.
“What about you get a woman who doesn’t know you’re a sheikh to agree to marry you?” Alim continued, darting across the street and toward our favorite local cafe. He perched at the edge of it, poised to enter. From inside, an aromatic wave of roasted beans washed over us.
“There’s just one problem to this challenge, Alim,” I said, holding the door open. My deep red and yellow robes swirled around me. “I’m always wearing my royal attire. And—”
“Well, what if you didn’t?” he asked, tilting his head.
We stepped toward the counter, ordering our usual with cocky smiles. I watched as the barista ducked her head beneath the espresso machine, eyeing the inner workings of the grinder. Her buttocks were tight beneath her dress, leading up to a little cinched waist. When she turned back to see it was me, a blush ran from her forehead, all the way down to her chest.
“What if I didn’t what?” I asked.
“Wear your robes. Look like a sheikh at all? You could play it off like you were a normal guy, to set the record straight. If someone could fall in love with you when you looked like everyone else—”
“As if that wouldn’t be possible, Alim,” I said, pointing to my stellar grin. “With these looks and this charm…?”
“Come off it. There’s tons of men in Al-Jarra who are twice as good looking as you, and they don’t have the luck you do with women. This will be the ultimate test.” Alim lifted his hands to the counter, accepting our coffees from the barista. He knocked his head to the right, gesturing toward me. “What do you think?” he asked, addressing the barista. “Do you think, if you didn’t know his name, you’d still find him attractive?”
“He has a name?” the barista said, teasing me. She bowed her head low. “No disrespect, of course. I’m just kidding.”
“See?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I don’t even know if this would work. No matter what I was wearing, people would know who I was. I’m one of the most revered men in all of Al-Jarra.”
“I don’t know about that,” the barista said, giving me a sneaky smile.
“All right, all right,” Alim said. “I’ll think of a better plan.”
We meandered through the city center, reverting to our typical bantering routine. Still, the bet lay heavy on my mind.
As we wandered toward the western side of the city, I peered up at the sun as it swept toward the horizon line. At four in the afternoon, the school before us was ducking out for the day. The children rattled out onto the pavement, jumping into their parents’ cars and gabbing endlessly all the while. The chorus of their words filled my ears, bringing a slow smile to my face.
I watched as the kids kicked footballs through the air, running around, wild and free. A few of them recognized me, waving tiny hands and calling my name. “It’s Rami! Hey, Rami!” They were unperturbed with whatever society asked of them, whatever courtesy they were meant to give. And instead, they greeted me as one of their own.
“Man, even the kids are obsessed with you,” Alim sighed. “This entire day has felt like the first day of middle school all over again. When you had three girlfriends by sixth period and I just had a food stain down my shirt.”
“We can’t all be winners,” I grinned.
Glancing toward the entrance, I saw a beautiful woman standing there, watching the children as they darted home. She looked to be in her mid-20s, and she was pale—almost stark white in comparison to the children that surrounded her. And she held her chin high up, proud and beautiful. Her hair whipped around her, raven black, the taut lines of her body discernible beneath her dark green dress.
“What about someone who wasn’t from here?” I heard myself ask.
Alim scoffed softly, nodding his head toward the woman at the doorway. “You know this is the English-speaking school, right? That means she’s either British, or worse. An American.”
“How is that worse?” I asked him, chuckling. I swam through my memories of the American women I’d dated. I remembered them being electric in bed, and good for a laugh. None of them had stuck around for long, but that suited me just fine.
“You know how headstrong they can be,” Alim said, smirking. “They’re not going to just fall head over heels for you immediately, the way some women in Al-Jarra might. They’ve got their own goals, their own reasons for doing things…”
“Now you’re speaking in generalizations,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
“All right, then,” Alim said, his eyebrows high. “Let’s do it. If that beautiful, headstrong-looking woman turns out to be an American, and you can indeed woo her as your own, then I’ll give you, oh…”
“I’m ready for this bet,” I said, feeling my blood pressure rise. “Let’s say five million dollars. No more. No less.”
I watched as the color drained from Alim’s face. But after a chortle, he shot his hand through the air between us, gripping my hand.
We shook on it, both of us falling into laughter. This was a sealing bond, but it did nothing to affect our friendship. This is how we lived, ricocheting from one bet to the next, forever upping the ante.
“All right, then. I’d better get to work,” I told him, winking. I watched as the raven-haired woman began to step back into the school, retreating from the chaos. She’d be leaving work soon and I wasn’t prepared to wait another day, not on this path to victory.
“Good luck, my friend,” Alim said, his eyes gleaming with the orange of the late afternoon. “But remember, you can’t start today,” he reminded me. He eyed my clothes, the swirling robes. “You look like you’ve just come from a royal soiree. Go home and put on some jeans and a T-shirt, for God’s sake. I’m swooning just looking at you.”
I guffawed, turning down the road as the realization hit me. I would have to wait, just one more day. “Touché, my friend. But remember, if you ever give me a chance, I’m here, waiting for you.”
“Give it a rest, man,” he sighed, edging his elbow into my side. “I can’t handle it.”
Chapter 3
Angie
I watched the children dart from school for the day, my brain still spinning with news of my mother. It had been a day since I’d spoken to my parents, but even now, the conversation weighed heavily on me.
My fingers twitched, already wanting to head back into my classroom and dial the familiar number again. Maybe I could even call my mother’s doctor, I considered. I could get the lowdown from the direct source, without my father trying to keep things from me, thinking that that way, he might keep me safe.
; The last of the children scampered from the inner yard, diving into their parents’ cars. I moved toward the front gate, preparing to lock it. After a moment, I realized that a man was poised to the side of the entrance, peering at me.
The man looked completely different than most of the other parents. Although he wore plain street clothes—a pair of jeans and a button-up—he was clearly one of the more handsome men I’d ever seen in Al-Jarra. With wide-set brown eyes, thick lips, and a chorus of thick, dark hair, his looks alone sent a shiver up my spine. Realizing I was staring, I averted my eyes, knowing I couldn’t be caught checking out the father of one of my students.
“Hello? Can I help you?” I heard myself ask, my voice suddenly high-pitched. “Are you a parent? I don’t think we’ve met…”
I trailed off, noticing his hands, strong and dominant. The hair on his chest snuck out from his shirt, adding to his masculine aura. His eyes were now completely focused on me, inhaling me. I felt, in that moment, like I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. I never felt that way.
“Um. I’m sorry,” he said, chuckling slightly. His voice was warm in my ears, something I wanted to cling to. “I just saw you from the road, and I was so curious about you. Somehow, I felt we’d met before.”
I felt my eyebrows lower on my forehead. This line lacked creativity. I couldn’t link it up in my mind. Why was he spying on me? Why was he walking by—this handsome man, eyeing me like that?
“Well, I don’t think we have,” I said, swiping my hair behind my ears. “I think I would have remembered. And I haven’t lived here that long, so…”
“You just moved to Al-Jarra?” he asked, cocking his head to the left. As if he was actually interested. As if this wasn’t just another line.
“No,” I sighed, my nostrils flared. Why was my heart beating so quickly in my chest? I took a step back, creating more distance between us. “I’ve lived in Al-Jarra almost two years now. But I’ve only just moved to this area. It’s a bit different over here.”
“Oh, you must have been out east?” he asked, as if the country was big enough to warrant an “out east” expression.
I nodded, just wanting to give him something. An answer that would be enough for him.
“So, you live around here?” I asked him, unsure of why I wanted to dig our conversation in deeper. Something about his eyes, sparkling.
“A bit further into the city, actually,” he said, taking a step toward me. He was still so focused on me, making heavy eye contact. “I was just on a walk with a friend, who’s since taken his leave. Just daydreaming. Wandering.”
“The kind of thing you do if you don’t have a job?” I said, chuckling slightly.
“It’s true. I’m playing hooky today,” he told me.
“That’s not the kind of thing I can get away with,” I said, hearing warmth grow in my voice.
“As a teacher, I would think not. A whole classroom of people relying on you. A fearless leader.”
“Something like that,” I said.
“You know, I hate being so forward like this,” the man said, stepping even closer, “but your beauty drew me over here. And now, it’s your smile, your laugh, that’s preventing me from leaving. I must ask. What is your name?”
The color of his words felt suddenly off. This felt far too forward.
I shook my head slightly, feeling wary of giving him any details about my life. I had just moved to the area, and didn’t know it well. Perhaps he was a crook, eager to take me for all I was worth. I shifted my weight, knowing that so long as I remained at the school, I’d be safe. I just had to knock him off the scent.
“Listen, I don’t know you—” I said, chuckling slightly at his good try.
“But we can change that,” he returned. “Almost instantly. If we just give one another our names.”
“I just don’t know what good it would do,” I said, finding my smile stretching wider. “We’re going to be strangers for the rest of our lives.”
“Not if I can help it,” he said, his thick eyebrows rising high on his forehead.
Suddenly, I heard my name from behind—far back at the entrance of the school. Somehow, I had followed this stranger as far as the road. I knocked my foot back, leaping slightly, as if he were a hot oven I’d accidentally touched.
“I’d better be getting back to work,” I told him. “Although it’s been terribly interesting.”
“Terribly interesting. I’ll take that,” he said, bringing his hand to his forehead in a kind of salute. “Lord knows I’ve had worse.”
“Good luck out there,” I told him, twirling back toward the door. My heart hammered with the intrigue of the moment. I felt his eyes still on me, taking in my body—something I almost never considered, since I hadn’t dated in almost two years. I shivered with a sudden burst of longing.
But then, I found myself at the door of the school, face-to-face with Rita Ratchet, another American teacher at the school. She eyed me suspiciously, crossing her arms over her chest. Almost twenty years older than me, she often had opinions about my movements, my decisions. Unsolicited advice poured out of her mouth like a waterfall.
“What were you doing with that young man down there?” she asked me, her voice stern and Midwestern. She was from Minnesota, not far from my South Dakotan home.
“Oh, it was just some creepy guy walking past,” I told her, my stomach feeling squeezed. “He told me I was beautiful, and I told him to keep walking.”
“Then why are you blushing?” she asked me, her left eyebrow twitching.
“It’s hot outside, Rita,” I told her, stepping past her and into the air-conditioned hallway. I felt beads of sweat drip down my back, racing to my waistband. “It has nothing to do with that guy.”
I followed Rita to her office, where we began to lay out the plans for the upcoming school play. But even as we arranged the list of songs, the dialogue, ensuring none of it was too technical or overtly American, my brain still stung with thoughts of the stranger. He had left the strangest impression with me. So much so that minutes later, after Rita asked me a question, I stared at her for several moments, trying to remember what she’d said.
“You’re a space cadet today,” she told me, scoffing slightly. “Maybe we should take it easy the rest of the day. So you can get over your new love.”
“There’s no love to worry about, Rita,” I sighed, frustration brimming. “Trust me. I have enough on my plate to worry about some guy creeping around here. As good as it is to be called beautiful.”
Rita’s lips pressed into a firm line. “You heard from your mother again?”
“Yesterday,” I whispered, watching as Rita’s fingers busied themselves with the papers, the folders. They worked quickly, sliding the papers together in a smooth stack.
“And?”
“It’s not looking good,” I said, my fingers moving to my cheeks and rubbing at the skin. “It’s making me crazy.”
“If you need me to call a substitute in for the next few days…”
“No, no,” I sighed. “If anything, these kids are the reason I get through every day. They give me a purpose and a reason to think about anything else.”
“Maybe you should get out there and date someone, just to get your mind off of it,” Rita said, giving me a shrug.
“I’m not sure anything will help,” I told her.
“Maybe not creepy men from the street,” she said.
“Maybe not anyone,” I said. “Maybe I’m not cut out for dating. Especially when I’m just biding my time until I can go back home. Return to my mom.”
“If you’re not happy here…”
“No, no. I am,” I murmured, realizing I’d misspoken. “I’m able to send money to my mother. I’m willing to do anything for that. Seriously. This is what I want.”
“It doesn’t sound like any kind of life,” Rita murmured. She snapped the light off in the classroom, casting shadows across our faces. Somewhere down the hall, we heard another te
acher sharpening pencil after pencil. I could picture the shavings, filtering off to the carpet below.
“It’s just what I have to do right now,” I said, mostly to myself. “It’s just what I have to do.”
The walk back to my apartment that night felt long. My legs and back were aching with fatigue as I dropped my shoulders forward and paced across the sidewalk. I kept my eyes from the passersby, not wanting to see any opinions of me etched into their expressions. Not that I was often seen. Not that I was often acknowledged.
In almost every sense, I was an invisible woman, living an invisible life in the middle of a desert. On the days I was allowed to embark out by myself, darting toward the sea, I felt the ocean winds blast across my face and inhaled the salty air. On those days, I remembered who I was, or who I had been.
And then, I returned to the nothingness of my little life. The life I led, trying to sustain my mother’s. Trying to keep her with us for as long as I could.
Chapter 4
Rami
“How did it go last night?” Alim asked me. We were perched at a cafe, our cappuccinos cooling off in front of us. The foam had strung along Alim’s mustache, making him look like a teenager sipping coffee for the first time.
“She’s a guarded one, that American,” I said, considering the woman I’d met at the entrance of the school. She’d followed me out onto the sidewalk, interested, yet filled with secrets. “I think I would have gotten somewhere with her if she hadn’t been called back into the school.”
“Ah, that’s a tragedy,” Alim said, snickering slightly.
“Don’t think I’m going to give up on her,” I told him. “Seriously. I think I’ve got her on a line. It’s just going to be a slow fishing expedition.”
“Not exactly hanging on your every word, like most women in Al-Jarra? That’s shocking,” Alim said, his eyes glittering. “It’s almost as if my theory is already proving itself.”