“You should have seen them when we came out of the barn, though,” says Angie. “They were holding hands. If we hadn’t interrupted, they would have been kissing for sure.”
“It’s about time,” interjects Jazzy.
“We were shaking hands, not holding them.” I tear off another projectile. “I think you’re just trying to distract us from the fact that you and Ali disappeared into the barn all by yourselves. What was that about?”
“That’s a good point,” says Tahira primly. “It was very wicked of you to leave Emma alone and even worse to go into the barn alone with a boy. Did you even think of your reputation?”
“Of course she thought of it,” crows Jazzy. “She thought, ‘I’m sixteen! Screw the virgin rep, it’s time to get laid!’ ”
“Jazzy, keep your voice down!” hiss Leela and Tahira almost in unison.
“I’m not denying anything,” says Angie. “Ali’s a cutie.”
“Of course,” says Tahira. “But you would not have sex with him!” It’s not clear whether this is a statement or an order.
“The point is, I admit I’d go out with Ali if he asked me,” says Angie.
“You’d go out with anyone if they asked,” says Jazzy. “You’re just desperate for some action.”
“Yeah, and how’s it going with Johan?” asks Angie.
“The guy’s completely clueless,” sighs Jazzy. “I don’t think he even realizes I’m flirting with him.”
“Maybe you need to work on your game,” says Angie.
I’m pleased to see the heat’s off me as I shovel a chunk of lamb into my mouth.
“I’ve got plenty of game,” insists Jazzy. “I’ve got game to spare!”
“Speaking of game …”
We all jump as a deep, very male voice breaks into our conversation.
For a group of girls who do little else but talk about boys, you’d think one of us could have noticed when the species was approaching. He stands at the end of our table, grinning mischievously. I gulp, momentarily forgetting I have a huge wad of meat in my mouth, and I start choking. Tahira, who’s sitting next to me, pats my back while leaning forward to try to shield my indignity from Mustapha. Leela coos sympathetically and hands across a pile of napkins, which she never seems to be without. Jazzy laughs, earning her a much-deserved jab from Angie, and not one of us has the presence of mind to actually say anything.
“Speaking of game,” repeats Mustapha when it’s obvious we’ve all been simultaneously struck mute, “we have our first cricket match after school today, and I was wondering if any of you ladies might like to come out and cheer us on.”
He’s addressing the whole table, but as Tahira moves back so I can have a clear view, I see he’s looking directly at me.
“Have you ever watched cricket, Emma?” he asks.
I clear my throat, which is still sore from the whole near-death experience. “No,” I croak.
“Well, you should come out. We’re playing Pindi International. They’re our biggest rivals.” He shifts his weight and looks around the table, his smile starting to look a little frozen as we all stare back at him.
He shifts his weight again, and in that instant, I realize Mustapha Khan, school heartthrob, the god-creature, is nervous. My grinchy heart expands two sizes. “I’ll try to come,” I say, and I’m rewarded with a smile that could make plants grow.
“That’s great.” He turns away and practically jogs back to his table of mates.
“Okay, that was just pathetic.” Jazzy is the first one to speak. “Why would you want to waste your time watching a stupid cricket match? Do you see what I mean about boys being clueless?”
“I believe Johan’s on that team,” says Leela.
“That’s right,” agrees Tahira. “Ali is as well.”
“It’s decided, then,” says Angie firmly, getting up and piling her plate and cutlery onto her tray. “We’re all staying after school to watch cricket.”
“Fine,” says Jazzy, picking up her tray and stepping over the bench. “But we are so lame.”
The rest of the day passes quickly. Angie finally gives up teasing me about Mustapha when I return every comment with a few of my own about her budding romance with Ali. By three o’clock, we’ve assembled in the bleachers beside the cricket pitch and are watching the boys take the field. Tahira painstakingly tries to explain the game to me, with frequent corrections from Leela, but I don’t really listen to either of them as the match progresses.
It turns out, watching cricket really is a singularly boring experience, but watching Mustapha for a solid ninety minutes is not. He lopes around the field and smashes the ridiculous little ball as gracefully and beautifully as a thoroughbred in action. The only stain on an otherwise perfect afternoon is Aisha, who’s found the precise spot in the bleachers where she can glare at me and watch the field at the same time. She’s also close enough that her voice carries as she prattles on about her and Mustapha’s plans for the future. And I’m sure it was intentional.
Our team wins, and though she’s farther from the field than me, Aisha manages to swoop down to Mustapha’s side to be the first to congratulate him. In spite of her presence, I follow my friends down and stand by while Angie tells Ali he was the best player, which is a lie, and Jazzy tells Johan he looks hot in cricket whites, which is not.
“What did you think of the game, Emma?” asks Mustapha, apparently unaware of the ice princess shooting death rays from his right flank.
“It wasn’t the worst ninety minutes of my life,” I say pleasantly.
“Really.” He laughs. “So, it was better than what? A trip to the dentist?”
“Sure,” I grin. “Or a math exam. It was definitely better than a math exam. Maybe not English, but definitely math.” Are we flirting?
“I think all this flattery is going to go to my head,” he says.
He looks as if he wants to say more, but Aisha reminds him he has an appointment to meet his father, like she’s his personal social secretary, and after apologizing for rushing away, he allows her to shepherd him off the field.
“Don’t worry,” says Angie. Ali has departed with Mustapha, and she’s come up beside me to watch them as they disappear in the direction of the car park. “He clearly likes you better. It’s just going to take awhile to dig her hooks out of him.”
“We’re just friends, Angie.” I turn to look at her and I see the gleam of elfin wisdom. I know I’m not fooling anyone. We may be just friends, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting more.
“Give it time,” she says.
“Sure. Do want to come over to Secret City today?”
“Can I bring my sisters?”
“Absolutely. But it might be crowded. Every kid on the compound is begging Mandy to let them come over.”
“Revenge is sweet.” She holds her hand up and we high-five.
“Isn’t it?” I say with a grin.
CHAPTER 23
I can’t figure out what the noise is when I wake in the middle of the night to a muffled ringing. As my head gradually clears, I roll out of bed and fumble around in the dark, looking for my cell phone.
“Hello,” I mumble.
“Emma, it’s me Angie. Wake up!”
“What time is it?” I wonder if I’ve overslept, but I can’t see any light from the window.
“Come out on the balcony.”
She sounds totally awake. Much too awake. I hold my cell phone away from my face to look at the time, accidentally drop it, and have to scrabble through a pile of clothes on the ground to find it. I’m wishing I wasn’t so uncomfortable letting The Ghoul into my room. It’s true he barely speaks to me and never looks right at me, but maybe that’s not enough reason to stop him from tidying my room. It hasn’t seen a broom since I got here, and most of my clothes, which I hastily unpacked because we needed the boxes for Secret City, are still in piles on the floor.
“Emma, are you still there? Come outside.”
I follow t
he sound of Angie’s voice, triumphantly rescuing my phone from a pile of dirty clothes.
“Ha!” I exclaim.
“What?”
“I found my phone,” I mutter, checking the time. “Angie, it’s two o’clock!”
“I know. Keep your voice down. You don’t want to wake up your family.”
“Why are you phoning me at two o’clock?” I try not to sound too indignant.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t think the guards will let me out of the gate this late.”
“I think you can get over the wall.”
“What?”
“If you go outside, walk down to the end of the balcony, past your brother’s room. There’s only a few feet between the end of the balcony and the wall. If you hurl yourself off the balcony and out a bit, I think you’ll sail right over.”
“Where are you?” I walk over to the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and peer into the darkness. But all I can see from here is a small patch of yard.
“Here. Just outside your wall.”
I step out on the balcony and, as quietly as possible, hurry down to the end nearest the outside wall. Sure enough, Angie is standing just on the other side.
“What are you doing there?” I hiss.
“I think we’ve covered this, Emma,” she whispers. “Will you jump already?”
“Hang on.” I look down at the wicked shards of glass cemented along the top of the wall.
Returning to my room, I hurriedly pull on my jeans and a T-shirt and a sweatshirt over that. If I’m going to land on broken glass, I want some protection. Grabbing my thickest blanket, I head back to the end of the balcony.
“This is totally crazy,” I grumble as I throw the blanket over the top of the wall and climb up on the railing. I take a deep breath and climb over. Not letting go of the metal, I slide myself down till I’m hanging from the ledge. My feet dangle just below the top of the wall. Resting one foot gingerly on the blanket-covered shards of glass, I swing the other leg to the outside of the wall and feel Angie’s hand just barely reaching my calf.
“I’ve got you,” she lies. “Stop being such a wuss.”
“It’s a shame about you being unnaturally short,” I say.
“Drop. I’ll catch you.”
If the definition of catch is to provide a small bony surface to land on as your face and hands scrape to the point of bleeding down eight feet of cement, then Angie totally comes through on her promise. We lie panting in a tangled heap on the ground while I slowly flex my hands and feet to test for irreparable damage.
“Ow.”
“Get off me,” she groans.
Slowly we struggle to our feet.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“We’re going for a walk. There’s a place I want to take you. We’ll talk there. The only problem is, we have to get past the front of your compound, so we need to cut through the brush on the far side of the road so your guards don’t see us.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure what the big deal is.
“Watch out for snakes.”
“Oh.” I remember the huge cobra from my first day of school and shudder.
We walk to the far side of the tennis court, still technically on Canadian property though it’s outside the living quarters. Then, hunching low to the ground, we run across the road and leap into the brush. From here I can see the bright lights of our guardhouse. There are two guards on duty, chatting quietly and smoking. Spotlights illuminate a radius of about a hundred feet all around the entry gates, but beyond that, shadows from the huge trees we’re now hiding under create a deep and impermeable darkness. We begin moving slowly through the brush directly opposite the gates.
I’m impressed, if completely terrified, to see our guards stop talking and gaze across the road as if they’ve heard something. I’m fairly certain they can’t see us, but it’s not a reassuring thought. I’ve seen the pile of dead cobras and kraits they produce most mornings. They’d like nothing better than a little random target practice. One of the guards comes out of the house and walks to the edge of the light, staring into the darkness. He slings his rifle off his shoulder and holds it in his hands, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Angie pulls me down to the forest floor, and we sit there for what seems like an eternity. Finally, the guard calls something to the one who remained in the guardhouse, and after a final look in our direction, heads back inside.
We start moving again, keeping low to the ground.
“What is this about, Angie?” I demand as soon as we reach the corner opposite the edge of our compound and are out of earshot.
She turns to me, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. “You need to trust me,” she says softly. “It’s important.”
“We could have been killed back there.”
“But we weren’t.” She attempts a smile, but even in the gloom, I can see it’s a struggle. She bites her lip and turns away, heading down one of the roads that leads out of the diplomatic enclave. I watch her, unsure whether to follow. I tense as a nearby bush rustles ominously. I’ve never been down the road in this direction, and even in daylight, I know it’s dangerous to leave the enclave. But surely we’ll hit the perimeter wall and have to turn back. It’s not fair that she expects me to trust her with no explanation. More troubling than our current life-threatening situation, however, is the realization that I do trust her. I sigh as I hurry to catch up.
There are no more buildings in sight, but the road just keeps going, with forest on one side and low-lying bush on the other. I wonder why we haven’t reached the wall and get the sinking feeling we’re already outside the enclave. Strangely, I’m enjoying being out in the night air. It’s cool, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars. Every once in a while, we hear noises from the undergrowth. One time a mongoose scurries across our path, but for the most part, the quiet is as complete as the emptiness of the landscape.
“Why haven’t we hit a perimeter wall?” I ask, stopping to shake a pebble out of my sandal. “Are we still in the enclave?”
“No.” She pauses to wait for me. “We left the enclave ages ago. Everyone thinks we’re so well guarded, but there’s only a wall on the side that faces the city. From the villages, you can walk right in.”
“We’re not supposed to leave the enclave, Angie.” She knows this as well as I do, though it’s obviously too late to worry about that now.
“Live a little,” she says lightly. “Sometimes you have to take a few risks.”
I try to read her expression in the moonlight, but she quickly looks away. The gesture is so unlike her that my breath catches with a premonition that I may have more to fear from her tonight than anything lurking in the darkness.
We continue on the road, which eventually turns into a dirt path angling up a hillside. The brush gives way to grassland, and I imagine there might be a good view of the enclave in the daylight, though from this angle we can see only distant lights through the curtain of trees. The path is narrow, so Angie leads and I follow, pausing every once in a while to look out at the changing landscape. In the distance are some dim flickering lights.
“What’s that up ahead?”
“A village,” says Angie. “We won’t go into it, but we’ll stop just above it.”
The path begins to head up more steeply, and we breathe heavily as we climb over ground that is increasingly rutted with rocky outcroppings. I’m watching my feet, trying not to trip, so I don’t notice that Angie has stopped until I bump into her. She points ahead to where dozens of huge creatures loom out of the darkness. Sharp tusks jut out from upturned jaws like spears, and hair bristles out of hunched backs.
“Monsters,” I whisper, my heart thudding.
“Wild boar,” she whispers back.
“They’re going to eat us?”
Angie shakes her head.
“They’re gentle?” I ask, trying to imagine their toothy jaws spreading into friendly smiles.
�
��No, they might kill us,” she says. “They just won’t eat us.”
I give her an annoyed look, which is lost on her in the darkness.
“They’re territorial,” she whispers. “We need to back up. Slowly.”
I creep backward several feet and trip, crashing to the ground.
“Slowly and quietly,” Angie hisses as several of the beasts begin advancing toward us.
Keeping my movements slow so I don’t further antagonize them, I rise and decide to face forward this time – even if it means I can’t keep an eye on the predators. What are we doing out here, anyway?
We descend a ways, then leave the path to walk across the hillside directly parallel to the herd, but below them.
“We can cut back up when we get beyond them,” Angie says, her voice still barely above a whisper.
We begin climbing uphill again and have to stop talking because it’s much harder going this time. There’s no path, and we’re ascending more steeply. It seems like we climb for close to an hour before we finally hit the path again and, sometime later, the summit.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“The foothills of the Himalayas,” says Angie, and I can hear the satisfaction in her voice. “The view is awesome. I wish you could see it in daylight.”
I look down at the clusters of flickering lights. “Are they fires?” I say.
“And lanterns,” she replies. “Sometimes, when my life seems too hard or complicated, I come up here and watch the villagers going back and forth, the little kids walking for miles to fetch a bucket of water and carrying it all the way home, kids our age with stacks of firewood on their heads that weigh more than they do. It kind of puts things in perspective.”
There’s something in her tone that makes my mouth go dry. “Why are we here, Angie?”
“I’m leaving,” she says quietly, like she doesn’t want to shatter the beauty of the night.
“What do mean, you’re leaving?” I try to keep the note of panic out of my voice.
“They bombed two of our embassies in Africa. We just got the news tonight.”
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