Freefall (12 page)

“No choice?” Shira interrupts. “Manhattan or Jerusalem.” She pretends to weigh the options in the palms of her hands. Her right hand, the one with the silver rings, sinks with the imaginary weight.

“She's teasing,” I say. I want to take Hadas's hand and squeeze it, tell her she doesn't have to defend herself in front of my friends. “Shira wants to be the next music diva of the Middle East. After she's conquered Jerusalem she's headed west.”

Shira makes a face at me. I'm talking too fast, trying too hard. This meeting of my two worlds is unhinging me. “We were just going for coffee,” I say, sure that if Shira gets to know Hadas, they will find so much in common. “Want to join us?”

“Only if you're going to add a big slice of chocolate cake to your order.” She lets her eye slide over me and frowns. “You haven't been doing your homework.” She shakes her head.

Shira groans.

Ben snakes his arm around me. “Aggie realizes that

“Do I have a choice?” asks Hadas, her tone and pitch you have to have a bit more than a chunky waist and a passing whim to be a soldier in our military. What we do is serious stuff .” His chest puff s out. “You got to have the right genes.”

“That's exactly what the girls said about her,” says Hadas. “Aggie's just like her father.”

I bristle. I didn't know they had been talking behind my back. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Shira closes ranks with me. She knows that Hadas has hit a sensitive spot. My dad's shadow could wilt a valley of sunflowers.

“I never met him,” says Hadas. “But the girls say your dad can move mountains, and that it was obvious from the way you handled yourself in the field that you are going to do it, too—sandbag by sandbag.” Hadas rises onto her toes and laughs. “You should have seen her out there in the field.”

I catch the look on Ben's face as Hadas goes on about me.

“Really?” says Shira.

“Honest. She was amazing. Not to mention that the two of us had the best V formation.”

She turns her heels into a perfect ballet first position and snaps to attention.

“At ease,” I say. “Some of those sandbags were the easier ones to move,” I add, thinking of how everything is becoming so complicated.

“Don't I know it,” says Hadas. “My mom's mailed me a return ticket.” She pats her pocket.

“So what about that coffee?” says Ron.

“Thanks, but not tonight. I'm here with my Hebrew class, if you can call it that. I think I'll end up learning more Russian and Spanish. I never even knew there were Jews in some of those places.” She smiles, her freckles scrunching. “And now we're all here trying to cram our heads with a language that looks like an upside-down jigsaw puzzle, all so that we'll understand what our commanders are shouting at us.” She shrugs. “My best friend is from Milano and I don't even speak a word of Italian.”

Pulling out a book from her backpack, she hands me her copy of
The Alchemist
. “I finished reading it on the bus back from boot camp and have been wondering who to pass it on to. Call me, okay? I'll be here for another few weeks.”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure you have her number?” asks Ron.

Hadas turns to him. “Why, do you want it, too?”

Ron's face turns red. “Only if you want me to have it.” Fumbling for his cell, he rests it in the palm of his hand.

Hadas whispers it to herself in English and then says each number slowly in Hebrew. “Numbers are the hardest,” she confesses. “I can't figure out this language gender thing, male and female endings? Instead of Hebrew lessons, they should have sent me for sex education classes.”

“I can help you with that,” says Ron.

Shira swings around and gives him a look. “Ron—”

His face turns redder than Hadas's hair. “What?” he says. “The Hebrew. I can help her with the Hebrew.”

“Right,” says Ben, slapping him on the back.

Hadas shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Well, you've got my number.”

She hugs me once more and walks away to join a group of kids hanging out near the bagel bar.

“Now
she
looks like a combat soldier,” says Ben.

This time it's my turn to groan. Shira eyes me strangely, and Ron stares off after Hadas as if his Cinderella has run off and he's left holding her army boot.

Chapter Eleven

“Hey, sleepyhead, you have a call.”

I roll over, yawn, and stretch. Hadas's copy of
The
Alchemist
falls to the floor. I've lost my place. “Who is it?” I mumble, my face squished deep in the pillow.

“Do I look like your secretary?”

I open one eye. Hila is standing at the door of my room wearing a long jeans skirt, a white T-shirt with sleeves to her elbows, and scruffy running shoes. Anywhere else in the world she'd be a fashion disaster.

“No, not a secretary. You look more like the girls who live on the next block across from the synagogue. All you're missing is a book of psalms in your hand and you'd fit right in.”

“Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment.”

I don't argue with her.

She sighs. “Isn't it about time you've started doing something with these few months left before your draft?”

I pull the blankets over my head.

She grunts disapprovingly. “Well, what should I tell him?” she asks impatiently.

“Who?” I peek out.

She shrugs. “The reception is terrible. It's a guy. Probably Ben, again.”

I consider ignoring her and Ben, but instead I pull my quilt over my shoulders and shuffle to the phone in the living room. Curling up on the wicker love seat that once belonged to Grandma, I pull the phone over, wondering why Ben couldn't have called my cell phone and saved me the trip out of bed. He didn't like hearing that what he thought was going to happen wasn't on my “to-do” list before being drafted, and how I thought the timing for us was all wrong.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my voice. “What's up?”

Hila walks by and makes kissing noises. I give her a nasty look.

There's static on the line. A couple of crackles. Silence.

“Ben?”

“No, not Ben,” says the raspy voice. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Noah!” My voice, still raw with sleep, croaks. “How are you?”

“Okay …and you?”

My face flushes. “Fine. But I'm surprised to hear from you.”

“Good surprised?”

“Of course!”

Crackle. Static. I'm not sure if it's the phone line or Noah thinking of what to say.

“Really?” he says. “And I thought . . .”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Static.

I wonder why he's calling me. Shira groans whenever I ask about him. “He's so busy. Doesn't have a second to breathe. He comes home long enough to kick off his boots, throw his uniform in the washing machine, sleep for twelve hours, eat anything worth eating in the house, ask what's up with me, throw one question in about you, and go back to his base.”

“About me?”

“Yeah. Always asks if you've heard from the army about where they're placing you—as if you're the first woman ever to get into a combat unit. Do you believe him butting into my life? I've told him more than once to mind his own business.”

Laughter. His raspy-voiced chuckle snaps me back. I giggle. Stop. Realize I must sound so childish.

Hila pops her head back into the room, her eyebrows raised.

“What?”
I mouth to her.

“Noah?” she says. She smiles and gives me a thumbs-up.

“I'll speak to you later,” I tell her, cupping my hand slightly over the phone.

“Call you later?” says Noah.

“No, not you.”

“…time so short whenever I see you and we haven't had any time off . . .”

More static. I wait, wondering what to say next and what he'll say.

“…never got to tell me about boot camp …relieved it's over?”

“And how!” This is safe territory, something I can prattle on about and avoid awkward silences. “You saw me after that first night and then they made us stay another one. But at least I had my stuff back.”

“…stuff ?”

“My bag with all my clothes and toiletries and my sleeping bag got lost the first night and I had to sleep without any of my gear. It was awful! If I hadn't been so exhausted, I probably wouldn't have closed my eyes for a second.”

At first I think I hear more crackling on the line and then I realize he's laughing.

“It wasn't funny. I was miserable.”

“…believe they did it to you.”

I kick off the blanket and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my nightshirt over them. I feel snug as Noah's voice sends electric pulses of heat though the phone line. “What do you mean? Did what to me?”

“The missing gear gag. Every group gets one: some poor kid whose gear mysteriously doesn't show up at night.”

I press the phone to my ear, struggling to catch every word. “You mean they did it on purpose?”

More laughter.

I imagine Noah's dimples growing deeper at my expense. “That's so cruel! I can't believe they'd do that to someone. I can't believe they did it to me. I was miserable. Why me?” Immediately I think it's Dad's fault. They were testing me—but that's absurd. How could they have known which stuff was mine?

“It's usually the thing that breaks the person,” says Noah. “Either you can hack it or you can't and leave.

Loud noises, like tanks or something, in the background make it hard for me to hear.

“…be prepared to deal with all sorts of crap. It's not sleepover camp.”

That hurts. “But I didn't break,” I remind him.

Silence—static.

“I slept on the ground without even a blanket. Did two guard shifts.” I'm trying too hard to impress him but can't stop myself.

“Without even any cosmetics for the next day?” he teases.

Static.

“What?”

“Reception's bad . . .”

“Where are you?” I shout louder.

“…'p north. Tried calling home but there's no answer.”

“Oh.” The realization hits me. “You were trying to call home. You're looking for Shira.” I'm such a jerk. Of course he's not calling me. If he wanted me, he would have called my cell, not that he has my cell number, but then the fact that he doesn't have my cell number means that he's never bothered to ask me for it—or get it from Shira.

“Yes,” he says. “But no,” he quickly adds. “I—hello, Aggie? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I'm here.” I wrap the blanket back around me.

“…can't hear. Do any of you guys have reception?”

A bunch of male voices in the background are shouting over the grinding noises of tanks and artillery, which makes it even harder for me to hear.

even harder for me to hear.

“Noah, I hear you. What do you want?”

“Hello? Aggie? If you can hear me, just wanted to say good-bye. We're going in and won't be able to have our cell phones with us for—jeez, who knows for how long.”

“Going where?”

“Oh, now I can hear. We're going into Lebanon . . .”

Crackle. Static. “Aggie. Man—I've lost her again. I just wanted to tell you that I— Hey, guys, will you shut up? It's hard enough to hear without all that noise.”

It sounds as if a whole battalion of soldiers is in the background gearing up. High, piercing whistles, artillery fire all jar together with shouts and banter. I try and stay focused on Noah's voice, clutching the phone to my ear and barely breathing. “Tell me what?” I shout.

“What?”

There's more laughing in the background. I think I hear my name, then Noah telling them off .

“Noah?” My voice is hoarse. My stomach contracts.

“We've got to go. Aggie, if you can hear me, just wanted to tell you that—I—well—I don't even know if you're still there—but about the other day . . .”

Static. Silence.

“Noah? Noah!” I shout. I'm standing in the middle of the room screaming into the phone. But he's gone.

Mom comes in. She's wearing her baking apron. Her right hand holds a spatula covered in gooey chocolate. Her left cheek is covered in flour. Her face is kneaded into a worried frown. “What's going on?”

“Noah's been deployed, I think. We kept getting cut off. He wanted to tell me something.”

“Lower your voice, please. You're shouting.”

I catch my breath and realize that I'm clutching the phone as if I'm about to attack someone with it. “What's going on? Why is he going into Lebanon?”

Mom brushes a strand of hair from her face, sprinkling her head with white flour. “I don't know. There have been odd reports on the radio all morning. I've been trying to get your father on the phone but he's been in meetings.” She glances over her shoulder to the kitchen, where the mixer is still on.

We avoid eye contact. Mom hasn't discussed the combat issue with me yet. It's not normal. How could she not ask me about it? It's as if she doesn't want to know. Even Noah's asked me.

Noah. My stomach clenches tighter. I imagine him as we walked together to the bus stop, his hands on my shoulders as we searched for the moon. His voice at the end of the line. What did he want to tell me now? That I'll make a great soldier? Or that I shouldn't get the wrong impression about the kiss? The kiss. I touch my lips. I can still taste it even though it's been ages. Can feel the scruff on his chin, the weight of his sweatshirt.

I can't believe I called him Ben.

“Get dressed, Aggie.” My mother interrupts my thoughts. “I need you to bring Grandma her eyeglasses. She forgot them here the other day.”

The scowl on my face grows deeper. “You never even asked me about boot camp.”