How to Ruin Your Boyfriend's Reputation

Page 24

"Amy?"
"Yeah."
He leans on his elbow and stares down at me. "I didn't tell you this before, but I think you've been a great leader on the base."
"You're just saying that because you love me."
"I do love you. But that's not why I said it. People listen to you."
"Me? Yeah, right. It's a wonder I haven't been kicked out of the program."
"You sell yourself short. Every time your team is standing around looking for some direction, you come up with a strategy. Like suggesting taking turns with the ditch digging. And suggesting people kneel on the ground during the monkey bars on the obstacle course. Whether you believe it or not, you're a born leader."
I guess I never thought about that before. I reach up and cup his cheek. "How come you can see the good parts of me I don't even see in myself?"
"Because you're too busy focusing on negative stuff. You should stop doing that."
"I've been trying. It's kinda hard for me." I lean forward, put my hand on his bare chest, and kiss him. "I'm what you call a work in progress."
"That makes two of us." He puts his arms around me. We kiss. And kiss again. His lips are soft on mine. When he deepens the kiss and his tongue reaches for mine, the tingling sensation zings right down to my toes and back up again. I could kiss this boy forever. His kisses make me as hot as my flat iron, and I toss the covers away. My fingers trail paths around his body and his do the same. All the while, our breathing is getting faster and my pulse is racing in excitement. Our legs are intertwined, skin against skin.
I feel Avi's pulse racing too, as my palm explores his chest and abs.
Being close to Avi, his body against mine, is the best feeling in the world. It's better than eating spicy tuna sushi rolls with little pieces of crunchy tempura inside, better than drinking hot chocolate with loads of whipped cream, better than winning a tennis match.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks as I moan under his touch.
"Sushi, hot chocolate, and tennis."
"You're thinking about food? And tennis?"
He pulls away, but I take his hand in mine and weave my fingers through his. "No. I'm thinking about how being with you is better than sushi, hot chocolate, and tennis. What were you thinking about?"
A short laugh escapes from his mouth. "It sure wasn't hummus, falafel, and soccer."
I open my fingers so we're palm against palm. "Avi, what if we get carried away tonight?"
"We won't."
"But what if I want to? My mom bought me protection before I left, just in case. It's in one of my suitcases."
Avi takes a deep breath and leans away from me, the cool air rushing to the open space between us. I want to pull him back so his body heats mine again. Instead, I grab the covers and pull them over us. I don't know if I'm shivering from nervousness or the chilly night air.
"I'm not gonna lie to you," he says seriously. "I'm ready. Like right now, I'm ready."
"I think I am, too."
"Your body might be, but I know in the morning you'll regret it. And then I'll feel like crap because I knew you'd regret it." He rubs his hands over his head and moans in frustration. "You said a while back that you wanted to wait until we got married. I promised to respect that."
"I changed my mind."
"What?"
"You heard me. I changed my mind."
"Amy, you hated that you were an illegitimate child. It eats at you every day, and I think sometimes it fuels this insecurity you have. What if it happens to us? You'll never forgive yourself. Or me."
"Can you not be logical now, Avi? You're kind of ruining the mood." I sit up, thinking how right Avi is and how wrong I am. How can I let my overactive hormones rule my life? Though I must say it's kind of easy when Avis expert fingers are strumming my body like a guitar. "Avi?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not tired anymore. Are you?"
He shakes his head.
"We can still kiss and do other things, can't we? Remember at my house on the sofa, when my dad was working late? Can we try that again?"
Seriously, it's not like Avi and I haven't fooled around. We have. In fact, I've gone farther with Avi than with any other boy I've dated.
Avi's hands circle my waist and he guides me on top of him. My long hair shields his face as I look down at him. "Ani ohevet o'tach," I tell him.
"You just said I love you to a girl. Oat'cha is for a boy."
"Ani ohevet oat'cha."
"Ani ohevet o'tach. I love you, Amy Nelson-Barak."
We kiss, and I start to move against him. My pulse is racing, and Avi's heart is pounding against my skin... and the earth is shattering into two pieces.
No, seriously.
The earth is shattering.
And we're falling.
I realize pretty quickly, through my haze of teenage sexual lust, that the earth isn't moving. Our beds are. They're moving apart and Avi and I are falling in between them. Before I know it, Avi falls to the hard cement tile floor. I'm straddling him, so lucky for me his body breaks my fall.
"Ouch," Avi says, his head banging on the tile. "I think I just got a splinter from the bed frame."
"Do you think this was a sign from God?" I ask. We are in the Holy Land. God can't be far away.
"More like a sign from your dad," Avi says, helping me up. "He always warns me not to touch your parts."
Whether it's God or my dad or some other divine intervention, Avi and I decide it's late and we should probably get as much sleep as we can before we have to head back to the base. Instead of sleeping with our beds pushed together and having another mini-disaster, Avi sleeps on his bed and I sleep on mine.
We bridge the gap between our beds by holding hands until we both fall asleep.
Chapter 24
If you don't know where you've come from, it's hard to know where you're going.
"Have you ever been to the Western Wall?" I ask Avi in the morning when we wake up.
"Many times. I got my Bible during my army induction ceremony there."
"What's it like? Rabbi Glassman told me it's super mystical and spiritual."
Avi sits up, and I think how unfair it is that someone can look so good in the morning. Of course he doesn't have to worry about bed-head because his hair is so short.
He rubs his chin pensively.
"Well?" I say, urging him to respond.
He puts up a finger. "Yeah, urn, it is spiritual. I'm not orthodox, but I definitely feel closer to God when I'm there."
I narrow my eyes. "So what's all the chin-rubbing about? Don't you think I'll be spiritually moved there?"
"Definitely. But..."
"But, what?"
Avi scratches his head. "But it's got a mechitza. You know, a partition, separating the men from the women."
"I'm okay with that. Rabbi Glassman said it's tradition in more religious synagogues to separate men and women so they can concentrate on praying and not each other. If you're with me, I'll definitely be distracted."
"And you're okay with it even if the men's side is four times the size of the women's?"
Think positive, Amy. "Um, sure."
"And women aren't supposed to pray out loud."
"And men..."
"... pray out loud," he says, wincing in anticipation of my reaction.
Truth is, I'm okay with it. I'm going with the flow. Even if I don't observe all of the Jewish rules and traditions, I respect the people who do.
"We have time this morning, if you want me to take you there. We'll be backtracking a bit, but it's okay."
"Really?"
"Sure."
"What time does it open?"
"It's always open, Amy. Come on, let's get ready so we can get back to the base on time. Make sure you wear something that covers your knees and shoulders. No tanks or shorts."
It doesn't take long before we're showered, dressed, and heading back toward Jerusalem.
We park a few blocks from the Western Wall. The scenery mixes the old with the new. When we come up to the Wall, the big ancient stones stacked one on top of another reach out to the sky.
I breathe in slowly as I take in the scene. There's a big area farther from the Wall where people can walk, but if you want to go closer, there's a partition.
Directly in front of the Wall, people are praying. The men bob up and down, deep in prayer, facing the Wall. Women, on the right side of the partition, pray just as fervently (albeit more quietly) on their side.
"Jerusalem was destroyed nine times," Avi explains as he covers his head with a small, round kippah. "But through it all, the Kotel survived."
Kind of like the Water Tower that survived the Great Chicago Fire, which started when Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over a lantern (although that historical fact has been hotly debated by the descendants of Mrs. O'Leary). Nobody debates the fact that this wall has been here for three thousand years.
"They say God is here, right?" I ask Avi. Because I'm feeling the enormity of the Wall and the attachment my Jewish ancestors have to it.
"It's the holiest of holy places for us. That's why, even when you're in America, Jews pray facing east--toward the Wall. Even in Israel, no matter where we are, we pray facing Jerusalem and the Wall. Open up and pour your heart out to God here, Amy." Avi hands me a small piece of paper and pen.
I tell Avi to go to the men's side while I head to the women's. I look up at the Wall, its chalky yellow boulders neatly stacked one on top of one another. Each boulder is as tall as my chest. The closer I get, the more I see little pieces of paper wedged in between the cracks of the stones.
Don't ask me why tears come to my eyes when I'm a few inches away from the Wall. I feel my faith getting stronger here, especially when I think about the Jews being forbidden here as recently as 1948, when Jews could only view the Wall through barbed wire. In the Six Day War, Israeli soldiers fought and died for this wall.
It makes me feel privileged just being here.
Reaching out, I touch the Wall. The ancient stones are cold, even though it's hot outside. For thousands of years, my ancestors prayed here. In the future, I hope my children come to Israel and feel this wall, considered "the gate to God."
I scribble my prayers on the paper, words to be shared only between me and God. In my head, I say the She'ma, the holiest Jewish prayer. She'ma Yisrael! Adonai Eloheinu! Adonai Echad! Hear O Israel! The Lord is our God! The Lord is One! and squeeze my paper inside a crack between the boulders.
I look over to the men's side and spot Avi. He's in his military uniform, touching the Wall with his hand and forehead, deep in prayer. The scene touches my heart.
God, take care of him, I pray silently. Because he's my past, and my future.
Chapter 25
There's no shame in admitting you're an American Princess.
"Hows your safta?" Jess asks me in the late afternoon when I join the rest of our unit in the barracks after Avi and I arrive back on base.
I organize my cubby and slide my suitcases under my bed. "She's okay. Her white blood cell counts are low, but they've stabilized her. She told me to go back and finish the program... something about Baraks not being quitters."
"Well, I'm glad you're back."