Freefall (10 page)

“Aggie?”

I spin around. I'd recognize his voice anywhere, deep and kind of husky, the kind of voice that'll give you goose bumps even in the heat of the desert.

“Aggie!”

I'm wearing only my stinky undershirt splotched with shades of black and gray. My hair is layered with last night's brush pillow, and the only reason I know I must smell pretty bad is because all the other girls around me smell awful. And there is Noah! He's waving his arm and coming over to greet me, like this is a bar in Tel Aviv and he's out with a bunch of guys I've never seen before.

“Help,” I squeak, turning to Lily. “Hide me.” I'm standing by the flagpole in the open area outside the barracks. There isn't a tree, brush, or manhole anywhere.

She shakes her head and laughs. “Who's the hunk?”

Before I can explain, Noah is standing in front of me. He has dark camouflage paint under his eyes that makes him look raccoonlike. Behind me the girls have stopped to stare.

“Noah? What are you doing here?”

“We just got back from a week of survival exercises, and we saw these girls dancing outside the base. I couldn't believe it, and then I realized, wait a minute: I know that girl—and it was you!” He gives me a full-dimple smile.

I cover my face. “How embarrassing.”

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.