How to Ruin a Summer Vacation (Ruined Series #1) (6 page)

CHAPTER 10

Sometimes we have to prove to others we're strong even when we're not.

I've been in Israel for three weeks now.

Thankfully, I'm able to avoid Snotty and Avi. That means I'm spending a lot of time in the house with
Safta,
which is just fine with me.

She relayed stories about when she was a kid here in Israel and more about my grandfather, who died before I was born. She also told me about her parents, who escaped from Germany during World War II. Learning about my extended family has opened my eyes to another world.

As I wake up one morning to Ron's cheery, "Rise and shine, sleepyhead," I just want to go back to sleep.

What time is it anyway?

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SD's words are buzzing around in my head like one of those bees that wouldn't leave me alone. I glance at my watch.

"Six thirty!" I say with a groggy voice. "Please have a very good reason why you're waking me before the sun shines through that window."

Now I know I'm being crabby, but I'm just not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. In my opinion, six thirty isn't even morning; it's still the middle of the night.

"Amy, we've been here a while now and I've left you alone. If you keep sleeping all day, you'll never get over your jet lag. Besides, work needs to be done around here and everyone pitches in. I want you to at least act like you're my daughter and help out."

I sit up and say, "Listen, I'm still tired and cranky. Just come back in, let's say, a couple of hours and we can discuss whatever you want."

"You're always tired and cranky and you need to get out of bed so Yucky can wash the sheets. There's probably mushrooms growing on them."

"Very funny."

"I've promised to help your uncle sell some of the sheep these next few weeks. After that, I want to show you my country."

"Yeah, let's do that. In a couple of weeks," I say just so he'll leave me alone.

I lie back down and pull the covers over my head. A little more sleep is what I need, not to work on my summer vacation or go sightsee. I'll have to convince the

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Sperm Donor just because I happen to be on this stupid trip doesn't mean I have to do anything on it.

I let out a breath when I hear him leave the room. Looking over at Snotty's bed, I see it's empty. She's probably over at Avi's house.

Not that I'm jealous, 'cause I'm not. I just don't know why he's friends with her. She might be pretty, but she's mean.

Or maybe she's just mean to me. Which makes me hate her even more.

I close my eyes and try to think about good things, like going back home.

Nothing really makes me happy now. Is that what being sixteen is all about? If so, I can understand why teenagers express themselves in so many different ways. It's not as if we're stupid, we're just trying to figure out where we fit.

Me? I don't seem to fit anywhere these days. I'm like a square peg trying to fit into a round society. Now that I think about it more, I'm not square or round. More like an octagon. And I don't fit anywhere now. I thought I did, but my nice, super-dictated world has complicated all that. I wonder how Mitch is doing without me. Does he miss me?

I fall asleep again and when I wake up my stomach growls so I head to the kitchen. Everyone is gone and the house is quiet.

I glance over at
Sofia,
who's sitting in a velour chair reading some book.

"Boker tov,
Amy," she says in this dignified voice as I reach into the refrigerator and scan the contents.

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"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know what that means."

I finally learned
shalom
means three things: hello, goodbye, and peace. My Hebrew knowledge is pathetic, at best.

"Boker tov
means 'good morning.'"

"Oh.
Boker tov
to you, too."

Gram seems a little quiet this morning. I'll sit with her and chitchat while I eat breakfast, maybe that'll cheer her up. In fact, I'll prepare something special for her.

As I arrange a plate of fruit, I take my time and cut little pieces of banana and melon in these shapes Jessica's mom taught me. Jessica calls things people rave about "crowd pleasers." Little cut-up fruit in the shape of a clown face is a definite crowd pleaser.

I set the plate down in front of her on a side table.
"Todah"
she says.

"You're welcome." I look down at my masterpiece. "It's a clown face."

"Very creative. Do you like cooking?"

"Not really. Eating I like. We go to restaurants mostly back home."

"Your father doesn't cook for you?"

I know what you're thinking. This is a great opportunity for me to tell
Sofia
how it really is back home. But as I look at the old lady's glowing blue eyes I feel protective of her. As much as I'd like my gram to be ashamed of the Sperm Donor, I just can't make myself upset her.

"Well, every Friday he makes this great lasagna," I say, my mouth moving without my brain thinking too long

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about it. "And his chicken picatta is out of this world. He even bakes blueberry muffins for me on Sunday mornings."

The of lady has this little twinkle in her eye that I can't decipher.

"Chicken picatta, huh?" she says.

Oh, shit. She's onto me. I probably should have left out the muffins or made it BBQ chicken instead of picatta. But I'm stickin' with my story for better or worse.

"Yep. I'm sure if you ask him he'll make you some," I say as I look down at my feet and notice my toenail polish is chipped.

I hear the door open and
Doda
Yucky comes floating into the house. "Amy,
Safta
is starting her chemotherapy treatment in an hour," she says. We both help my grandma up. "Everyone is with the
sheeps," Doda
Yucky says. "They're waiting for you."

I am bowled over by a terrible sense of worry about
Safta.
Chemotherapy? Oh no ...that means cancer.

"Can I go with you?" I ask. "I can read to you if you'd like."

Safta
pats the back of my hand lightly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Go with the young people and enjoy your stay here. You don't want to be hanging around a hospital all day. Okay?"

"Okay."

I want to go with her, to make sure the doctors know she's
my Safta
and she needs the best care possible. Do they know how important she is?

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Doda
Yucky shuffles
Safta
out the door and I'm alone again. I continue to avoid the
sheeps
today. Ron wants me to help, but what if he gives me a job I can't do?

I don't want to give him a reason to resent I'm his kid. And if the opposite happened, if he bragged to everyone how great I am, I don't want the truth to come out that I'm less than perfect.

Deep down, even though we have major issues to overcome, I want him to be proud of me. I know it's a dumb thought, but it's true.

I spend the next hour rearranging my side of the closet. My eye catches on the skimpy clothes on the other side. Snotty sure does like showing a lot of skin.

I walk outside and wouldn't you know the yelping pup is waiting for me at the door. Great, the only one who likes me here is a dog.

"Arg!"

"Dumb mutt," I mutter.

"Arg!"

I ignore the mop following me at my feet. My spirits lift a bit when in front of the house, right under a nice big tree, is a hammock. I maneuver myself into it and put my hands behind my head as a pillow.

"Arg!"

I look in between the holes in the hammock and notice the mutt under me.

"What do you want?" I ask it.

"Arg! Arg! Arg!"

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I groan. Dogs aren't my thing. They're really not. But just to shut it up I get off the hammock and pick up the nuisance. I get back on the hammock with the thing in my arms. It has to lay on me because he'd fall through the holes otherwise. He finds a comfortable spot on my stomach and sighs contentedly.

Against my better judgment, I find myself petting him. Even though he probably has fleas and other insects living off his body, he's soft and fluffy, like a down comforter.

"I-me!"

I look down and spot a cherubic face smiling up at me. It's my little cousin, Matan. He can't say my name right, he just calls me I-me. I think it's cute so I don't correct him.

Mutt jumps off my lap and I sit up. I see Matan has collected flowers in his chubby hands, and they're for me. My frozen heart starts to melt as he hands me the yellow, purple, and white wildflowers (or weeds, however you choose to look at them).

His smile widens when I take the flowers from him, smell them, and say, "Mmmm."

It's amazing how little effort it takes to make a child happy. Unfortunately, they all grow up and become cynical sixteen-year-olds like me.

Picking Matan up, I set him on the hammock next to me. He laughs as I swing the thing back and forth. I take one of the flowers and push the stem into his hair, the flower sticking out of his long, curly locks.

"Pretty," I say, laughing.

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I know he doesn't understand a word of English, but he laughs back, then takes a flower out of my hand and puts it into
my
hair. We do this for about ten minutes, until we're both full of colorful wildflowers sticking out of our hair.

He speaks Hebrew to me and I speak English back to him. It doesn't matter that we're both oblivious to what the other is saying, we're having fun. And fun is universal in any language.

A lady who I haven't seen before comes up to us and says something to Matan. He jumps off the hammock and runs to her.

"Yucky left him with me, but he wanted to come see you. I hope it was okay," she says.

"It's fine," I say. "What does the name Matan mean in Hebrew?"

She looks down at my little cousin. "It means 'gift,'" she explains before leading him away.

He turns back, runs to me, and gives me a big hug.
"Shalom,
I-me," he says, then bounds off.

I give a little wave.
"Shalom,
Matan."

When he looks back with his hair full of flowers and furiously waves back at me, I realize I've just made my second friend in Israel (Mutt being the first).

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CHAPTER 11

Don't trust males. Human or otherwise.

Going into the house, I take out my nail polish and hold it up. Cotton Candy is the name of the color. It's a bright, shiny pink that sparkles in the sunlight. I think it'll look great when the hellish sun reflects off of it.

I decide to paint my nails outside in the sun after I take the old polish off. Sitting down on the concrete in front of the house, I open the bottle. I feel better. I guess doing something I'm used to doing back home helps.

The mutt lies down next to me, using me as his shady tree. I let him, just because he'll keep bugging me anyway. I paint my toenails until I hear a sound coming out of the mutt's butt that sounds surprisingly like a fart.

"Eww," I say.

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The dog doesn't get up, he just looks at me like
I'm
bothering
him.

"Listen, if you're going to hang around me there's a couple of rules. Rule number one: bark like a dog. Rule number two: take a bath before you rub up against me. Rule number three: I don't want a dog, so go find someone else to bug. Rule number four, five, and six: no dog farts. Got it?"

Wouldn't you know it the mutt gets his lazy ass up and walks away. Did I say something wrong? Maybe I should go play with him later. Just so there's no hard feelings.

I go back to painting my nails when I hear someone walk up to the house. I look over and it's Avi, the last guy in the universe I want to see. And he's staring at me.

I dip the brush in the nail polish.

"Why stare? You've already seen me without my clothes on," I say, trying not to look in his direction. It's pretty hard, because he looks like an Abercrombie model.

But then I remember he saw me naked and I want him to be anywhere but in my line of vision. I can't walk because my toenails are wet and I don't want to smudge them. Anyway, why should I be the one to move?

Mutt decides at that moment to come back. I expect him to come directly to me, but instead he hobbles over to Avi.

Traitor.

"I wouldn't touch that thing," I say. "He's dirtier than my Uncle Bob."

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Uncle Bob works in a factory. He cleans up okay, but no matter how many times he washes his hands, there's always this black, gooey gunk stuck under his nails.

Avi bends down and pets the traitor, who wags his tail so vigorously you'd think it was a flag in some parade. Then he looks at me. Not the traitor, Avi.

"You're not much for helping, are you?" he says.

I don't even have to try and sneer, his comment makes my lip curl on its own.

"Whatever," I say.

Then I go back to painting my toenails a second coat. But now I'm so pissed at what Avi said my hand starts shaking and I'm getting nail polish on my toe-skin. Each stroke now looks like a two-year-old kid had a field day with the brush on my toes.

The dog trots over to me and buries his wet nose under my arm.

"Go away," I say.

He won't leave, he just sits down in front of me. I look over at Avi again, who's still eyeing me. Why does he do that?

"Arg!"

"Traitor," I grumble through gritted teeth to the mutt.

"Arg!"

If I tell you what the mutt does next you're not going to believe me. He sticks that butt of his in the air, like he's trying to play with me or something. When I don't take the bait, he grabs my shoe with his teeth and runs away.

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Now this isn't just any shoe, it's my one and only pair of Ferragamo jelly sandals.

"Give that back!" I yell. "Do you have any idea how much that cost?"

I try to grab for it, but the white devil-pup starts shaking it back and forth in its mouth like a chew toy.

"Stop it," I say in a loud, warning tone.

But he doesn't. He starts running away with it. I get up, trying not to ruin my still-wet toenails in the process. But it's no use. As I head toward the dog, it trots away in the opposite direction.

Now it's war.

Most of the time I go through life at a relatively slow pace, but that doesn't mean I can't haul ass every once in a while. The only problem is my boobs bob up and down when I run fast. But I try not to think of that. I'm concentrating on saving my Ferragamo sandal.

The mutt stops beside one of the houses and I pretend I'm not going to get it. I sneak behind a lemon tree with the hugest lemons I've ever seen. They're as big as a baby's head.

When I think he might forget I'm behind the tree, I sneak a look at him. His butt is in the air again and his tail is wagging a mile a minute. He's looking straight at me.

And my sandal is still in his mangy, slobbery mouth.

"You should get neutered," I say as I step from behind the tree. Maybe then he'd have some respect for Ferragamo.

"Grrrr."

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"What, no 'arg'?" While I'm talking to him, I'm sneaking up to him. "Keep that tail wagging so I can have something to grab at when I catch you, you slimy mutt." Grrrr.

"You don't scare me," I continue, inching closer. I'm almost within reach. Grrrr.

My concentration is solely on the sandal until I step and feel something squishy squeeze in between my toes. I look down and realize I've just stepped on an old, rotten cucumber. But at second glance, I realize it's not a cucumber, it's a DEAD SNAKE. It's black, but shimmers a bright fluorescent green in the sunlight.

I've never been more grossed out as I am now, running toward my uncle and aunt's house. Obscenities, some I even make up, are streaming out of my mouth. I'm trying hard not to think about the snake-guts that must be in the crevices of my toes as I run as fast as my legs can carry me.

"Ho ..." I say to Avi in-between gagging. Please dear God let me get the word out before gagging again. "Ho ..." Gag. "Hose!" I point to my foot just in case he doesn't get it.

The jerk gives a short laugh (at my expense) and I follow him to the back of the house. When I see the hose, I run toward it as fast as my snake-encrusted feet can carry me.

Avi turns the handle and I quickly chance a glance at my gross foot. Little pieces of black, stringy guts are peeking out from in between my toes. My toenails are dry now, with pieces of grass or hay stuck to them permanently.

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I'm still gagging, I can't help it. I think if I stop looking at my toes I can get through this. When the water starts spurting out of the hose, I take it from him and aim the water toward my foot. My gaze lands on Avi. "Thanks a lot for helping me get my sandal," I say sarcastically.

"Thanks a lot for helping with the
sheeps,"
he counters.

"It's
sheep,
not
sheeps.
Whether you have one sheep or a million of' em, it's still sheep."

He walks forward and pulls the hose out of my hand. I watch wide-eyed as he bends on one knee and lifts my gross foot and places it in his hand. Then, if you can believe it, he washes my foot thoroughly.

I'm about to lose my balance, I really am. And it's not because I want Avi to catch me or anything. I hate playing the damsel in distress every time he's around.

I'm lightheaded because it's ungodly hot outside and I just busted my ass to run after a Ferragamo-stealing mutt. To top it off, this boy who I'm determined to hate has one of my feet in his hands.

"You can stop gagging. Whatever you stepped in is gone."

"It was a snake!"

He shrugs. Like it's no biggie.

"You ever stepped on a snake?" I ask.

"I usually watch where I step."

I yank my foot out of his grasp. "Well, where I live there are no snakes. Dead or otherwise."

He stands, which is not so great because I was feeling superior when he was on his knee. But he's probably six

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feet tall and when he looks down at me I feel small. Instead of responding, he gently pulls a flower out of my hair. "Cute," he says, twirling the stem between his fingers.

Oy,
I forgot Matan filled my hair with white, purple, and yellow wildflowers. I must look like a clown.

"Your father wanted me to tell you everyone's at my house eating what you call lunch. If you want to join them, follow me."

I step beside him as he's walking, but then I stop. "Why didn't he tell me himself?"

Avi shoots me a withering glance. "He also wanted me to apologize for watching you undress the first night you were here."

"Well?"

"Israelis don't apologize for what they're not sorry for."

Now I'm really getting riled up. "You're
not
going to apologize?"

He looks at me straight in the eye. "What I saw was beautiful and natural, so why should I say sorry?"

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