How to Ruin My Teenage Life (26 page)

I'm kicking whoever is holding me and punching at the arm, which is locked around me like a metal vice. Whoever it is drags me outside and sets me down on the sidewalk. I turn around and should have known nobody is as strong as my boyfriend who said he didn't want to deal with the drama, but ends up in the middle of it.

“What. Do. You. Think. You. Were. Doing?” Avi says each word slowly as if I'm an imbecile. His eyes are intense and his hands are shaking. I've never seen Avi shake before and it scares me.

“I'm sorry,” I say.

He opens his hands out wide. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you're acting like a hellcat. How can I leave you for three years, Amy? I can't protect you while I'm in Israel.”

I point to the club. “Bicky started it.”

“So you took the bait?”

Uh, yeah. “What was I supposed to do, back down?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

“That's not me. Do you back down, Avi? Please tell me once in your life when you've backed down,” I say, getting really riled up now because adrenaline is rushing through my body and I'm frightened because Avi's hands are still shaking.

No response.

Avi stares at his hands in horror, curses, then shoves them into the front pockets of his jeans. He swallows, looks away from me, and says, “Let's go.”

I stay where I am, unmoving from this spot on the sidewalk in front of Durty Nevin's because I finally figured it out. What's making Avi shake.

His emotions are running rampant and he's not used to it.

Avi is a guy who is always in control of his body and mind. Even when I kidnapped him, he was in total control of the situation the entire time. Adrenaline he can handle, emotions he can't.

“You were afraid I was going to get hurt. That's why you're shaking,” I blurt out.

He stops. His back is to me. “I don't shake.”

“Then show me your hands.”

“No.”

“Avi, it's okay to be emotional.”

“For you, maybe. But not for me.”

I put my hand on his arm, knowing his pain about Micha's death is as raw in his chest now as it was when his brother first died. It has nothing to do with me and the fight. Avi can't let go of the pain of Micha's death, but still refuses to grieve. “You're only eighteen. And I hate to break the news to you, but you're human.”

“I can't lose you, Amy,” he says, his voice tense even though I sense he's trying to control his tone. “I came to America to prove to myself that I wasn't attached to you, that you weren't as important to me as my mind was telling me you were. I was wrong.”

“You rode on a plane for twelve hours just to break up with me?” I say, totally confused and insulted now. I mean, seriously, to come all this way to prove I'm not worthy. “If that isn't the stupidest, most ridiculous, asinine thing I've ever heard,” I say, then start walking across the street because I need space.

“A car is coming,” he says.

Sure enough, I look behind me and a Honda Pilot is turning the corner and heads right to where I'm standing. “Aren't you going to save me?” I yell.

“Yeah, I am.”

He walks fast to the curb and is about to step onto the street when I tell him, “If you take one step closer, it's over between us. I mean it.”

“That car is gonna hit you,” he says seriously, his eyes blazing with intensity. But he does stop cold in his tracks at the curb.

“They see me,” I assure him.

Avi cocks his head to the side in confusion while his hands come out of his pockets. He's trying to look relaxed, but I can tell he's ready to pounce and save me at any second.

“They'll stop,” I say again, trying to prove a point that I'll be okay whether he's here to save me or not. He's not always going to be around to play Superman. Just like he wasn't around to save his brother when that bomber decided to kill innocent Israelis. My boyfriend is human and for once needs to let go and realize it.

Avi is looking at the car coming closer and then back at me. I can feel the struggle within him all the way over here. “Maybe they don't care,” he says frantically to me. “Maybe they can't see you in the dark. Maybe the driver is drunk and—”

“Maybe I'll be okay, Avi.”

“What if you're not? What if you die?”

I put my hand out. When the car reaches me, it comes to a halt. “Yo, chick, you gonna get out of the way?” a guy yells out the window.

“Everyone dies.”

“Do you blame me for wanting to protect you, Amy? Now please get out of the street.”

The guy in the car starts blowing his horn, really loud and it's hurting my already sensitive eardrums.

“I'm trying to teach my boyfriend a lesson,” I scream at the driver. “Do you mind?”

“Yeah,” he yells back. “Go teach him a lesson on Lower Wacker Drive where all the other wackos hang out.”

“They give tickets for road rage in Chicago, you know,” I say, then roll my eyes.

“Amy … I'm coming to get you in ten seconds.”

“They give tickets for jaywalking in Chicago,” the guy yells while intermittently beeping his horn. I get a little satisfaction he can't pass me because there's no room on the street.

“You have five more seconds to get your
ta'chat
over here.”

“Do you love me, Avi?”

“Yes. Four seconds.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Two seconds.”

“Dude, if you don't get your crazy girlfriend out of my path I'm gonna move her myself.”

“Amy,” Avi says, closing his eyes tight and opening them again. Two seconds have come and gone. He has a pleading look in his eyes, eyes that are glassy with unshed tears. “
B'vakasha
. Please.”

Okay, I give in. Because I've proven my point that I will be okay and Avi has proven that he can trust me. I walk over to him, my gaze never leaving his. The car screeches away. “You see. I survived.”

His arms wrap around me, pulling me close.

“You're not shaking anymore,” I say.

“I'm too angry with you to be scared.”

“Angry? Listen, you've got to give up this superhuman theme going on in your life. Shit happens.
Life happens
, okay? You're leaving tomorrow and who knows what'll happen. Am I gonna sit around my room so nothing terrible can possibly happen to me? No. Are you going to sit in your army barracks and tell your commander you can't protect Israel because your crabby girlfriend will die if you get so much as a scratch on that perfect bod or face of yours? No.”

“Stop talking so I can kiss you.”

“You can't shut me up with kisses, you know.”

“Wanna bet?” he says, smiling with those perfect white teeth while putting his perfect hands on my body as he lowers his perfect full lips to mine and proves to me he's right.

“Let's go back to your place,” he says when we come up for air.

I'm holding on to his biceps for support because his kisses still make me feel drunk. “My
aba
is there. If you even kiss me he'll probably kill you first and ask questions later.”

Back at the apartment my dad is nowhere to be seen. I check the messages. There's one from him saying he has to stay late for an emergency meeting. Then he says to make sure Avi is listening to the message, too, and the rest of the message is all in Hebrew.

I roll my eyes. “Is he having another sex talk?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time.”

I stop the machine before the message finishes and give Avi a mischievous look. “What are you thinking?”

“Which rooms your dad has strategically placed the hidden cameras.”

I laugh. “That's ridiculous. My dad doesn't have any hidden cameras in this house.”

“He sounded pretty convincing, but I have an idea.”

We get ready for bed, like a married couple except for the fact that we're just two trusting teenagers in complete love with each other. Avi's bed is still the couch in the living room, but this time I snuggle under the covers with him because my overprotective father isn't home watching our every move.

“I like this,” I say. “So what's your idea?”

Avi pulls the covers over our heads so we're cloaked in complete darkness.

I finger his stubble with my fingertips. “This is your big idea?”

“It was either under the blanket or inside the hall closet.”

“It's all s
ababa
,” I say, and Avi laughs.

“Yeah, it is.”

I will tell you that under the covers was an excellent choice and VERY
sababa
, although I'm one hundred percent sure my dad does not have any surveillance cameras inside the house tracking our every move. I know this because although my dad came home an hour later and I ran to my room and pretended to be fast asleep, those cameras would have caught Avi and I in some very compromising positions despite our attempt to keep the covers over us.

Oh, don't get all worried … I'm still a pure seventeen-year-old. I'm just … well … more knowledgeable about certain things. (Things I'm more curious about now than I ever was.)

In the morning, Tarik picked up Avi and drove us all to the airport. I was crying the entire time, although I tried to keep it together. Our goodbye kiss held more promise than last time, although we both know we have to go on and live our lives. Don't ask, don't tell. We're going to take it one day at a time and see what happens. Hopefully this summer when I go to Israel it'll be the same as last night … well, without the fighting.

I purposely didn't bring up Jessica to Tarik, although now Tarik and I are sitting at Perk Me Up! and Jess could walk in at any time.

Marla brings me hot chocolate with the whipped cream overflowing because she knows how upset I am. Do you think my bloodshot, teary eyes give my upsetness away? Marla hugs me, a warm hug my mom would give me if she were here.

An idea pops into my head. I can't believe I hadn't thought of it before. “Marla, what do you think of my dad? You know, if he smiled more and got a good haircut?”

Marla laughs and walks back to the register, ignoring my question. I think I saw her blush a little, though. My dad loves her coffee; he never drinks it anywhere else. In fact, I think he got me this job just so he could see her more and have an excuse to hang out at Perk Me Up! Hmm …

The door to Perk Me Up! opens and guess who walks in … yep, Jess. Along with Miranda and a very sad Nathan. Poor Nathan. Poor Jess.

It's time I stop making a mess of my own life and focus on everyone else. I can do it. There's nothing that says I have to be a Disaster Girl all the time. I can live a squeaky-clean life while helping others un-screwup their lives. No more getting in trouble for Amy Nelson-Barak.

My cell phone is ringing. It's my dad. “Hey,
Aba
, what's up?”

“What's up? Please tell me what a pair of plastic handcuffs are doing in the back seat of my car.”

Oops. Everything is
so
not
sababa
.

About the Author

Simone was a teen in the 80s and still overuses words like “grody” and “totally,” but resists the urge to wear blue eye shadow or say “gag me with a spoon.” When Simone’s not writing, she’s speaking to high schools or teaching writing. In her spare time, she TiVos reality television and watches teen movies. She lives near Chicago with her family and two dogs.

Simone loves to hear from her readers! Contact her through her website at www.simoneelkeles.com.