30

Abraham had such faith and fear in God he almost
sacrificed his son Isaac because God commanded it
(Genesis 22:2). Abraham knew God would make
everything okay in the end. I have faith that God
will make everything okay in the end, too.

We wait in line to get into Durty Nevin’s until Jess pulls us out of line and leads us to the front door. She mumbles something about her uncle being part owner of the security company responsible for the bouncers. We walk straight up to the burly bouncer, he takes one look at Jess, and waves the three of us in.

I hold Avi’s hand as we weave through the sea of people.

Miranda is sitting at a table up front. She’s wearing her hair up in a ponytail and has actual makeup on. “Wow, Miranda, you look great!” I say to her.

The girl smiles as if I just told her she won a million-dollar lottery. “Jess did it for me.”

I give Jess a thumbs-up sign, then join the others to snatch chairs for the three of us.

As soon as we sit, I reach for Avi’s hand. His hand is already reaching for mine. Looking up, I swallow hard when he flashes me a private knowing wink.

“I’m glad you two worked it out, but if you start any major PDA I swear I’m banning you from this table,” Jess says, eyeing our hands.

“What’s PDA?” Avi says in my ear. Jess rolls her eyes, thinking he’s whispering about how much he loves me and adores me and can’t live without me.

I lean toward him, my hand braced on his chest as I whisper back, “Public display of affection. You know, making out in front of everyone.”

Jess is pulling me off him. “I need to talk to you, Amy. It’s important. If you could separate yourself from your man for one second, that is.”

Tossing Avi an apologetic expression, I pry myself away and let Jessica pull me by my elbow into the hallway by the bathrooms. Music is blaring and pounding in my ears, but it sounds good. Anything would sound good to me right now. I’m happy.

Jess is flushed as she stops and faces me. This is serious. I can tell by the way her mouth and stance get all intense and stiff. “I’m in love, Amy. And I know it sounds weird and I don’t want to get all dorky and googly-eyed like you and Avi, but I know he’s ‘The One.’ And my parents are going to have a complete meltdown when they meet him because he’s everything they’ve ever wanted for me. He’s Jewish, he’s Israeli, he’s gorgeous, intelligent, he’s sweeter than a cinnamon bun … he’s every Jewish parent’s wet dream—”

I put a hand up, wondering what this is all about. Cinnamon bun? Israeli? Wet dream? “Jess, the only Israeli you’ve been in contact with lately is Avi and my dad. Avi is taken and my dad … ” I scrunch up my face in full gross-out mode.

“I’m not in love with your dad, Amy,” Jess says, her hands on her hips.

“Phew,” I say, physically and mentally relieved. I just saved myself years of therapy.

“I’m in love with Tarik. You know, Avi’s friend at Northwestern. After your kidnapping fiasco, he drove Miranda and Nathan home. Then we talked in the car for over an hour in front of my building.” I can’t stop the girl or get a word in. She’s like a train that won’t stop. More like a train wreck, because she’s totally clueless. I listen to the rest of her rant before breaking the bad news. “He’s the smartest guy, Amy. I can’t believe you’ve known him since the summer, knew he was coming to Northwestern, but didn’t introduce him to me. I would question your loyalty to me, but I’m so ridiculously in love. Did you ever think I would believe in love at first sight? I swear, I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about him and this morning I had the biggest urge to go visit him and surprise him at the dorm. You know the way you feel about Avi? I feel the same way.”

“Do you think I could talk now, Jess?” I ask her. She laughs, this crazy I-am-in-love-and-can’t-be-normal laugh. Gee, I hope I’m not like that around Avi. Someone slap me please if I ever go over the deep end like that. “What did you guys talk about for an hour?”

“Everything. Life, family, friends.”

“Jess, I hate to break it to you, but … ” How do I tell her that 1: Love at first sight is a bunch of bull. And 2: He’s—

“Wait. Before you tell me I’m crazy and go off on me that I’m supposed to be the friend who is realistic and sane, I need to know his last name. I don’t even know my future husband’s name.”

“Muslim.”

Jess cocks her head to the side in confusion. “Tarik Muslim? That’s not a Jewish name, that’s a religion. Amy, stop making fun of me and tell me his last name before I start getting pissed.”

“He’s Muslim, Jess,” I say slowly with a serious expression on my face. It’s really a pity expression, because I’m about to tell her that her cinnamon bun has raisins in it when she expected it to be plain.

“Amy, you said he was Israeli.”

“No, I said he was Avi’s friend from Israel. So as much as you like him, your parents would freak. Especially your dad. Isn’t he the president of the men’s club at the synagogue? I admit Tarik is awesome, Jess. But your parents want you to find a nice Jewish boy and I’m sure his parents want him to find a nice Muslim girl.”

I shouldn’t have put it like that. Just by looking at Jessica I can tell she’s gone from elation to confusion to sorrow to defiance all in a matter of seconds. Defiance in my best friend is scary.

“He asked me out on Saturday night,” she says matter-of-factly.

Oh, man. “And?”

“And of course I said yes. Crap,” she says, as tears start filling her eyes. She turns and hurries into the restroom, leaving me to either go after her like a good friend or pay attention to my boyfriend who probably thinks I ditched him.

I peek around the corner to check out what my boyfriend is doing. He’s abandoned the table and is talking to a couple of guys at the bar.

I decide to be a good friend and hope Avi can amuse himself for another five minutes.

In the restroom, Jess has some other girls from our school gathered around her, asking what’s wrong. Mitch cruelly dumped her and now the guy of her dreams turns out to be a guy she’s probably forbidden to date. Jessica goes to Hebrew school twice a week, Sunday school, and in the summers Jess rides a bus all the way to the middle of Wisconsin to spend four weeks at a Jewish overnight camp.

Needless to say it’s been ingrained in Jessica’s head since she was born that she has to marry a Jewish boy. Her kids have to be Jewish, and it’s her responsibility to carry on the Jewish traditions and religion.

But I never lose hope. There must be some loophole, some way Tarik and Jess can date without causing her Grandma Pearl to go into a nursing home prematurely.

Jessica waves the crowd away. “I’m fine. Really.” She’s trying to convince them. It’s not working. First of all, her mascara is running down her face like streaks of ash with tears leading the way.

I push everyone else out of the way. Picking her chin up with my fingers, I say quietly, “Jess, don’t cry. I’m sure once you explain the situation to your parents, it won’t be such a big deal. You’ll see.”

Leading me to the side, away from everyone else, she says, “No, I won’t. My mom’s family was killed in the Holocaust, Amy. My great-grandfather has a number tattooed on his arm from when he was in a concentration camp. A reminder you can’t wash away with soap and water. If I even mention a non-Jewish boy’s name in his presence I feel guilty.”

I still think God will take care of Jessica and look after her. I have complete faith. And there’s always the guilt offering of a burnt animal …

Jess wipes her eyes, trying to compose herself. Grabbing paper towels and looking into the mirror, she witnesses the streaky mess her face is. “Take a look at me, Amy,” she says. “I can’t go out there looking like this.”

“You have to. Nathan’s counting on us being here.”

New tears start streaming down her face and she turns to me. “Tarik said he’d be honored to go to the Valentine’s Dance with me, Amy. Honored. When I spilled the beans about how I didn’t have a date, he asked me. Right there in his car in front of my condo. And we had a moment. I know it sounds crazy and stupid, but we did.”

A moment? Is she kidding me? A moment of lust, perhaps, but not love.

Oh, man. I know how much she wants to go to the Valentine’s Dance. It’s not about the dance. It’s not about love. It’s about being wanted and accepted.

I wish I could stop her from looking in the mirror again, but it’s no use. One more wipe of the running mascara and I can see the defeat in her eyes. “I’m going home. Tell Nathan and Miranda I’ll see them at school.”

She moves past me and out the door. I don’t even try and stop her because I’ve been best friends with Jessica long enough to know I can’t convince her to stay. Besides, what more can I say? I can’t tell her Tarik isn’t awesome, because he is.

Speaking of awesome guys, I’ve left mine alone enough tonight. Heading back to the big crowd, I scan the area and find Avi sitting at the table with Miranda. They’re surrounded by a bunch of people, talking and laughing. Two girls who I’ve never seen before are standing right near Avi. I can tell they’re flirting by the way one is flipping her hair and the other girl is licking her lips. My protective radar goes off (okay, my jealousy radar goes off, too) and I weave through the mass of people with my chest held high, and steer toward my boyfriend like a paper clip to a magnet.

The hair-flipping girl is telling a story about her trip to Israel two summers ago and how she’s dying to go back. It’s hard to hear the details of her adventures because music is blaring in the background and I’m stuck standing behind Miranda. There’s no room next to my boyfriend.

The lip-licker is laughing while lip-licking, which I think she’s practiced in the mirror before. She does it frighteningly well. Avi is so intrigued with her conversation he doesn’t know I’m standing here.

Miranda looks up at me. “Maya is telling us about her trip to Israel,” Miranda tells me. “She went to Gadna for a week. It’s a military training camp.”

Oh, great. Flippy-haired Maya can talk guns with my commando boyfriend. I’m feeling sick and might just follow Jessica out the door so I can go home, too. “I went to Israel, too,” I blurt out.

I have nothing else to say. I didn’t go to an Israeli military training camp and I don’t have hair I can flip over my shoulder and make it look like I just got it styled at a salon.

When I get Avi’s attention, he gives me a small smile. The lip-licker sneers at me and the salon girl says, “Did you go on a Birthright trip or Shorashim?”

“Neither. I went with my dad … He’s Israeli.”

“Oh,” she says, then her friend boasts about her trip to Ireland with her Irish family.

While everyone talks about their adventures abroad, Avi reaches out and snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. “There’s no chair for me,” I say to him.

Guiding me onto his lap, he says, “Yes, there is.” He taps the hair-flipper on the shoulder and I’m wondering if he wants to keep up the military talk until I hear Avi tell her, “This is my girlfriend, Amy.”

While my heart opens up and loves Avi for telling a girl who’s obviously hitting on him that he belongs to me, Miss Hair-Flipper gives me a small nod and turns her back to us to talk to another guy.

“Why is it every time I turn around another girl is talking to you?”

“I was talking to everyone, Amy. Don’t be so paranoid. That guy over there, Dale, is from the South Side and that dude, Kyle over there, goes to your school. He wondered if I met you on an online dating service.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said he should get a life. Where’s Jessica?”

“She left. It’s kind of a long story,” I tell him.

I guess I shouldn’t be jealous of any other girl. I know how Avi feels about me. I guess a little part of me … that insecure part that shows its ugly head once in a while, knows the reality of it all. He’s going back to Israel and I’m here. In less than twenty-four hours Avi will be back on a plane flying far away from me. And who knows what’ll happen. I know what I want to happen, but how realistic is it?

“Don’t look all serious, Amy,” Avi tells me as he guides my chin down so I’m face to face with him.

Avi and I are in our little imaginary cocoon looking into each other’s eyes as if no one else in the world matters.

A loud “Ahem” interrupts us.

Looking up, I’m shocked at the person standing in front of me. Okay, I knew Nathan was going to be playing tonight at the bar. But I didn’t know that Nathan was going to transform into a rock star look-alike. His hair is spiked up, he’s got eyeliner on, ripped faded jeans with a faded gray vintage T-shirt, and a black leather necklace hanging from his neck. I might add that he’s not wearing glasses, either.

“Nathan?” I ask, not really sure if the guy in front of us is a Nathan look-alike or the real deal.

Nathan leans in and says to me, “The guys in the band call me Nate. And … well, this is me. You said to be me, right?”

Wow. Talk about going from geek to … wow. “Yeah.”

When he leans back, I’m aware that Avi’s grip has gotten tighter around my waist. I look down at my boyfriend, whose eyes are a little darker and intense like he’s ready to fight for me.

“Avi?” I say.

He’s still glaring at Nathan when he says, “What?”

“Look at me.”

He does.

“Nathan’s my friend, like a brother. Stop glaring at him like he’s the enemy.”

“I can’t help it. Besides, if he’s going to be your friend I liked it better when he wore glasses and the pants that were too short.”

“Dude, don’t be so lame,” Nathan says. “The girl is in love with you. Or are you really all muscles and lack in the brain department?”

I feel Avi’s muscles tense up, but before he can respond, I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him back. Luckily, the announcer starts introducing the band and Nathan is all too happy to jump up on stage and avoid another confrontation with Avi. I notice Nathan still has a cut and bruise from yesterday when Avi decked him.

“Nathan looks so hot, doesn’t he?” Miranda says as Nathan, now the lead singer for Lickity Split, takes the mic. Okay, so he’s the substitute singer for Lickity Split. It’s not permanent, but it’s still super cool.

Avi pulls me closer. “I never want you to look at him the way you look at me, Amy.”

Nathan aka Nate Greyson puts the mic to his mouth, points to me, and says, “Amy, this one’s for you.”

What?

Did he just dedicate a song to me?

My arms are still around my boyfriend, and his arm is still holding me tight while Lickity Split starts the loud music. Nathan belts out lyrics I’ve never heard before:

She’ll freak you out, she’ll screw with your head

She’ll kiss you once, then leave you for dead

I stop listening after the word dead. Nathan and I are going to have a long talk about this song. It’s too angry. Is Nathan angry? I’m sure with his past there’s a lot of anger built up inside, but I can help him with that. Isn’t that what friends are for? And to set the record straight I kissed Nathan twice, not once. And I did not leave him for dead. I knew after Avi kicked his ass last night he was alive … and left in very good care.

I shake my head and listen to the rest of the song. I can tell the crowd is getting into the lyrics and the fast beat. Nathan is a hit. The song tells the story about a guy falling for a girl who he thinks is playing games with him but in the end is just being herself. He realizes that the friendship is the real deal; the attraction was just a façade.

The mass of people in the bar are jumping up and down, shaking their heads to the song, and waving their hands in the air like crazy people. Or more like people who are totally engrossed in the beat and lyrics. Nathan aka Nate is jumping on stage like the rest of the crowd, getting totally into the song.

“Let’s dance,” Avi says loudly so I can hear over the speakers right near our table.

Me? Jumping around and head-banging? Yeah, I might do that in my room with nobody watching, but there’s a bunch of kids from school here and I’m not used to losing control in front of an audience. “You go,” I say, standing so Avi can mingle with the crowd. “I’m not the getting-sweaty-in-front-of-other-people kind of person.” I’d rather he stay with me, but I’m not going to be the loser girlfriend who tells him what he can and can’t do. If he’s not afraid of people staring at him . . .

Avi stands and pulls me into the middle of the dance floor, which has become a pit of sweaty people drowning themselves in the music. Nathan is on his second song. This one is about rough times and even tougher times ahead. Very depressing, if I say so myself … and I’m a pessimist.

Avi starts getting into the music. The music is so loud I think my brain is rattling and we’re all going to suffer brain damage and wake up deaf tomorrow morning. I can’t stop watching Avi and how masculine and cool he looks while he’s waving his fist in the air and moving to the pounding bass.

“Come on,” he says. “Lose control with me.”

Me, lose control? Not my style. Besides, if I jump around then my boobs are going to bob up and down like a buoy in the middle of a tsunami. I shake my head, refusing to make a spectacle of myself.

Scanning the people around me, though, makes me realize that I’m making a spectacle of myself by being the only one in the crowd right now standing still. Even Miranda is jumping around, waving her hands in the air like she’s about to take flight. And she’s got bigger and saggier boobs than me.

I start by bending my knees up and down. Looking over at Avi, his hair wet from sweat, inspires me. I take a tentative jump to test my new bra to see how bounce-resistant my boobs really are when they’re strapped in tight. I look down as I take another test jump. The bounce rate is acceptable. But when I look up and see Avi’s eyebrows furrowed as he watches me, I bite my bottom lip.

“People will stare at me,” I try to explain over the loud music.

Avi shakes his head in frustration. “Let go, Amy. I want to see you without your inhibitions. If people stare, they’re just jealous they’re not having as much fun as you are.”

I look down at my boobs.

His eyebrows go up. “Just try it,” he says. “I dare you.”

I do not take dares lightly, and he probably knows it. With a deep breath and determination I never knew was in me, I start jumping to the music and shaking my head around like Mutt after he takes a swim in Lake Michigan. Surprisingly, it feels good to let go and lose control for once.

The pit of people has gotten more crowded, I’m being pushed and pulled around by the mass of dancing maniacs. When I look up at the stage, Nathan is into his third song … or maybe his fourth. The words are seeping into my body:

Fight the fight worth fighting

Fight it to the death

Fight the fight worth fighting

And give up all the rest

As the words enter my consciousness, I wonder how many fights I’ve fought that weren’t worth fighting. Nathan is totally into the performance. His face is fierce as he sings the words into the microphone. He’s still trying to figure out where he fits in this world and why his parents gave him up.

When Nathan opens his eyes, he catches me watching him and winks at me before bending down and singing to some girl in the front row.

Soon the music stops and the band takes a break. While my ears adjust to the absence of blaring music, I head back to our table and plop myself down on an empty chair.

“You should let go more often,” Avi says from behind me.

“I looked stupid,” I say, which pretty much sums it up. Yes, I admit I had fun looking like a dork having my arms flailing and my boobs bopping around without caring what anyone thought. But in the end, I did look stupid. And in the end, I still do care what people think.

Avi bends down and kisses my neck. “You looked sexy, Amy.”

“Will you two ever stop?” Nathan says as he joins our table.

I push Nathan away, but he’s not paying attention to me. Something or someone at the other end of the bar is occupying him. I follow where his attention is focused.

“Bicky,” Nathan whispers in shock.

The girl is even prettier in person and I hate her instantly. She has short, blonde hair pulled back with a headband and a half shirt showing off her amazing abs and bellybutton ring. And I swear her jeans must be painted on, they’re hugging her body so tight. When I wear tight jeans I have to lie on my bed while I’m zipping them up. Bicky must have taken a dip in oil or grease in order to cram into her size zeros.

She sashays up to Nathan and puts her arms around his neck. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” she asks in a high, singsong voice.

Nathan is still in shock. His arms go slowly around her waist but he’s looking at her like something isn’t right. “What are you doing here? Did you break out of rehab?”

“You betcha.” Bicky leans into him, almost tripping over her feet. “I heard you were performing. And besides, I wanted to meet the girl you kissed and wrote a song about.” She looks me up and down. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

Oh, boy, am I busted. But before I can deny anything, Nathan says, “You’re wasted, Bic.”

“That I am, baby,” she purrs, looking up at him. “You used to like getting wasted with me, until you turned all geek on me.” She eyes his spiked hair and faded jeans. “Glad to see you’re back to normal.”

He grabs her wrists and pries her arms off him. “What we did wasn’t normal, Bic. It was crazy and stupid.”

Bicky is getting mad; her cheeks are red and splotchy and her eyes narrow into tiny slits making her look like an evil little pixie. “You used to like crazy and stupid, Nate. Or are you still going by Nathan? I can’t keep up with all your personalities. Can she?” she says, pointing to me.

Everyone’s eyes are on me now, analyzing my relationship with Nathan which is not good considering I just got back together with Avi.

“We’re just friends,” I blurt out, then hook my finger into Avi’s belt loop making it obvious we’re a couple. I hold my breath and peek at Avi’s reaction to all of this.

Avi takes his hands off me, saying, “You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Amy. I’ll be at the bar while you work this out.”

Is he serious? He doesn’t have any doubts or insecurities about my friendship with Nathan? “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiles and gives me a reassuring nod.

I watch his retreating back as he weaves his way through the crowd.

Wes, the guy from the Jewish youth group who helped me get Nathan in the band, weaves his way through the crowd. “Nate rocks, Amy. Thanks for bringing him by the other night. We’re thinking of making him a permanent sub for Lickity Split.”

“Cool,” I say, but I’m not really paying attention to Wes or Bicky. Or Miranda, for that matter, even though she’s in a deep conversation with a guy who I remember seeing at the youth group.

“Nathan … ” I say, wanting to apologize for kissing him. I also want to tell him I’m sorry he has to deal with a screwed-up girlfriend on his first night singing with the band.

“It’s cool, Amy.”

“I can stay and help if you want.”

“You’ve helped enough, bitch, don’t you think?” Bicky slurs. I seriously think she wants to fight me, like in a physical fight. As I’m contemplating who would win in a fight between me and Bicky, I wonder if they teach tae kwon do in rehab. Because the only physical fight I’ve ever been in was with the sheep on the moshav last summer in Israel. And in the disco in Israel, but that was only because of the ear-licker—long story.

Bicky holds her hands out wide, “You want some of this?”

“Not really,” I say. Is she joking?

Obviously not. My response really pisses her off, because now Nathan is trying to hold her back from charging me. I swear I’m living in the Twilight Zone. This girl seriously wants to deck me.

Not knowing what else to do, I close my fingers tightly into fists and hold them up by my face. The crowd around me starts moving backward. I think they’re chanting “Chick Fight!” but I’m not sure. Whatever they’re chanting, though, is fueling my bravery. Getting into the role, I start hopping around like boxers do. Maybe Bicky is too wasted and she’ll fall to the ground on the first swing. It’s wishful thinking, right?

If I break a nail I swear the chick is paying for a new manicure.

“You want some of this? Come and get me!” I say, playing the role while psyching myself up. I can seriously get into this, acting all tough and crazy. Be afraid, everyone. Here comes the champion girl fighter of our time, Amy Nelson-Barak!

From behind me, an arm snakes around my side and pulls me backward.

“What the … ?”

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 sababa,” 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.