Caught Between Page 2

  Shaking her head vigorously in an attempt to snap out of her sleepy haze, Marya sprang up and opened her suitcase. She shoved a granola bar in her mouth and collected her toiletries. Grabbing a worn towel that was folded on the laundry basket, she rushed into the bathroom at the end of the hall. Five minutes. She pulled her long dark hair out of its ponytail. She'd taken shorter showers than that, right? She came up with a plan of attack as she stripped off her travel-worn clothes. Shampoo, skip conditioner... shave pits, skip legs...

  Ten minutes later, she was sitting on her bed, dressed in cotton pants and a t-shirt, dragging a comb through her tangled, wet hair. Outside, she heard an engine approach, and she peered out the window to see a small bus pull up in front of the ACMER building.

  She slumped back down and turned, locking eyes with Rob Pattinson. "This is going to suck," she said softly to him.

  2.

  Might as well get this over with.

  Taking a deep breath, Marya ran her fingers through her wet hair and swept out the door. She stepped outside just as several people filed off the bus. Trying not to cough from the exhaust, she walked around the front of the vehicle and said to anyone who would listen, "Hi... Dr. Ducharme?"

  She wore a tan hunting vest and matching pants that were tightly belted at the waist. A pith helmet sat on her head, shading a pair of very severe blue eyes. Marya bit her lip. Dr. Livingstone, I presume?

  "Are you Marya Helwe?" This was a woman who was used to being obeyed. Her posture was rigid, the lines around her thin mouth deeply etched.

  "Yes... I'm so -- "

  "How did you get here?" she interrupted.

  "Well, I didn't realize anyone was coming to pick me up, so I got a ride." It suddenly occurred to Marya just how bad her explanation sounded, and she felt her face infuse with heat.

  "You got a ride?" Margot Ducharme repeated loudly enough for the others, who were all standing around watching, to hear. "With a stranger?"

  Marya stood perfectly still, willing her eyes to unfocus. "Yes..."

  Dr. Ducharme lifted her head indignantly, piercing Marya with her disapproving gaze. "Ms. Helwe," she snarled. "Do you realize how stupid that was? A young American woman like yourself, traveling alone to a Middle Eastern country?"

  The shame Marya had initially felt was swiftly replaced with a spark of anger. She didn't appreciate what this woman was implying, nor did she appreciate the way she had been treated since arriving at ACMER. Unable to control her tongue, Marya replied, "I've traveled to Middle Eastern countries before, Dr. Ducharme."

  Marya could feel all eyes on her, and she just wanted to evaporate from the scene. Dr. Ducharme's lips twitched, then she shook her head and marched towards the ACMER building without saying another word. Marya shoved her hands in her pockets and looked down at the ground, letting her damp hair veil her face as the other team members shuffled by her, either following Dr. Ducharme into the building or going to the hostel.

  Marya heard a low whistle as one of them walked by, and she snapped her head up, frowning. A young man wearing a red bandana tied around his head grinned brazenly over his shoulder at her as he walked past. Marya grit her teeth and turned away. Unsure of what to do next, she stormed back into the hostel. She stopped short when she realized she wasn't alone anymore -- her roommate stood watching Marya warily from her side of the room.

  "Oh, hi," the girl said nervously. "I'm Amy." She had a kind face, Marya thought, with wide hazel eyes and freckles across her nose. She wore her sandy blond hair very short, and sported a pair of jeans that were most unflattering to her figure. Mom jeans.

  "Hi, Amy. I'm Marya."

  "Yeah, I know." She turned away. "Everybody knows."

  Just as Marya's heart plummeted to her feet, Amy turned and flashed a small smile. "That was awesome, by the way. Nobody talks to Margot like that."

  Marya let out her breath slowly. "I didn't mean to be rude. She was just so condescending. It pissed me off."

  Amy laughed, revealing "invisible" braces. "Yeah, about that. Margot is condescending to everyone, so you may spend a lot of time ticked off these next six weeks."

  Marya cracked a smile. "You have a serious Canadian accent." She wanted to try and imitate Amy just to see if she could do it, say aboot instead of about...

  "Well, you have a serious American accent," Amy said, still smiling. "Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the girls." She took Marya by the wrist and pulled her into the hall. "Shannon! Liz! Connie! Amber!"

  Marya cringed inwardly as the doors opened and the girls came out to meet her. She was a curiosity to these Canadian girls, since they all attended the same archaeology class with the same professor at the same university. Shannon was a skinnier, darker-haired version of Amy. Liz was a Kate Winslet look-alike, if Kate Winslet wore dreadlocks and long, hand-dyed skirts. And a nose ring. Connie was tall and thin, with long brown hair in braids and an engagement ring on her finger. Amber was a petite, blond-haired girl in glasses who looked to be afraid of the others and hung in the back.

  "Hi," Marya said, waving quickly and plastering a smile on her face. "Nice to meet you."

  Liz, the Kate Winslet in dreads, smirked at her. "So the American girl finally got here. I guess we can all get back to our lives now." She began to turn away as she said, "I'm assuming Felicity has told you all the rules?"

  Wow. Okay. Nice to meet you too. Marya glanced at Amy. "What rules? She just said -- "

  "You know," Liz answered. "Five minute showers, be on time for dinner, no consorting with the boys, all that jazz."

  "Everything but the last one," Marya mumbled.

  "Ah." Liz turned in the doorway, smiling wickedly. "The last one is Professor Ducharme's rule. The boys' hostel is on the other side of the ACMER building. We are not allowed in there, and they are not allowed in here. Comprende?"

  Liz slammed her door shut, and before Marya could ask Amy why Liz was such a bitch, Amy said, "Yeah, Dr. Ducharme used to be a nun before becoming an archaeologist."

  Marya raised her eyebrows. "She used to be a nun?" That explained a lot, actually.

  Sharon hissed at Amy. "Gawd, Amy, you just can't keep quiet, can you?"

  "Why should she keep quiet?" Marya asked.

  "Sorry," Amy replied in a tone that indicated she wasn't sorry at all. Sharon ignored Marya's question and went back to her room. Connie grinned like she was watching a soap opera, and Amber stared at the wall.

  "So," Amy continued with a conspiratorial smile, "I hear you speak Arabic. That's so great, because no one on our team speaks Arabic. It's actually why Margot wanted you along -- because you could play translator with the Bedouin workers. I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that either, but oh well."

  "You weren't," Connie confirmed.

  "See? Oh well. You would have found out sooner or later, probably." Amy shrugged happily. "And I also heard your parents are from Syria, and that you've been to the Middle East before. Which is super, because we totally need someone to show us around Amman. Someone who knows what she's doing, you know? Oh, and by the way, do you pronounce your name like Mariah Carey's?"

  "No," Marya said quickly. "And thanks for asking. It's pronounced Mar-yuh, with the accent on the first syllable."

  "That's so good to know," Amy said with a relieved laugh, "because I love Mariah Carey's music, but honestly, her name has always bugged me. Your name is so original, and I'm totally gonna give my kids foreign names someday."

  Marya tried to keep her expression blank, desperately wishing Amy would stop talking. She was too jetlagged for this right now. "Yeah, uh... You know what, I should probably call my parents and let them know I got here okay. Do you know where I can find a phone?"

  "Absolutely," Amy said. "Follow me."

  Amy clearly enjoyed the attention that came with showing Marya around; she spoke loudly and made a big entrance everywhere she went. When she led Marya directly to Felicity's office, Marya withheld a scowl. "Ms. Felicity," Amy announced, "Marya woul
d like to call her parents to let them know she's okay."

  Marya smiled tightly. "Thanks, Amy."

  Felicity gave them a bored look. "The codes are taped to the desk. Limit your call to ten minutes, please."

  It wasn't until she heard her mother's voice that Marya realized she was already feeling homesick. "Hey... Yeah, everything's fine. No, everyone's great. It's a dream come true, really." She wasn't about to tell her mother the truth: that she'd been here only a couple hours but had already screwed up and gotten on the professor's bad side. "Don't worry, I'll call you often. Yes, I promise. I love you, too."

  "I love you, too, Mommy," a male voice jeered from just outside the office. Her mother was still talking, but Marya was distracted by the juvenile snickering that followed. Holding the phone away from her face, Marya craned her neck to see what immature asshole was taunting her. She saw three guys turning the corner towards the exit, one of whom wore a red bandana wrapped around his head and baggy jeans sitting low on his hips. She could only see him from the back as he walked away, but she was certain he was the same guy who'd whistled at her earlier, after her confrontation with Ducharme.

  Jackass. What's with these Canadians?

  She managed to end the phone call with her mother after no fewer than six attempts and walked out of the office just as dinner was announced. She had to move against the wall just to escape the stampede of professors and students that plowed through the room and into the dining hall.

  "Marya, come sit with me," Amy said as she walked by, grabbing Marya by the hand. While she was pleased to have made at least one friend, Marya wondered about Amy's sudden attachment to her. It seemed to stem from the fact that, by hanging around Marya, Amy was getting a little more attention than usual from everyone else. It didn't seem to matter to her that the attention was primarily negative attention.

  The line to the food wound through the hall, around the long tables and towards the exit. Standing at the very end of it, Marya couldn't help but notice that Dr. Ducharme and some of her colleagues were already seated and eating. What was all that business about nuns taking vows of poverty and obedience and all that? Marya scowled. Maybe Margot Ducharme had been kicked out of the convent for wanting special treatment.

  Amy was talking. Again. Marya's sleep-deprived brain was only catching every other word. For the most part, she was surveying her teammates: They were mostly the academic types, with a fair share of bohemians thrown in. Lots of long hair, Birkenstocks, and hemp. She wondered which ones were American.

  "Am I the only American on the team?" Marya suddenly asked.

  "No," Amy replied. "There's one other. Edward Marshall." She rolled her eyes. "He's a graduate student and Margot's little pet. It's sick, really, how she coddles him."

  Somehow, Marya didn't think she'd get along with him, American or not. "Oh," she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

  "Oh, hang on," Amy said, looking over at a table in the corner where their hostel-mates were sitting, signaling to her. "Will you save my place in line?"

  Marya nodded, even though she didn't see the point -- they were the very last people in line. As if on cue, the door to the building opened and the three jackasses from earlier stepped in line behind Marya. She glanced back, saw the red bandana, and quickly turned back around.

  3.

  Aw, crap. This day just keeps getting better.

  The guys were laughing about something, but they lowered their voices as they came to a stop behind her. She knew it was silly, but she felt like they were staring at the back of her head, their eyes boring holes in her scalp. It's not all about you, Marya. Get over yourself. She was sure those guys were jerks to everyone. She'd just made herself an easy target.

  "Marya Helwe." It was said as a statement, not a question. She could do nothing but turn around. The guy in the red bandana stood between his two friends, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his baggy jeans. He stared right at her with eyes that caught her off guard -- a dark, almost opaque green, glittering with amusement.

  "What?" she stammered. Something inside her cringed -- she wasn't ready for this, whatever was about to happen. She desperately needed sleep. But those striking green eyes told her that, ready or not, here came a challenge. Another challenge.

  "This place has been on pause, waiting for you to get here," he said, drawing out his words. "And now you're here, so we can finally start digging."

  "I didn't tell anyone to wait for me," she said crankily, avoiding his gaze. "Is that why you're being so rude to me?"

  He looked surprised. His dark eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head coyly. "Rude? This is the first time we've ever spoken."

  "You --" Marya hesitated. What could she say? You made fun of me? What, were they in third grade? He watched her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Marya shrugged and turned back around, seething. She would handle him after she'd had eight hours of sleep. She'd let him win this battle.

  "Luke," one of the other guys said to him, changing the subject. Luke, is it? She didn't like having her back to him. When she'd finally gone through the line and was able to catch glimpses of him secretly, she decided he looked like a thug, with his bandana and five o'clock shadow. His dark brown hair that badly needed a cut, the ends curling around his jaw and the back of his neck. His stretched black t-shirt with bleach stains. His shapeless jeans that barely clung to his hips. His big black military boots.

  A hoodlum, her father would say, his thick accent making her smile.

  "Oh my God," Amy said, flopping down next to her at the empty table. "I've totally missed my chance to get dinner. I just got so caught up in talking to Connie..."

  "Here," Marya said, pushing her plate towards Amy. "You can eat mine. I'm not hungry."

  "No!" Amy cried, aghast. "You have to eat. What if we share?"

  "Honestly," Marya groaned, "I just want to go to sleep. I'm dying."

  "You can't go to sleep yet," Amy said through a mouthful of chicken. "We have that meeting after dinner. Attendance required."

  When would she stop feeling completely out of the loop? "Required meeting. Great. That'll be fun."

  "Well, we start digging tomorrow bright and early, so Margot needs to lay down the ground rules," Amy said cheerfully, tearing a piece of flat bread in half. "You should taste the hummus, it's really good. The chef, Farris, makes an awesome hummus."

  Marya grunted, putting her head down on the table. The hummus couldn't be as good as her mother's. She'd survive without it. She looked up suddenly and asked, "Does Farris brew a mean pot of coffee as well?"

  With her second mug of coffee wrapped tightly in her hands, she followed Amy to the library after dinner, where the meeting was to take place. As she walked in, Felicity wagged her finger. "Absolutely no food or drinks in the library."

  Will this day just end already? Marya tossed back the hot, bitter liquid, draining as much of the cup as she could. She hurried back to the kitchen, deposited the mug in the sink, and jogged to the library, where the meeting had already begun. Amy waved to her from the very front, pointing to an empty seat beside her. Marya would have been perfectly happy sitting all the way in the back with her eyes half-closed, but she couldn't turn Amy's offer down in front of the entire team.

  Margot Ducharme stood at the front of the room, behind a display table that was covered with historical literature and pieces of artifacts. She acknowledged Marya's late entrance with an icy look. "As I was saying, Tell Zeynoub is the site of an Iron Age Moabite and, later, Nabataean village, dating back to 800 BC. Of course, you have all read the literature I assigned."

  There was a general murmur of assent. Ducharme seemed satisfied. "Good. Now before I show the slides of the site and summarize our findings thus far, I would like to get the technicalities out of the way." A schedule was passed around, and Marya blinked away the fatigue to read it. Ducharme continued, "You must remember that excavating is hard physical labor. Breakfast is at 4:30 am sharp. At 5 am, the bus will take
us to the Tell in the highland plains. The ride will last about 25 minutes. We will spend six hours in the field every day. We will break for a quick snack at nine, and then get back to work until noon. Pottery washing and reading, processing of objects, lithics, bones and other samples take place daily, from 4:00 p.m. to 6:30, and you must attend, no exceptions. Is everyone clear?"

  Again, there was a soft murmur from the participants. Ducharme nodded. "Now I will assign teams. Each team will have a supervisor, and the supervisors are Liz, Stafford, Edward, Connie, and Aaron."

  Ducharme began assigning students to each supervisor, and Marya waited to hear her name with bated breath. She silently prayed that she not be assigned to Liz. "And finally," Ducharme said with a smile, "Edward and Marya, our two Americans, will be the final team, and they will be working at the Iron Age Gate."

  Marya heard a book slam. She tried to look around furtively to see who this Edward guy was, the other American and Ducharme's "pet," as Amy had called him. Instead, she met the green eyes of the hoodlum Luke, who shot her a crooked smile and winked. Behind him, Liz looked flushed and... angry. Marya quickly shifted back around in her seat. I'm confused and... tired.

  The slideshow dragged on for what felt like a century. While the subject matter would have been interesting to Marya under different circumstances, she could think of nothing but her bed for the entire hour. When it finally ended, she nearly flipped her chair over in her attempt to escape the library.

  "Marya," Amy said from behind her, "do you want to hang out on the patio with the rest of the clan? We're going to chill for a bit before hitting the sack."