I frown. “Belonging to a specific race isn’t the only way to have a culture. And being Egyptian doesn’t make me an Egyptian.”
She laughs, a sharp, barking laugh that explodes out of her stomach. I have never heard a laugh like it before. It’s both alarming and disarming. “Yeah, gosh, you’re right. Sorry, I’m Tyler.” She sticks out a hand that’s narrow and bony. I shake it awkwardly because I know I’m supposed to. I still don’t understand shaking hands.
“I’m working here over the summer for my aunt,” she says.
“Who is your aunt?”
“Michelle.”
I compare Tyler—pale, blond, lanky, tall Tyler—with tiny brunette Michelle. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what my parents tell me. So, you wanna go get some lunch? I know an awesome taco stand a few blocks away. We may die of food poisoning, but it’ll be a happy deat
h.”
“Are we allowed to leave?”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, no worries. I told Auntie Michelle.”
I follow her out into the cloud-dimmed sunlight. She has a long, loping walk, her shoulders thrust forward and down, with her hands shoved into her pockets. Everything about her seems just off, just this side of awkward.
I officially give myself permission to like Tyler. She’s been pressed into working for the museum, too. Liking her isn’t giving my mother a victory. Besides, I can already tell it’s going to be impossible not to like Tyler.
We walk under the arch and onto the bridge. I plan on spending future lunch breaks wandering around the park, getting to know the trees. There is a wealth of foliage, and I’m shocked that everyone here doesn’t have a permanent neck injury from craning to look at the trees at every possible chance. It boggles my mind how so much can grow. I thought this area was a desert, but it’s nothing like the one I grew up in.
“This is great,” I say, pausing to look over the side of the bridge and down into a shallow but steep-sided canyon. I’m nervous—I’ve never had to buy anything here, and though Sirus assures me that my plastic debit card is the same as money, I have no idea if it’ll actually work. What if it doesn’t? Then again, I need to figure the system out. The beginnings of a plot to drain my account of cash have been stirring in my head. If I have all the money out of the bank, Isis can’t deny me access to it.
“Oh, sure. Nature is awesome.” Tyler waves dismissively, leaning next to me to look down. Her face lights up. “Hey! HEY!”
I turn to stare at her, wondering why she’s screaming. She waves her arms over her head. “HEY! RY! UP HERE!”
I follow her line of sight to a guy sitting in the curved hollow where two tree trunks meet, furiously scribbling in a black notebook. His hair is one shade away from midnight, worn a little long so that it curls just above his eyes. He’s wearing khaki pants and a pale blue button-up short-sleeved shirt, showing off some seriously beautiful olive-toned arms. Wires dangle from earbuds and he hasn’t looked up to see us yet.
“Boyfriend?” I ask. I hope she doesn’t decide to have lunch with him instead. I definitely don’t feel brave enough to go buy something on my own.
Tyler laughs. “No. In fact, I feel a little dirty because of my occasional lustful thoughts, since I’m taken. Still, I can appreciate beauty, right?” She leans forward, so far that I worry she’ll lose her balance and topple right off the bridge. “Hey, RY!” Finally he looks up.
Floods, I have never seen such eyes.
They’re crystal blue, a shade that shouldn’t exist on the human body, a shade I immediately crave, a shade that makes my heart beat a little faster—almost as if I recognize it. I want to steal it, paint it, throw it into every room I ever decorate. It’s the most perfect blue I’ve ever seen. Even from this distance his eyes are simply remarkable.
He pulls out his earbuds and smiles, a dimple on one side but not the other, though it looks like he’s not quite focused on us, like his eyes are seeing just past us. He waves, and I have to admit Tyler is right about “appreciating beauty.”
“What’s up, Tyler?” His voice is a pleasant tenor.
“We’re heading to lunch. Want to come?”
His eyes glance off me, again not quite focusing. Maybe he has bad vision, though I can see him just fine.
“Oh,” Tyler shouts, “this is Isadora. She started at the museum today. She’s from Egypt!”
He looks back down at his notebook, tapping his pen against the page. “What part are you from?” he calls in flawless Arabic.
I narrow my eyes. Didn’t see that one coming. “You wouldn’t know it,” I answer in English. He probably wants to show off that he speaks Arabic, but I don’t like that he assumes I don’t speak English well. I speak English perfectly. I speak everything perfectly.
He smiles, still not looking up, and Tyler finally leans back so I can stop worrying she’ll fall over the side. “Coming or not?”
I hope he doesn’t. If he does, I’ll have to spend the whole time figuring out how to pull from his color scheme for a room. Black, brilliant blue, olive tan. And then the lips for an accent. Maybe the bedroom.