Under the Olive Tree

4. Arba'a

When Amani checked her phone for the third time that day, she saw that her messages had gone through after hours of delivering on the turtle-paced connections her uncle had. But there was still no response from the boy she hadn't spoken to since her father chased him out of the house and shipped her back home.

"He's ignoring you?" Reema asked, hitting her with the painful reality that Amani refused to acknowledge. Delusion was a lovestruck girl's best friend.

She shook her head. "Hardly. He's probably busy."

Reema sucked her teeth at the response. "Yes because boys that young are too busy to type out a few words on the phone they have on them all the time, aren't they?" She narrowed her eyes at Amani, attempting to burn the understanding straight into her brain.

But the girl remained in denial. "You could say that. He could have gotten a job since I left to distract himself from missing me."

"Amani, here's one thing I learned being engaged. One, you should always choose the person who likes you over the one you like and, two, if a guy wants to talk to you, he will."

"Not if they're busy."

Reema's hand was gentle on Amani's shoulder. It was obvious that she pitied her younger cousin. "If he has time to use the bathroom, fix his shirt, buy a drink, or do so much as think to himself, then he has time to text you, my love. Don't settle. Much less for a man, they're not worth it."

Amani didn't respond. Instead, she kept the other excuses she could have offered to herself because even she knew Reema would find a way to dismiss them. "I don't know," she muttered to herself, washing her hands with the pink bar of soap to remove the smell of the grape leaves she'd helped separate.

Reema noticed her silence. "Look, obviously I want the best guy for you, Amani, because you don't deserve anybody else. I just don't think this specific guy is the best one. In fact, I don't even think he's in the top half of the moderately good men." Amani glared at her. "You can do much better. Trust me."

"Maybe," she mumbled, glancing at the clock ticking above the sink. "I should head back before Auntie calls. After that run-in with the soldiers, she gets even more worried if I take a while."

"Okay, my love. Call me when you get home."

Amani collected her bag, shoving the journals and book she'd borrowed from the library earlier and hurrying out the front door. The streets were empty, filled only with voices of praying men pouring through the microphones. She glanced down at the dying plant near the wall of her grandmother's old home. Her uncle lived there now but his work always dragged him out of town and left it empty.

"What if he's praying?" A girl shouted in the distance.

Amani lifted her gaze to catch Yasmeen racing past her, speeding toward the masjid. "It doesn't matter right now!" She spun to watch the girl sprint the way she'd just come.

She huffed and turned back around, too frustrated with the conversation she'd just had with Reema to care. If he wanted to speak to her, he would have, but he spoke to her when she was there. They were together for eight months. Why wouldn't he want her now?

It's not that hard to type a single text back, whether it was a greeting or a break-up. Guys were so stupid. She kicked a rock.

"Stand up!" A bold voice ordered loudly.

Amani's head shot up to see an occupation soldier standing a few houses ahead of her, nudging a young boy with the barrel of his rifle. The child pushed it away. "I don't listen to you," he continued playing with his marbles.