Simone Elkeles - How to Ruin a Summer Vacation

In memory of my aba and hero,

Gidon Elkeles.

I miss you.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank LaurieDeMarino, Ruth Kaufman, Kathe Pate, and Patricia Rosemoor forsuggesting I write this novel on our amazing writing retreat inMichigan. Other people I want to thank are Nadia Cornier, my wonderfulagent who has become so much more, and Karen Harris and Marilyn Weigel,invaluable friends and writing pals along with the secret society Mag7(if I told you who they all were I'd have to, you know ...). Twopeople who have helped me more than I can ever repay, Amy Kahn and Randi

Sak--I'm so lucky to haveyou ladies in my life and don't know what I've done to deserve theblessing of our friendship. Other friends and family I owe so much to:Liane Freed, Hadassah Alon, Michele Walters, Amy Gitles, Mary Friedman,Megan Atwood, Chicago-North RWA, for teaching me how to write, NanciMartinez, for always being a supportive friend, and my editor, AndrewKarre.

A special thank you to Melyand Itamar Kandlik for welcoming me onto their moshav and opening uptheir home to me in Israel. You are incredible cousins and amazingpeople. This book could have never been written without yourhospitality.

And finally to Samantha, Brett, Moshe, and Fran (aka Mom). Thank you for holding up my wings while I fly on this journey.

CHAPTER 1

In a matter of seconds parents can change the course of your life.

How does a relatively smartsixteen-year-old girl get stuck in a sucky situation she can't get outof? Well, as I sit at Chicago's O'Hare International Airport on aMonday afternoon during the one hour and forty-five minute delay, Ithink about the past twenty-four hours of my now messed-up life.

I was sitting in my room yesterday when my biological father, Ron, called. No, you don't get it...Ron never calls. Well, unless it's my birthday, and that was eight months ago.

You see, after their affairin college, my mom found out she was pregnant. She comes from money,and Ron ...well, he doesn't. Mom, with her parents pushing her

along, told Ron it would bebest if he didn't have a big part in our lives. Boy, were they wrong.But the worst part is he gave up without even trying.

I know he puts money into anaccount for me. He also comes by to take me out to dinner for mybirthdays. But so what? I want a father who'll always be there for me.

He used to come around more,but I finally told him to leave me alone so my mom could find me a realdad. I didn't really mean it; I guess I was just trying to test him. Hefailed miserably.

Well, the guy phones this time and tells my mom he wants to take me to Israel. Israel! You know, that little country in the Middle East that causes so muchcontroversy. You don't have to TiVo the news to know Israel is a hotbedof international hostility.

I know I'm off on a tangent,so let's get back to what happened. My mom hands me the phone withoutso much as an "it's your dad" or "it's the guy who I had a one-nightstand with, but never married" to warn me it was him.

I still remember what he said. "Hi, Amy. It's Ron."

"Who?" I answer.

I'm not trying to be asmartass, it just doesn't register that the guy who gave me fiftypercent of my genes is actually calling me.

"Ron ...Ron Barak," he says a bit louder and slower as if I'm a complete imbecile.

I freeze and end up sayingnothing. Believe it or not, sometimes saying nothing actually works inmy favor. I've learned this from years of practice. It makes peoplenervous

and, well, better them than me. I huff loudly to let him know I'm still on the line.

"Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"Um, I just wanted you to know dat your grand mudder is sick," he says in his Israeli accent.

A faceless image of a smallwhite-haired old lady who smells like baby powder and mildew, and whoselife's goal is baking chocolate chip cookies, briefly races across mymind.

"I didn't know I had agrandmother," I say, emphasizing the 'th' because Ron, like every otherIsraeli I've ever met, can't say the 'th'--that sound is not in theirlanguage.

My mom's mom died shortlyafter I was born so I was one of those kids without a grandma. A pangof sorrow and self-pity from never knowing I had a grandma and nowknowing she's 'sick' makes me feel yucky. But I shove those feelingsinto the back of my head where they're safe.

Ron clears his throat. "She lives in Israel and, uh, I'm going for the summer. I'd like to take you with me."

Israel?

"I'm not Jewish," I blurt out.

A little sound, like one of pain, escapes from his mouth before he says, "You don't have to be Jewish to go to Israel, Amy."

And you don't have to be a rocket scientist to know Israel is smack dab in the middle of a war zone. A war zone!

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to tennis camp this summer. Tell Grandma I hope she gets over her illness. Bye," I say and hang up.

Wouldn't you know it, notmore than four seconds go by before the phone rings again. I know it'sRon. A little ironic he's hardly called twice in a year and here he iscalling twice in a matter of seconds.

My mom picks up the phone inthe living room. I try to listen through my bedroom door. I can't hearmuch. Just mumble, mumble, mumble. After about forty long minutes shecomes knocking at my door and tells me to pack for Israel.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Amy, you can't avoid him forever. It's not fair."

Not fair? I cross my arms in front of my chest. "Excuse me, what's not fair is that you two didn't even try and live like parents. Don't talk to me about fairness."

I know I'm sixteen and should be over it by now, but I'm not. I never said I was perfect.

"Life isn't simple, you'llrealize that when you're older," she says. "We've all made mistakes inthe past, but it's time to mend them. You're going. It's alreadysettled."

Panic starts to set in and I decide to take the guilt trip route.

"I'll be killed. Unless that's what you ultimately want--"

"Amy, stop the dramatics. He's promised me he'll keep you safe. It'll be a great experience."

I try for another two hoursto get out of it, I really do. I should have known trying to argue withmy mom would get me nothing except a sore throat.

I decide to call my bestfriend, Jessica. Supportive, understanding Jessica. "Hey, Amy, what'sup?" a cheery voice answers on the other end of the line. Gotta lovecaller ID.

"My parents decided to ruin my life," I tell her.

"What do you mean 'parents'? Ron called?"

"Oh, yeah, he called. Andsomehow he convinced my mom to cancel my summer plans so he could takeme to Israel. Could you just die?"

"Um, you don't really want to hear my opinion, Amy. Trust me."

My eyebrows furrow as Islowly realize Jessica, my very dearest friend in the world, isn'tgoing to back me up one hundred and ten percent.

"It's a war zone!" I say it slowly so she gets the full impact.

Is that a laugh I hear on the other end of the line?

"Are you kidding?" Jessicasays. "Heck, my mom goes to Tel Aviv every year to go shopping. Shesays they have the clearest diamonds ever cut. You know the littleblack dress I love? She got it for me there. They have the best European styles and--"

"I need support here, Jess, not some crap about diamonds and clothes," I say, cutting off her 'Israel is all that' speech. Jeez!

"Sorry. You're right," she says.

"Don't you ever watch the news?"

"Sure, Israel has its share of problems. But my parents say a lot of what we see on TV is propaganda. Just don't

hang out at bus stops or go to coffee shops. Ron will keep you safe."