Free An Infidel in Paradise by S.J. Laidlaw

Angie watching me, her face serious.
    “What?” I ask.
    “You said your mom’s never around and it feels like …?”
    “It feels like we’re going to be late for class,” I say, shoving the remains of my sandwich back in my bag. Angie’s a nice girl, but I hardly know her, and it’s way too soon to start spilling every twisted detail of my messed-up life. The courtyard is starting to fill with students. I stand up.
    “Good luck with Mustapha,” says Angie, but she looks sad. I quickly turn away and try to focus on which classroom I’m heading for. I’m still not used to the way the classes alternate every other day at this school, and it’s only my second day on this schedule.
    I’ve taken just a couple of steps when Angie calls to me. I look back and find she’s still where I left her.
    “If you want my opinion, I think you’re one heck of a team player,” she says before turning away. I stand there for a few seconds, watching her retreating formuntil she disappears into a classroom. Angie is probably the sappiest girl I’ve ever met, but as I walk away, I feel a lightness that, for once, has nothing to do with losing my temper or letting off steam.

CHAPTER 11
    I get to the theater early. I think maybe it will give me an edge if I have a chance to catch my breath and cool off from the heat before he arrives, but I realize my mistake almost immediately. With each passing minute, I get more nervous. My heart has expanded into my throat, cutting off my air supply. I take short, shallow breaths as my whole body throbs with each beat.
    By the time he finally does walk in, with Ali and Faarooq and at least four other kids who orbit him like he’s the sun, I’ve pretty much decided to ask for a nurse’s pass so I can take my heart failure to a more appropriate location.
    Unfortunately, the cherub, who is even more enthusiastic than two days ago, chooses that moment to get things started. He bounces to the middle of the room and shouts gaily to Mustapha and crew.
    “Quickly, now! We have a fun exercise to get to know each other better.” I cringe at the word
fun
, whichevery kid knows is teacher-speak for “excruciatingly embarrassing.”
    “How many of you have played Blind Trust before?” he asks, ignoring the groans of the few kids who have and the wary looks of the rest. “You need to take a scarf,” he continues, holding aloft a fistful of dark scarves. “And choose a partner, someone you don’t know very well. You’re going to take turns blindfolding each other and leading each other around the school.”
    Ali and Faarooq race down the aisle to grab a scarf, jostling each other as they run back to Mustapha and begin debating whom he should partner with. He laughs good-naturedly and takes Ali’s scarf. For a moment, I think the battle’s resolved, but he says something to them and walks away. He seems to be coming in my direction, and I look around, thinking he must be targeting someone else, but he’s heading for me with the resolve of a cruise missile.
    “Hello, Emma,” he says, flashing his devastating smile.
    “Hello, Mustapha,” I say, sliding one hand into my pocket to check if the note is still there or has suddenly imploded from the intense heat suffusing my body.
    “Are you ready to follow me blindly?” he asks. I stare at him blankly until he holds up the scarf.
    “I don’t really think that’s a good idea,” I say, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Do you?”
    “Probably not,” he agrees.
    We both look around the room at other kids pairing off. I notice we’re the only mixed-gender couple. Iwonder if this is another huge cultural blunder, but I can’t be blamed this time. I finger the note again. Now would be the perfect time to give it to him. We’re alone. I haven’t said anything stupid yet, and I’m only moderately irritated with him.
    “Close your eyes,” he says, interrupting my planning. I look back at him. In the dim lighting of the theater, his