Bye-Bye, Evil Eye Read online

  I manage to pull her halfway off the bed before she finally rises to her feet. “All right, all right,” she groans, “but just for a few minutes.”

  Her eyelids droop with exhaustion, but I don’t care. The beach is calling my name. Happy-clapping, I skip out of the room. “We’ll be back soon, Mrs. P!”

  When we reach the end of the hallway, Kat pushes open a rounded door and we step outside into a courtyard bordered with flower beds and life-sized marble statues of ancient togaclad gods and goddesses. Their bodies and faces have been sculpted so beautifully, they remind me of those perfect-looking models on the covers of the romance novels Kat’s always reading. She’s obsessed with those books, although she told me once that her mother doesn’t approve. Back in Toronto, she has a whole stack hidden away at the back of her closet where Mrs. P can’t find them and confiscate them. And she’s always spending her allowance on more books to add to her collection. One time I asked Kat why a smart girl like her doesn’t read anything but love stories. Her cheeks turned pink and she said, “Guess I’m just a born romantic.” I told her not to be embarrassed and that I like a good love story just as much as the next person. To be honest, it probably made me like her even more. Like we finally had something in common. But just between you and me, I wonder where’s she going to hide those books now that we’re all sharing a room.

  “Okay, which way to the beach?” I ask, trying to see past the statues. That’s when I hear it — the soft roar of the waves breaking over sand. Kat points to a narrow path leading away from the trees at the far end of the courtyard.

  “That’s the shortcut to the water. There’s a natural stairway built out of the rock.”

  As I soon discover, calling it a “stairway” is generous. “Lawsuit-waiting-to-happen” would be a better description. “Isn’t there an easier way down?” I ask, trying to keep my balance on the slippery pile of stones beneath my feet.

  Kat nods, bounding ahead of me like a mountain goat. “There’s a paved road, but it takes a lot longer.”

  After another minute, we make it down unscathed. Now that I’m not focusing on survival anymore, I can finally take my eyes off the rocks and look around. The instant I see the water, my breath flies out with a sharp gasp. I’ve never seen water that shade of blue in my life. It’s like the sky tipped over and spilled itself at our feet. Under the warmth of the sun, the surface glitters and sparkles like a field of sapphires. And the sand is powdery and white and perfect. The sun’s still high enough to reflect off the surface and heat up my skin. Fanning my sweaty face with my hands, I squint into the light and gaze out towards the water like a thirsty wanderer aching for a drink.

  “Let’s go, Kat!” I say, flicking off my shoes so I can feel the sand between my toes.

  We weave our way in and around the maze of outstretched bodies. The closer we get, the more eager I am to feel that blue water on my skin. After a minute, I break into a run. With my clothes still on, I splash a few metres into the surf then dive into a breaking wave. The water feels as fantastic as it looks. It’s warm and soft and gentle — like a perfect kiss. Salt tickles my throat and stings the corners of my eyes as I come up for air. I flip around onto my back, stretch my arms out above my head, and stare up at the cloudless sky — so pure and clear and blue, it seems to go on forever. It’s like heaven. And I want to share it with somebody. Standing up, I wave for Kat to come join me. She’s too far away for me to hear her reply, but I see her laughing and shaking her head. Okay, suit yourself.

  After about ten minutes of floating I’m satisfied. I turn around and head back to the shore. My shorts and T-shirt stick to me like a fresh coat of paint as I emerge from the sea. A pair of cute bathing-suit–clad boys stop and smile.

  “Water’s awesome!” I say, waving as I pass them, not knowing or caring if they speak English. Kat runs over to me, her dark brown eyes awake again. The fresh sea air must have revived her.

  “Oh my God! You’re crazy!”

  I twist my hair into a long brown rope and squeeze out a stream of salt water. “You’re the crazy one. That water’s amazing.”

  Kat takes a step back while I shake the water off my hands. “Thanks, but I prefer to use my bathing suit. And besides, we’ve got all month to swim.”

  “Yeah, and I plan on diving in every chance I get. Life’s too short to stand on the sidelines.”

  Kat just stares at me like we’re from completely different planets. And I guess in some ways, we kind of are. To be honest, a part of me is still kind of surprised that we’re on this trip together. I mean, who could ever have imagined that me and my math tutor would become such good friends? When Kat first transferred to our school last September, I guessed from her granny glasses and plain-looking clothes that she was more interested in work than fun. You know the type — one of those snobby, brainiac kids who always know the answer to every teacher’s question. But I obviously didn’t know the real Kat … yet. That changed after the winter report cards came back. Once my parents found out that I was failing math, they hired the smartest kid in school to be my tutor. And that kid was Kat.

  We started spending every afternoon studying together. Once I got to know her, I realized I was totally wrong. She wasn’t a snob at all — just shy and a bit quiet. After a couple of weeks went by, she opened herself up to me like a Christmas present. That’s when I found out she wasn’t just the smartest kid in school, she was also one of the funniest. She could keep me laughing for hours with her impersonations of our teachers. And she never made me feel dumb because I didn’t understand math. In fact, after my lessons with her I’d actually feel kind of smart. Nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Definitely a first for me.

  Sometimes she’ll get this sad look in her eyes. Totally out of the blue. And no matter what I say or do, it won’t go away. When that happens, it makes me a little sad too. And then I start to worry that maybe I’m not being a good enough friend. I wish I knew how to fix that.

  I squeal at the sting of salt water dripping into my eyes. Just then, an older boy wearing a white waiter’s apron jogs over from the hotel’s waterside café and hands me a towel. I take it gratefully. “That’s sweet. Thanks.”

  I don’t know if he understands me or not because he doesn’t reply. He just nods and watches as I wipe off my dripping face. When he steps forward as if to offer his assistance with the rest of me, Kat makes a funny noise under her breath and takes me by the arm — a bit more firmly than necessary.

  “Come on, Dani. We better get back before Mummy comes looking for us. Dinner’s in half an hour.”

  With a smile, I hand the waiter back his towel and follow Kat back up the rock “stairs.” By the time we make it back to our room, the light from the day’s beginning to fade. Mrs. P sucks lemons again the second she sees me. Her coal black eyes slide over my dripping hair and clothes, oozing disapproval. She doesn’t say anything, but her thoughts are as clear as the ocean water puddling around my feet.

  I do my best to ignore her.

  Chapter 3

  After a quick shower to wash away the salt water and sand, I comb my long hair back into a wet ponytail and focus on wardrobe options. After a bunch of false starts, I try on one of the three new sundresses I bought especially for Greece. Yup — just right for a warm summer night, I think, admiring my reflection in the mirror.

  When I come out of the bathroom, I see that Kat had the same sundress idea. Except hers looks like it’s a vintage edition straight out of the ’90s. And it’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t even come close to filling it out. I shoot her an encouraging smile.

  “Wow, you look beautiful, Kat.”

  “Ptoo-ptoo-ptoo,” Mrs. P mutters, raising a tissue to her mouth.

  I stare at her in surprise.

  Yeah, she totally just spat.

  Kat shrugs her bony shoulders and flashes her braces at me. Poor Kat. She’s still desperately
praying for a visit from the boob fairy. The only girl in our grade who doesn’t wear a bra yet. Thank God, I was able to convince her to trade those granny glasses of hers for contact lenses before our trip. Now at least she’s got a chance at snagging a boyfriend this summer. If her mom ever lets her out of her sight, that is. Last month, Kat confided to me that she’d never been on a date before. “My mother doesn’t let me yet,” she said. We were at the library, studying for the final math exam when she told me.

  “Okay, but you’ve been kissed, right?” I asked.

  She just shook her head.

  “Not even once?”

  She frowned and crossed her arms in front of her skinny chest. “No. Is that really bad?”

  Because I could see she was already embarrassed about it, I tried to be cool so she wouldn’t feel any worse. “No, it’s not bad. Lots of people have never been kissed. But it’s something we can work on changing. Like, soon.”

  “Soon?” She was turning red just talking about it. And her eyes were wide with panic. Suddenly, I felt a protective, big-sisterly kind of feeling rise up in my chest — which was weird since Kat was older by a couple of months. But at that moment, she looked way more like a frightened little kid than a teenager with the highest grade point average in the entire eighth grade class. Leaning across the desk, I put my arm around her shoulders and gave her an encouraging squish.

  “Yeah, soon. Romance isn’t just for books, you know. You’re almost fourteen, dude. Believe me, you don’t want to wait any longer. Once you’ve been kissed, everything changes.”

  “Everything?”

  I could practically hear her teeth chattering with fear. “Yeah, but don’t worry. It’s kind of like magic. For starters, you won’t feel like a little kid anymore. And once it happens, you’ll start to see the world a bit differently. And, believe it or not, people will see a difference in you too.”

  Kat tried to force a smile, but I knew she was still scared. Heck, I could almost see her terrified heart pounding through her T-shirt. Right then and there, I decided to make it my mission for the summer. I was going to make sure Kat snuck in a little romance on this trip. And not just from one of her books.

  “Come, girls, we don’t want to keep my sister waiting,” Mrs. P says. With her hands flapping like a frantic chicken, she corrals us out of the hotel room. This time, I have no urge to argue with her. The swim must have refreshed me from a day of travel because I’m suddenly hungry for my first real meal of the trip. Since it’s getting dark, we avoid the rocky cliff and take the longer, smoother route down to the beach. When we get there, the Karrases are waiting for us at the same waterside café we saw earlier. Sophia rises to her feet and waves us over to a table just on the edge of the sand.

  “Kalos orisate, welcome to our little restaurant. I hope you brought good appetites!”

  The table’s covered in a soft, blue cloth and illuminated by dozens of tiny votive candles. The light breeze that wafts in off the water makes the flames flicker like a swarm of dancing fireflies. A plate of slick, black olives sits in the middle of the table next to a larger plate of tomatoes and a brick of porous feta cheese. Suddenly hungry, I pull up a chair. There’s a mewling army of cats winding their skinny bodies in and out of the table legs. Do they belong to the hotel? While I take a seat next to the sand, Kat and her mother go to hug a young woman with long black hair who’s standing behind John’s chair. Before I have a chance to ask who she is, Sophia introduces us.

  “Dani, this is my daughter, Thalia. She’s come home for her summer vacation from the University of Athens.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you,” I say, reaching my right hand out to shake hers. At the same time, I reach my foot out from under the table and dig my toes in the soft sand. The beach is that irresistible to me. I can’t sit so close and not touch it. A moment later, there’s a tap on my shoulder and a deep, honeyed voice crooning in my ear.

  “I see you’re all dry now. Are you planning another swim, or are you done for the day?”

  I twist around to see the same waiter who offered me the towel earlier that evening. So he does speak English. “Oh, hi. No, I’m done. Thanks.”

  He lingers for another few seconds, drinking me up with his dark eyes. As soon as he’s gone, Thalia sits down in the seat beside mine and whispers in my ear. “That’s Costa. Watch out for him. He has big eyes for beautiful girls.”

  Turning my head, I see him stacking dishes by the kitchen door. As if sensing my gaze, he looks back at me, raises one eyebrow, and winks. I don’t want to encourage him, so I swallow my usual smile and pop an olive into my mouth instead. He’s cute, but I can’t help feeling creeped out by his age. He’s probably seventeen or eighteen — way too old to be flirting with me. And anyway, I’m not looking for romance right now. Just before leaving Toronto, I pulled the plug on my two-month relationship with Alec Soto, the captain of our school’s hockey team. He was my first boyfriend, and when we started hanging out I thought he was, like, Prince Charming or something. But those two months weren’t exactly a fairy tale. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that he was just a tall, oversized ego on ice skates. Needless to say, I’m happy to take a few weeks off from boys. As far as I’m concerned, any romance this summer is going to be for Kat.

  When we’re ready to start the meal, Mrs. P takes a seat next to her brother-in-law and Kat pulls up the chair on the other side of me. Sitting at the head of the table, Sophia claps her hands to get our attention.

  “Tonight, we’re here to celebrate our daughter who’s come home for another summer and our guests who’ve come all the way from Toronto to be with us on our little island. Reuniting with friends and family is the food that nourishes our souls. Now, let us nourish our bodies and introduce our Canadian friend Dani to some authentic Greek cooking.”

  I spread my napkin across my lap, excited to taste some new food. That is, until Costa arrives at the table carrying a large platter of deep-fried tarantulas. Trying to control my gag reflex, I quickly pass the plate to Kat. She takes a heaping portion and tries to pass it back to me. “Come on, it’s squid — calamari. You must have tasted this before at home.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head. “Yeah, but it always comes in nice neat circles. Not these spiderylooking things.”

  She scoops one off the platter and puts it on my plate. “Those are just the tentacles. Try it. You’ll love it!”

  After another minute of urging, I agree to try one. The first bite’s crunchy and the rest of it melts deliciously between my teeth. Maybe this authentic Greek cooking isn’t going to be so bad after all. Next come the dolmades — rice-stuffed vine leaves — which don’t faze me a bit. After the squid tentacles, I’m ready to try anything. Then a plate of taramosalata — fish eggs with potato. After that, some saganaki — which means, thank you God, fried cheese. Every time Costa arrives with a new platter of food, he always makes a big point to serve me first. I pretend not to notice.

  For the final course, we’re all invited to choose our own fish from the seafood locker at the back of the restaurant. The daily catch is lying there on a bed of ice, their dead eyes bulging out of their heads. For the second time that night, I feel like gagging. Averting my eyes from the locker, I tap Kat on the shoulder. “Can you help me out? I don’t know how to choose a fish.”

  When she turns around, she’s all bulging eyes and suckedin cheeks and sticking-out lips. The perfect fish face.

  “Be serious,” I laugh, swatting her arm.

  “Okay, relax. It’s easy. Just poke the side. If your finger leaves a dent in the skin, then the fish isn’t fresh.”

  Overhearing us, Thalia comes up behind us and wags her finger at her younger cousin. “Hey, what are you talking about? The fish is always fresh at our hotel. Right?”

  Kat turns a bright shade of pink. “Right. Of course it is. Sorry.”

  Since I don�
�t want to touch one of those slimy fish anyway, I decide to take Thalia’s word for it and point to the plump, silvery one in front of me. The chef picks it up and begins to prep it for the grill. Like everything else I’ve eaten that night, it turns out to be delicious. When the meal’s over, Costa starts clearing away the dishes. That’s when I notice a few things missing on his right hand. I manage to swallow my startled scream. But the look on my face betrays my shock.

  “Costa!” Sophia calls out. “I think it’s time to tell our Dani the story of how you lost those fingers.”

  He grins, his teeth glowing white against his dark, tanned skin. “Fine, but only over a glass of ouzo. That’s my price.”

  Jogging back to the kitchen, Costa comes back with a tray of small glasses and a bottle. He gives each of us a glass, telling the story while he fills each one with the watery liquid from the bottle.

  “My father was a fisherman and I grew up on the sea. When I was fourteen, times got hard for my father and he lost his boat to his creditors. After a few weeks with no income, he heard about a way to catch fish without a boat. All you had to do was throw a stick of dynamite in the water and scoop up the dead fish with a net when they floated to the surface. We did that for about a year until the dynamite went off too early — in my hand. The day I lost my fingers was the day my father gave up fishing by dynamite and I gave up fishing altogether. Now I wait tables. A much less dangerous profession. And I use my lines to catch girls instead of fish.”

  The table erupts with laughter, and I can tell from the easy smile on Costa’s face that he enjoys having an appreciative audience. When all the glasses are filled, he pulls up a chair beside Sophia and joins us at the table. Pointing to my glass, I nudge Thalia with my elbow.

  “What did he say this is?”

  “Ouzo. It’s anise-flavoured liqueur.”

  It takes me a moment to understand what that means. Alcohol? My mother’s words of warning begin echoing in my head again. Is Mrs. P going to report me if I have a drink on my very first night? With a glance at my chaperone, I shake my head and push the glass away. “Sorry, but I’m not nineteen yet.”