Bye-Bye, Evil Eye Page 4

  In between courses, everyone dances. At first when Kat invites me to Greek dance with her family, I say no. I’m too nervous about doing it wrong and looking silly. But she pulls on my arm until I think it’s going to come out of its socket.

  “Don’t be that way. Come on, it’s fun. I’ll show you how.”

  Once I start, I’m surprised to find out that it isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Everyone basically just holds hands and hops around in a big circle to the rhythm of the music.

  Eight steps forward, three steps back, eight steps forward, three steps back …

  I guess because she’s the birthday girl, Thalia leads all the circle dances. She’s laughing and waving a dinner napkin around with her free hand and looking like a princess in her white lace sundress. Nick knows how to Greek dance too. Every time we start a new round, he makes sure he’s beside me holding my hand. Whenever I look up he’s watching me with those gorgeous green eyes. It’s pretty obvious that it’s his way of announcing he’s interested. Because I sense that he’s shy, I decide to spare him my usual hard-to-get tricks and let him hold my hand. That current of energy is still going strong, buzzing between our fingers like a live wire. Does he feel that too? During the dances, sometimes one of the men will go into the middle of the circle and do a trick to show off for the women. John goes first, doing a funny move where he snaps his fingers and slaps his ankles as his big tummy bounces and bobs up and down to the music. That makes Sophia laugh so hard I think she’ll have to stop dancing and sit down to catch her breath. Then Costa breaks into the middle and begins dancing around a small glass of ouzo with his arms outstretched and the fingers on his good hand snapping. After a couple of minutes, he kneels down in front of it, picks it up with his teeth, and drinks it without using his hands. When he’s done, the entire café cheers. Costa beams with pride as he wipes the final drops of ouzo from his mouth.

  It’s a wild party, and the later the night gets, the crazier people act. When the meal’s finally over, Thalia stands up and hurls her plate to the tiled floor. It smashes into a thousand tiny pieces.

  She throws her head back and cries, “Opa!” at the top of her lungs.

  One by one, everyone else in the café stands up and does the same. For the next few minutes, the air is filled with the brittle splash of crashing dinnerware. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Kat’s standing beside me. She points at the plate in front of me and nudges me with her pointy elbow. “Go on, Dani. Break it,” she says over the din.

  I pick up the plate, weighing it in my hand. I have no idea why everyone is smashing them, but it looks like fun. I hesitate another second. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It’s tradition,” she says, grinning. And that’s all the encouragement I need. Lifting the plate high above my head, I fling it down to the floor at my feet and yell, “Opa!” It comes apart with a satisfying crash. Smithereens in every direction. How weirdly destructive. And how hugely satisfying at the same time. I feel giddy and lightheaded, even though I’m staying far away from the ouzo. As soon as the last plate is smashed, everyone rises to their feet and the dancing starts all over again. Although truthfully by this point, there’s a lot more stumbling going on than dancing. Laughing and singing and hopping, we move around the dance floor in a rowdy circle, shards of broken dishes crunching beneath our shoes with every step. Nick’s still beside me holding my hand, but I’m worried that my palms are getting sweaty and gross. After all this dancing, I’m beginning to overheat.

  Just as I’m about to break away from the circle and try to cool off, Thalia freezes on the spot and lets out a sharp cry. Her voice rises above the music in a shriek of panic.

  “A crow!”

  The musicians stop playing, the guests stop dancing, and everyone turns to follow the direction of her trembling finger as it points across the restaurant. My eyes fly to the spot where the sand meets the blue tiles of the restaurant floor. There’s a small black crow staring at the assembled party — claws hidden in the soft sand; greasy feathers reflecting the patio lights; and gleaming black eyes taking in the scene with cool interest.

  Weird. What’s a bird doing out so late at night? I wonder. Scavenging for food?

  Before I can figure it out, Thalia takes a step towards the bird, waving it off with her hands. “Sto kalo! Sto kalo!” I hear her yell. The crow shakes its tail feathers, cocks its dark head to one side, and lets out a raspy caw. Fanning my burning face with my hands, I watch Thalia advance faster on the bird, charging at it like a bull. “Sto kalo! Sto kalo!” she screeches. This time, she manages to scare it off. With black wings unfolding like a sinister cloak, the crow turns, makes three quick hops towards the beach, and takes flight over the ocean. As it disappears into the night, I lean towards Kat and whisper, “Why is Thalia so upset? It’s just a stupid bird.”

  When she turns to answer me, I see that her eyebrows are crunched up with worry. “Greeks believe that crows are omens of doom. She doesn’t want bad luck to come to any of her guests.”

  Omens of doom? Okay, this superstition stuff is officially getting ridiculous. I fan my face a little harder as I try to think of a way to tell Kat that her family is crazy … without hurting her feelings, of course. Behind me, the band starts up the music again. Uh-uh … no more dancing for me. It’s time for a break.

  “Well, omens of doom don’t bother me. I’m going to get some air. Be back soon.”

  Desperate to cool off, I slip away from the crowd and make my way towards the ocean. I just need to dip my feet in the water and let the sea breeze blow over my damp, hot skin for a few minutes. I know that’ll make me feel better. As I walk along the shore, the waves lap softly at my toes. I can’t help thinking how nice it would feel to just jump in right then and there. Mrs. P would be so pissed off if I came back to the party soaking wet — which makes it all the more tempting. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there’s a hand on my shoulder and a voice whispering in my ear.

  “Thinking of another swim? Can I join you this time?”

  I spin around to see who it is.

  Costa.

  I can tell by his sluggish words and the smell of ouzo on his breath that he’s been drinking. Plus the fact that he’s wavering back and forth, like he can barely hold himself up. Ugh, this guy’s so full of ick and ew. Even though he’s right about the swim, the last thing I want is to encourage him by admitting it. I shake my head and take a step backward. “No, thanks. I better get back to the party.”

  Whirling around, I head back to the restaurant. Too bad Costa’s faster than me. He blocks my way and reaches for my hand. “What’s your hurry? The water is perfect this time of night.”

  I freeze while Thalia’s warning rings through my head. Watch out for Costa — he has big eyes for beautiful girls. I scowl and try to yank my hand back. “No, thanks. I said I’m not interested in a swim.”

  But he won’t let go. Instead, he puts his other hand on my shoulder. Then he leans over me and grins. “Come on, trela mou. All I want is one kiss.”

  What? I try to slap him away, but he doesn’t budge. “How dare you? I’m not your ‘trailer moo’! Don’t touch me!”

  He laughs a snorty, sloppy laugh. Now his hands are on my waist, pulling me towards him. My dinner rises up in my throat. I push on his shoulders, trying to get away. But he’s stronger than me. His arms encircle mine. What’s he doing? Panicking, I try to raise my knee up to defend myself, but he’s hugging me too tightly. His face burrows into my hair. I can hear his warm, panting breath in my ear.

  “Trela mou — it means that you drive me crazy with love. And you smell so nice. Like a bouquet of summer flowers.”

  I try my best to scream, but the effort of trying to push him away is stealing all my breath. “Get away from me, you big dumb jerk!” I finally manage to grunt.

  As I feel his hold tighten, I cast my eyes around the darkened beach, despe
rate to find someone who can help. Did anybody see me leave the party? Where’s Mrs. Papadakis now that I finally need her? Then I see Thalia and her white lace dress emerging out of the darkness like a glowing ghost. She’s walking towards me across the sand, but her head is turned to the ocean. She doesn’t see me. I shout to get her attention. Before I know if she heard me or not, I hear someone else yelling and Nick is suddenly at my side, grabbing Costa’s shoulder and pulling him off me.

  “Leave her alone!”

  Even though he’s younger than Costa, Nick doesn’t look afraid at all. He walks right up to him with his chest all puffed out like a rooster ready to fight and shoves him again on the shoulder. But Costa isn’t afraid either. With his jaw clenched in anger, he pulls his good hand back to hit Nick. I react on pure instinct. Two years of Saturday morning karate instruction comes back to me in a rush and, without hesitation, I step forward, raise my knee, and square him hard in the groin with a triumphant, “Kiai!” Costa’s eyes squeeze shut and his mouth drops open as if to scream, but the only sound that comes out of him is a tiny airless squeak. He lurches forward on Frankenstein feet, and I have to jump out of the way so he doesn’t stumble into me. Finally, with a strangled moan, he drops to his knees in the sand. That’s when Thalia sprints up. Her face is wide with panic.

  “Oh my God! What’s going on here?”

  Her eyes flick from my upset face to Nick’s angry one to Costa’s guilty, pain-wracked expression. A look of understanding passes over her features. Fists punching her hips, she turns towards Costa and yells, “Again? How many times do we have to tell you to leave the guests alone? If my mother finds out, you’ll be out of a job so fast your head will spin. Go to your room and sober up. I’ll figure out what do with you tomorrow.”

  Still moaning, Costa holds up his hands in surrender. His dark eyes reach for mine. “You’ll be sorry,” I hear him growl under his breath. Then, without another word, he staggers away across the thick sand into the darkness. I let out a long, shuddery breath as I watch him go. My heart is still racing. Nick puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, his green eyes searching mine.

  “Are you okay?”

  I’m not okay. Not by a long shot. My head’s spinning, my throat’s closing up, and I can feel the prickly sting of tears pooling behind my eyes. But I don’t want to let those tears out in front of Nick. I’ll admit it, I turn really ugly when I cry. So I try never to cry in front of anyone, ever. Most especially not in front of a boy I like.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I say with a small nod, biting my bottom lip hard and struggling to hold the tears back. “You sure?”

  When I nod again, he turns and starts to run away in the same direction as Costa. “I’ll be right back,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into the darkness. “I want to follow him and make sure he’s really heading home.”

  Suddenly exhausted, I sink down onto the sand.

  “I just knew that crow was bringing bad luck,” Thalia says, as Nick runs off into the night. I don’t know how to reply to that. To me, those superstitions are just plain ridiculous. And anyway, I have more important things on my mind than birds and omens. A feeling of anger is growing inside me as my mind replays what just went down.

  “You were totally right about that guy, Thalia. What a sleazeball. Do you think Sophia will fire him?”

  With a loud sigh, she shakes her head and plops down beside me. “No, probably not.”

  I stare at her in shock. “But he attacked me! Nick was a witness. Why would she let him stay?”

  She picks up a handful of sand and lets it fall slowly between her fingers.

  “You know that story Costa told about his father the poor fisherman? Well, that poor fisherman is my father’s brother.”

  I hear myself gasp as I connect the mental dots. “Costa’s your cousin?”

  She nods and reaches for another handful of sand. “After the accident, my uncle was scared that Costa would never work again because of his injury. The hotel was doing well, so my parents made a promise to take care of him. They brought him to work and live here at the hotel during the summers. He’s been a waiter here ever since. He’s a hard worker and never complains — but girls have always been a problem.”

  “But how can you let him stay on if he’s attacking your guests?”

  “It’s only happened a couple of times. And it’s always when he’s overdone it on the ouzo. I mean, he’s not really dangerous.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’ve known him my whole life. He just thinks he’s Casanova or something. He would have let you go after a kiss.”

  Somehow that’s not very comforting. I stand up and start slapping the sand from the backs of my legs. “Well, thanks for warning me about him.”

  Thalia stands up too. “You’re welcome. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you another warning.”

  Her voice is suddenly a whisper, barely audible over the softly breaking waves behind us. I stop slapping my legs so I can hear better. “Sure.”

  She scratches her head and frowns, like she’s searching for the right words. “Did Kat mention anything about …”

  But her whisper melts into silence when Nick reappears from out of the darkness. “I followed Costa back to his room,” he says, panting to catch his breath. “He won’t give us any more trouble tonight. He’s passed out in his bed.” Then he reaches for my hand. “Do you want to go back to the party?”

  As happy as I am to see him again, what I really want is to hear the rest of the warning. I smile and hold up a finger.

  “I’d love to, in just one second.” I tap Thalia’s shoulder to let her know I’m still listening. “What were you saying? Did Kat mention anything about what?”

  She pauses, almost like she’s trying to collect her thoughts. Her eyes jump from my face over to Nick’s, then back to mine. “It’s nothing,” she finally says with a shrug. “I … I just wanted to say that you’re a very beautiful girl. And beauty attracts a lot of attention — both good and bad. Just be careful.”

  “Don’t worry about Dani,” Nick says, giving my hand a light squeeze. “I’ll keep her safe.”

  Although he’s speaking to Thalia, his eyes are glued to mine. Probably not the right moment to remind him that it was actually me who knocked Costa off his feet. With our hands linked together, he walks me back to the café, where the party is still going strong. I look for Kat but don’t see her. She must have gone back to the room. Mrs. P is still dancing to the music, hopping in circles like a giant pigeon in her billowy grey dress. Nick guides me to a bench overlooking the dance floor. He holds tight to my hand. His fingers meld perfectly with mine. Like gears in a Swiss clock.

  He doesn’t leave my side for the rest of the night.

  This is where the trip really starts to get interesting.

  Chapter 7

  Dear Mom, you’ll be happy to hear I’ve been learning a lot about the local culture. Last night I got a lesson in authentic Greek dancing and plate smashing …

  After Thalia’s party, Nick and I become inseparable. Even though we haven’t officially become a couple, he sits with me and Kat for all our meals and hangs out with us all day at the beach, talking and swimming and comparing music on our iPods. It’s totally like we’re together, except for one very important detail — I’m still waiting for him to kiss me. Every day after breakfast, we spread our towels out beside each other and lotion each other’s backs to get ready for a long day in the sun. After a week, it’s like we’ve known each other forever. I think there must be magic in meeting someone while you’re on vacation, because every day feels like a month in real-life time. I know all the weird, random things about him that only a girlfriend would know. Like how the most ticklish part of his body is a hidden spot at the back of his left knee; how he was convinced he was related to Aquaman when he was little because two of his toes are we
bbed together; how his earlobes turn red when he’s been in the sun too long; how he likes to dip his French fries in mayonnaise; how the only thing in the world he’s really and truly afraid of is heights; how a guitar is the one thing he would bring if he got stranded on a desert island; and how his iPod is filled with really obscure old music from the ’70s and ’80s like Chilliwack and Styx. At the end of every day, I write all the details down in my travel journal. He’s definitely something special. I don’t want to forget anything.

  The only problem? I’m getting more than a bit impatient. I never imagined I’d have to be the one to make the first move. But after a whole week has passed, it’s beginning to feel like my only option. I know he’s shy and all, but this is getting ridiculous. Why doesn’t he want to kiss me? Every boy wants to kiss me. Don’t think I’m bragging. It’s the truth. Ever since fifth grade, they’ve been falling over themselves to be near me. Even creepy old Costa tried to kiss me. So is there some reason Nick’s holding back? Am I losing my touch? Eating too much garlicky food? Is it possible he’s gay?

  One night, we’re all enjoying a late dinner at the waterside café when Nick finally makes his move. Halfway through the meal, Kat excuses herself to use the washroom. As soon as we’re alone, he nudges me with his foot under the table, takes a long breath, and says, “Hey, let’s go on a date tonight.”

  Hallelujah! I put my fork down, flip my hair, and turn to look at him. “What are you talking about?” I ask coyly. A light blush begins to spread across his face.

  “Well, I know we spend all day together but, uh … we haven’t had a real date yet. You know, just you and me going somewhere together. So what do you think? Do you want to do it tonight?”

  Just at that moment, Costa walks up to the table balancing a large platter of grilled calamari on the palm of his good hand. When he sees Nick and me talking, he stops in his tracks with his dark eyes fixed on me. One of his bushy eyebrows is raised up in a perfect arc, while the other one is squished down over his eye. He kind of looks like a teenage pirate — except without the parrot or the gold teeth. With a scowl, he places the platter down at the opposite end of the table and marches back to the kitchen. I sigh with relief to see him go. I don’t care if he is their nephew, how can Sophia and John let this guy keep working here?