Bye-Bye, Evil Eye Read online

  I stare at Kat in shocked silence. Is she going crazy? This is a bit too voodoo for me. Um, hello? We’re Canadian. Pretty sure we don’t have curses and bad luck spells in Canada.

  Using both hands, I peel her death grip off my shoulder. “You don’t really believe that stuff, do you?” I finally reply. “Sorry, but it’s just … well, dumb.”

  Kat gasps. And then she leans over and spits. Just like her mother.

  “Ptoo … ptoo … ptoo …”

  “Stop that!” I yelp, glancing around to see if anyone else is watching.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she straightens back up. Her eyes are glistening. “This is serious, Dani. I’m telling you, every Greek knows that the Evil Eye is powerful. Remember that day on the beach? I saw the way that little girl looked at you. She gave the Evil Eye to you for sure. I think you should ask my mother about this. She knows all about these old curses. I think we should talk to her and see if she can help you.”

  A chill runs up my back just at the thought of that strange girl and her cold, bottomless eyes. But if Kat’s trying to scare me, I’m not going to let it work. “No, thanks, I’ll be fine. Really.” I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head. The bee’s still circling around and around our table, like it’s waiting for clearance to land. “Anyway,” I add, “I thought you said you weren’t superstitious.”

  Her hand flies up in my face. She’s in full defence mode now. “I’m not superstitious. I told you, it’s just my mother.”

  “Okay, so just tell her thanks but no thanks. Now are we done? Because I want to go see if Nick’s awake.”

  Kat’s face is like a landslide. “Did you hear anything I just said? I’m telling you that you could be cursed. Which means that you’re in a lot of danger — and if you hang out with Nick you’ll be putting him in danger too. You have to talk to Mummy and see if she can cure you.”

  That’s the point when I begin to feel very uncomfortable with the conversation. Earlier this year, my Grade 8 history teacher told our class that the Greeks were brilliant thinkers and philosophers and invented democracy and all kinds of other important stuff. At the time, I remember being pretty impressed that Kat came from such an intelligent gene pool. So how is it possible that such a civilized nation can be so crazed with superstitions? With an irritated sigh, I reach for my room key.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I mean, you do realize how totally ridiculous this sounds, right? Like, how can you possibly believe in this Evil Eye mumbo-jumbOW!”

  Suddenly, the bee that’s been buzzing around our table lands on my hand and jabs its stinger right into me. A sharp, burning pain erupts over my skin. I scream, drop my key, and jump up from my chair — forgetting, of course, all about my injured ankle. I scream even louder this time as searing knives of pain shoot up my leg. I sink back into my chair, squeeze my eyes shut, and will myself not to cry. Kat scoops an ice cube out of her latte, wraps it in a napkin, and presses it to my sore hand. The cold is a shock, but little by little it helps to kill the pain. When I open my eyes again, she’s shaking her head sadly and tsking with her tongue. More pity? Get me out of here! She opens her mouth to speak, but my good hand flies up to stop her.

  “Don’t say it. Please?”

  She shrugs and stays quiet. But it’s too late. You and I both know exactly what she’s thinking.

  Chapter 11

  Dear Mom, I spent the last few days of my trip learning about awkward Greek superstitions. I would write more about them, but I’m not going to bother. You’d never believe me anyway …

  It’s the morning of our flight back to Canada. We’re all gathered on the hotel porch waiting for the taxi to take us to the airport. Sophia’s crying as she kisses and hugs Mrs. P and Kat and Nick. But her tears flow even harder when she comes to me. “Please come back again soon,” she says, wrapping me up in her soft arms. “By next summer, I’ll have a real staircase built down to the beach so it will be safe.”

  Poor Sophia. I know how guilty she felt after my accident. Like it’s somehow her fault that I took the unofficial shortcut. “It’s okay,” I say and smile to make her feel better. “It’s my fault, anyway. I should have taken the long way down.”

  When it’s John’s turn, his hug is so forceful, it almost knocks me off my crutches. “You’re always welcome here!” he says. Whoa. Those must be the first words he’s said to me all trip. His voice is so deep, I can feel the sound waves. A hard lump rises in my throat. As awful as the past week’s been, I’m going to miss these guys.

  Then Thalia kisses me goodbye — three times on the cheeks, as per the Greek custom.

  Mwah.

  “Don’t forget what I told you that night on the beach,” she whispers on my left cheek. My thoughts fly back to that night.

  “Remind me what that was again?” I whisper back as she swoops in for my right cheek.

  Mwah.

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” she says on the final kiss.

  Mwah.

  Huh? Careful of what? Before I can ask her to explain, I hear the sound of tires scrunching up the gravel driveway behind me. Our taxi’s here. Thalia takes a small step back. “Just be safe and keep your eyes open. All right?”

  Is she talking about my ankle? “Don’t worry. There aren’t any slippery rock slopes in my neighbourhood back home.”

  She’s supposed to laugh at my joke. But she doesn’t even crack a smile.

  Weird.

  We arrive at the airport two hours before the flight and there’s already a huge lineup of people at the Canada-Air counter. Nick tells some jokes while we wait for the line to slowly inch forward, but Kat isn’t laughing at any of them. She’s been acting so weird around Nick lately … like she’s annoyed with him or something. I have a nagging feeling it has to do with the fact that he’s spending so much time with me. I make a mental note to ask her about it when we get back to Toronto. Leaning on her suitcase, Mrs. P watches us and sucks lemons. At least some things never change. When it’s finally my turn to check in, I hobble up to the counter and give the agent my ticket. “Could I get a window seat please?” I ask, smiling my sweetest smile.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Your passport, please?”

  I reach into the pouch where I keep all my important travel stuff, but don’t see it. I flip through all the compartments and flaps and slots but my passport isn’t there. My stomach does a weak somersault.

  “Just a second,” I say, bending down to look through my carry-on bag. A tight knot of fear begins to form inside my chest. When’s the last time I saw my passport, anyway? I can’t remember. I look in every pocket and every flap of my bag. I double and triple check my travel pouch. But it still isn’t there.

  It isn’t anywhere.

  My eyes grow so wide with nerves, it feels like they might pop out of my head. I look back at the ticket agent. Her name tag reads: “Elena.”

  “It’s not here. I — I can’t find it! But I promise I’m Canadian. Call my mom if you want.” I smile my most convincing smile.

  Elena doesn’t even flinch.

  “I’m sorry, but you cannot board the plane without the appropriate travel documents. Please step aside.”

  Oh my God. With the knot of fear growing bigger by the second, I limp out of the line and lay my bags out on the floor to search them. Nick and Kat help me look while Mrs. P dials up Sophia on Kat’s cellphone and asks her to search the hotel room. I can feel my whole body break out into a nervous sweat as I empty out my carry-on and then my suitcase. I look everywhere, but no passport. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Where could it have gone? Nick rubs my shoulders, trying to comfort me.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll help you find it. It must be around here somewhere.”

  After yet another check of the suitcase, I hear Kat’s cellphone go off. Mrs. P clicks it on and begins speaki
ng in Greek. It has to be Sophia calling back. I hold my breath and wish for good news. Please, please, please …

  A second later, Mrs. P shakes her head as she snaps the phone shut.

  “Sorry, Daniella. Sophia and John turned the room upside down. They didn’t find your passport anywhere.”

  The news is like a boulder falling on my head. How am I going to get out of this country? Suddenly, I want to be home so badly it hurts. I want my parents, my room, my bed, even my awful sisters. This totally must be how Dorothy felt in The Wizard of Oz. My eyes fill up with tears, but I bite the inside of my cheek to keep them from falling. I’m not going to let myself cry in front of all these people. And especially not Nick.

  “What am I going to do?” I ask, unable to stop my voice from shrinking into a whine. “Our flight’s leaving in an hour. Are they going to let me go home?”

  Mrs. P walks back to the counter and begins speaking to Elena the ticket agent again. A flurry of Greek flies back and forth between them while I try to hold back those persistent tears. I bite the inside of my other cheek so hard I can taste blood. Kat stands next to me and holds my hand. None of us move a muscle while we wait to see what Elena will say. Finally Mrs. P turns back to me and sighs.

  “She says we must go speak to the Canadian Embassy. If we explain what happened, they can probably issue a temporary passport to get you home.”

  Temporary passport? A small spark of hope springs up inside my heart. “How long will that take? Will I still make my flight?”

  She speaks softly, as if she’s worried the truth might shatter me to pieces. “No, you won’t make it onto this flight. But there’s another one taking off for Toronto in ten hours. We’ll probably be able to make that one. Don’t worry, Daniella — I’ll help you sort this all out and get you home.”

  Ten hours? My spark of hope disintegrates into crumbs. No! I want to go home now! But before I can utter a word of protest, Mrs. P turns to Nick and Kat and points back to Elena.

  “There’s no reason why you should have to wait around. You two go ahead and board the plane together. I’ll call Mr. Papadakis and have him meet you in Toronto when you land. Once we have the passport figured out, I’ll follow with Daniella on the next flight.”

  What?

  Nick moves closer and reaches for my hand. His golden-green eyes are all squinty with worry. At any other moment, I probably would have thought it was adorable. But right now I’m just too upset to care about anybody but myself.

  “Mrs. Papadakis, I don’t want to go back to Canada without Dani,” he says. “I’ll stay here and help her get her passport.”

  Oh, Nick, I think I really do love you. For a split second, I actually start to feel better. It won’t be so bad hanging around here if I can be with Nick. It might even be kind of fun being here all by ourselves. Nine hours alone in a foreign country with the cutest guy this side of Canada? Kind of sweet. I’m actually starting to get excited when Mrs. P shakes her head and squashes the plan to pieces.

  “No. Katerina needs to get home immediately. She’s teaching enriched Greek school in August and the first class starts tomorrow morning. I don’t want her to miss it and I don’t want her travelling alone.”

  Kat’s face flashes a mortified shade of red. “It’s okay, Mummy. I can miss one day.”

  Mrs. P plants her hands on her hips and shakes her head again. “Absolutely not. The children and parents will be expecting you there. You’ll go home with Nicholas.”

  Man, this woman is tough as nails. She reminds me of the Greek warrior Nick told me about that night on the ruins. What was his name again? That’s right. Hercules — the ancient Superman. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the two of them are distantly related or something. I mean, Mrs. P could totally have warrior blood. But maybe Nick has some warrior blood, too. Because even though I’m ready to give up the fight right then and there, he stands his ground.

  “If the Greek school is that important, why don’t you go home with Kat, Mrs. Papadakis?” he says. “I can stay here with Dani and get the passport figured out.”

  Unfortunately, his suggestion brings Mrs. P to the end of her rope. Her eyes darken.

  Better stand back.

  “Listen to me, young man,” she says, pointing her finger at Nick. “I made a promise to Mrs. Price that I would take care of this girl. I will not abandon her in a foreign country with a boy who can’t even take care of a group of nine-year-old campers. Now stop arguing with me, Nicholas. This is the only way.”

  And that’s that. With a heavy heart, I watch as Kat and Nick get their boarding passes and head for the security check. “I’m so sorry about all this, Dani. I wish I didn’t have to go,” Nick says as he gives me a little kiss goodbye. “Call me as soon as you get home. I’ll be waiting.”

  All I can do is nod.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Kat asks, throwing her arms around me.

  “Sure. No problem,” I manage to squeak. I’m trying so hard to be brave in front of Nick. But really, it feels like there’s an avalanche crushing my stomach. I’ve never felt sorry for myself before. It sucks.

  Kat’s still hugging me. “The Evil Eye is responsible for this,” she whispers in my ear. “I told you bad things were going to keep happening. You need to get this cured fast, Dani.” She finally releases me and I struggle to erase the “whatever” off my face.

  “I’ll see you back in Toronto,” I say instead.

  I wave as they walk up the stairs towards security. Nick turns to me and waves back but Kat’s busy chatting about something and doesn’t seem to notice. I’m too upset to breathe as I watch them disappear into the crowd. I want to be on that plane so badly. I want to be heading home with my friends, not lining up at a government office with my chaperone. It’s not fair. Is this how jealousy feels? I’ve honestly never been jealous of anyone in my life until this moment.

  Mrs. P helps me with my suitcase as I limp along with her back to the exit. “Don’t worry, Daniella,” she says, patting my shoulder. “I won’t leave your side until this whole mess is all sorted out.”

  That makes me want to cry more than anything.

  TORONTO

  Chapter 12

  Those twenty hours with Mrs. P were awful. You knew they would be, right? The lineup at the embassy was a mile long and she scolded me the whole time we were waiting in it.

  You should take better care of your travel documents. You’re lucky I’m here to help you. I know what your problem is: too much attention on boys, not enough attention on what’s really important. When I was your age, I was practically running my family’s entire household. You kids today are so careless. Why is responsibility such a foreign concept for you? Would you forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on? Blah … blah … blah …

  Multiply that by a million and you’ll begin to get an idea of what I had to deal with while waiting for my passport. It was positively soul-crushing. I honestly don’t know how Kat puts up with it. Mrs. P’s the kind of person who only sees what’s wrong with a thing. Never what’s right. I guess for some people, it’s easier to see the bad stuff. Maybe because the bad floats to the top. Like an oil spill.

  When we finally get to the front of the line, she spends five minutes rummaging through her purse for a pen, and I’m terrified those bat bones Kat warned me about are going to fall out and land on my feet. By the time we get my temporary travel papers, a stress headache is starting to push into my brain. It’s so painful, it helps me forget about my twisted ankle for a while. When we finally get on the plane, it’s eight o’clock at night and I’m exhausted. As we make our way to our seats, I think about what Kat said about the curse. If there’s anything to that Evil Eye thing, you guys are going down with me, I think, looking at the rows of faces flying to Canada with us. It’s nice to have something to laugh about after the heinous day I just had.

  Mrs.
P falls asleep almost immediately after the takeoff, which is a relief. But not for long because, apparently, sleeping in an upright position makes Mrs. P snore. And her snoring isn’t o f the soft, purring kitty-cat variety. It’s an air-sucking, throat catching, mucus-snorting mess. I ask a passing flight attendant if I can change seats, but — just my luck — the plane’s full and there’s nowhere to go. At least he’s sympathetic to my situation and gives me a flimsy pillow to cover my ears and muffle the sound. There are a couple of times when I find myself starting to drift off to sleep, but inevitably the snoring gets louder and wakes me up again. For a while there, I’m actually wishing for the plane to crash into the ocean and put me out of my misery. Yeah, it’s that bad.

  Finally I hobble to the smelly airplane bathroom with my pillow, curl up on top of the toilet lid, and catch a nap in there. But not long after, I’m jolted awake by the sound of a decidedly unsympathetic flight attendant pounding on the door.

  “What’s going on in there? There’s no smoking on the plane!”

  “No, I’m not smoking,” I call out. “I’m just trying to get some sleep.”

  Another round of door pounding rattles the walls around me. “The captain has switched on the seat belt sign. You’ll have to come out now!”

  Needless to say, I’ve never been so happy to see my parents in my life. When they meet me at the airport, I hug them so long and hard, they have to pry me out of their arms. They drive me home in Rosie — my red Mini Cooper. They even surprise me with a new personalized licence plate for her. DanizCar. Cute, right?

  Okay, I know what you’re thinking. What’s a not-quite-fourteen-year-old doing with her own car? It’s actually the Dreadful Duo’s old ride. But when my sisters each got new cars for university, Mom and Dad decided to keep Rosie for when I get my driver’s licence in a couple of years. But that felt like way too long to wait, so I convinced Dad to let me practice a bit in the meantime. Now when he takes Rosie out once a week to keep her engine in good shape, he usually lets me have a quick turn at the wheel. You know, just empty parking lot kind of stuff. We’ve been doing it since the snow melted last April. Not to brag or anything, but I think I’m already a pretty good driver. Okay, sure, it’s technically against the law. But I’m not too worried about getting stopped by a cop. For one thing, I’ve got Dad with me. Plus I’ve talked and smiled my way out of lots of trouble before. There’s no doubt in my mind that I could wiggle myself out of a traffic ticket if I had to.