Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [35]
“Nick is fine except when he isn’t.” To Paul, Gabe said. “I’ll be on campus on Tuesday. Can you meet for lunch?”
“I think that would work.”
Gabe said, “I’ll text you.” He looked at Anna. “Bye, darling.”
“Just shut the fuck up!”
“I love you, too.”
They hugged, and Gabe led Yasmine into daylight. They walked a few minutes in silence. Then Yasmine said, “I think she didn’t like me.”
“Who?”
“Your friend Anna.”
“Anna always swears.”
“No, she was giving me the stink-eye.”
“No, she wasn’t. She was probably scoping you out. She’s a lesbian.”
“She’s a lesbian?”
“Yep.”
“How can that be? She’s beautiful!”
“Why can’t lesbians be beautiful?”
“I mean they can but . . . what a waste!”
“You’re sounding like the guys. I like Anna, but she’s a handful. I was never attracted to her even before I knew she was gay.”
But Yasmine’s mind was elsewhere. “If I were that beautiful, I’d . . .”
Gabe waited for her to continue.
How could she explain it to him? She loved her culture. She truly, truly, truly loved being Persian. But sometimes, it was hard to be a minority, really a minority within a minority because most of the Jewish kids she knew were white. She knew what their parents said about the Persians: that they were clannish, that they were aloof, that they were always cheap, that they were cheaters, that they were untrustworthy. It was all a stereotype. Besides if you had to run away from your country with just the clothes on your back, you might be a little cautious also. Her father was a wonderful, honest man. Her mom wasn’t aloof, but she was shy. It was terribly hard having to justify who you are in your mind. Sometimes, it would be nice to just fit. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Gabe kissed her gently on the mouth. “You know what’s really sexy?”
“What?”
He grinned. “When a girl shows up on time.” He grabbed her hand and started running to the bus stop. They made it right as the bus was pulling up. Yasmine started toward the back like the first time, but Gabe pulled her arm.
“Go in here. Take the window seat.”
“Okay—”
“Put your head down.”
“What?”
“Just do it. Don’t talk.” He swung around until most of his body was blocking hers. Two stops later, a group of four gangbangers came up from the back, pushing and shoving each other. When they got to the exit doors, one of them spied Yasmine and his eyes went wide.
Gabe took out his crucifix and spoke to the cholo in Spanish—not that he was fluent, but he could make himself understood. The guy answered back, his voice somber. A moment later, the bangers were gone. Gabe turned around, slumped in his seat, and blew out air. “I keep forgetting what area we’re in.”
Yasmine said, “What was that all about?”
“It was about someone as pretty as you being dog meat to these guys.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him I was a priest and that your brother was just shot. That you and I were going to the hospital to deliver him last rites. He sends his sympathies.”
Yasmine stared at him. “He believed that you were a priest?”
“Apparently.” Gabe kissed his crucifix and tucked it back into his shirt. “It was my grandmother’s who gave it to my father who gave it to my mother who gave it to me.”
“When did you learn to speak Spanish?”
“I’ve been taking lessons from the lieutenant. I don’t speak like a native, but I suppose that made me more convincing.”
“I can’t believe they believed that you were a priest.”
“It’s all attitude, Yasmine. Anytime I’m in a tight spot, I channel my dad and usually I do just fine.”
“Isn’t there anything you can’t do?”
“I can’t draw a straight line and I can’t speak Farsi.” He threw his arm around her shoulders. “Nothing I can do about the first one, but maybe you can help with the second.”
“Why do you want to learn Farsi?”
“So when you talk to Ariella or your parents, I can eavesdrop.” He smiled, then said, “Seriously, I like languages.”
“I’ll teach you Farsi. What do I get in return?”
Gabe wanted to grin, but kept himself in check. “I’m sure . . . if I give it some thought . . . I can teach you a thing or two.”
“Like piano?” She shook her head.