6 Chapter 6

“Suhaib?”

I started to scramble ashore—one of Amira’s favorite lectures was a recitation of the reasons she didn’t want my “little hairball butt” unprotected in the hot tub—but then the question mark registered. It was the sound of a lifetime lived in Middle America with an Arab name: How the heck do you say this?

The second time he called from much closer. Before I sank back into the water and turned to face him I knew it was Elijah, and I also knew that he’d pushed through the door into the pool area just in time to be greeted by my small, smiling moon. It wasn’t my best feature—in a showroom I’d have opted for something with a little more bounce to it and a lot less fur on it—but neither was it my worst, and I’d been hoping to present it to him eventually. In the least surprised voice I could muster, I greeted him.

“You’re alive.”

His nod revealed a fervent gratitude that this was the case.

“How far’d you get?” was as close to I told you so as I allowed myself to approach.