I drink all the water and then the tea. Tea in the desert is bitter and smoky, the way a drink intended to get you out of your hut on a winter morning should be. Smooth Skin tea tastes like crushed flowers, so sweet it made me gag the first time I put a cup of it to my lips. I detest Smooth Skin tea, but I drink the honeyed liquid anyway. I’m on edge. Drinking gives me something to do with my hands. Isra, Isra, Isra. Her name knocks around inside me as I wash up and return to my seat on the tiny couch. Isra. It hurts and heals and makes me hope.… I can’t hope. Not yet. It’s too dangerous. I don’t know what will happen when she looks at herself, but I know there’s a good chance she’ll hate me. I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell the truth, either, and my halfhearted attempt last night was worse than no attempt at all. I don’t want her to hate me. I want her to keep looking at me with eyes that confess all her secrets. I thought seeing me would remind her of our differences, but instead she looks at me like … Like I look at her.
