“He has a name?” the barista said, teasing me. She bowed her head low. “No disrespect, of course. I’m just kidding.”
“See?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I don’t even know if this would work. No matter what I was wearing, people would know who I was. I’m one of the most revered men in all of Al-Jarra.”
“I don’t know about that,” the barista said, giving me a sneaky smile.
“All right, all right,” Alim said. “I’ll think of a better plan.”
We meandered through the city center, reverting to our typical bantering routine. Still, the bet lay heavy on my mind.
As we wandered toward the western side of the city, I peered up at the sun as it swept toward the horizon line. At four in the afternoon, the school before us was ducking out for the day. The children rattled out onto the pavement, jumping into their parents’ cars and gabbing endlessly all the while. The chorus of their words filled my ears, bringing a slow smile to my face.
I watched as the kids kicked footballs through the air, running around, wild and free. A few of them recognized me, waving tiny hands and calling my name. “It’s Rami! Hey, Rami!” They were unperturbed with whatever society asked of them, whatever courtesy they were meant to give. And instead, they greeted me as one of their own.
“Man, even the kids are obsessed with you,” Alim sighed. “This entire day has felt like the first day of middle school all over again. When you had three girlfriends by sixth period and I just had a food stain down my shirt.”
“We can’t all be winners,” I grinned.
Glancing toward the entrance, I saw a beautiful woman standing there, watching the children as they darted home. She looked to be in her mid-20s, and she was pale—almost stark white in comparison to the children that surrounded her. And she held her chin high up, proud and beautiful. Her hair whipped around her, raven black, the taut lines of her body discernible beneath her dark green dress.
“What about someone who wasn’t from here?” I heard myself ask.
Alim scoffed softly, nodding his head toward the woman at the doorway. “You know this is the English-speaking school, right? That means she’s either British, or worse. An American.”
“How is that worse?” I asked him, chuckling. I swam through my memories of the American women I’d dated. I remembered them being electric in bed, and good for a laugh. None of them had stuck around for long, but that suited me just fine.
“You know how headstrong they can be,” Alim said, smirking. “They’re not going to just fall head over heels for you immediately, the way some women in Al-Jarra might. They’ve got their own goals, their own reasons for doing things…”
“Now you’re speaking in generalizations,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
“All right, then,” Alim said, his eyebrows high. “Let’s do it. If that beautiful, headstrong-looking woman turns out to be an American, and you can indeed woo her as your own, then I’ll give you, oh…”
“I’m ready for this bet,” I said, feeling my blood pressure rise. “Let’s say five million dollars. No more. No less.”
I watched as the color drained from Alim’s face. But after a chortle, he shot his hand through the air between us, gripping my hand.
We shook on it, both of us falling into laughter. This was a sealing bond, but it did nothing to affect our friendship. This is how we lived, ricocheting from one bet to the next, forever upping the ante.
“All right, then. I’d better get to work,” I told him, winking. I watched as the raven-haired woman began to step back into the school, retreating from the chaos. She’d be leaving work soon and I wasn’t prepared to wait another day, not on this path to victory.
“Good luck, my friend,” Alim said, his eyes gleaming with the orange of the late afternoon. “But remember, you can’t start today,” he reminded me. He eyed my clothes, the swirling robes. “You look like you’ve just come from a royal soiree. Go home and put on some jeans and a T-shirt, for God’s sake. I’m swooning just looking at you.”