46
to my age here.”
“Cool.”
“There’s nothing wrong with us not being
your age, Rafi,” the girl behind him says. She
brushes a fallen strand of hair from her face,
and I notice her nails. They’re painted the way
my sister’s often are. Except the paint on this
girl’s nails seems to shine lines of sunbeams. “I’m
Athena,” she says. “I’m sixteen, and I’m here from
Greece.”
The boy next to her introduces himself, too:
“Moe, eighteen, from Myanmar.”
I know most people from Brazil speak
Portuguese, and in Greece they speak Greek,
obviously. I don’t know what language they speak
in Myanmar, but I’m pretty sure it’s not English.
“Did you guys learn to speak English here?”
I ask. “Or is it something you learned in your
countries?”
“Aren’t you a self-centered one,” Oliver-
David says. He’s been resting in Rhiannon’s hair,
