Page 7 - My FlipBook

AMY BEARCE
AMY BEARCE
“Keep walking, class. Follow me!” Mrs. Clark called, untying
her bright scarf and waving it in the air. Clever. The yellow scarf
made a stylish accessory, looking great against the deep brown

of her skin. She wore her natural, curly hair cut short in a chic
style that left her neck exposed, so the vivid scarf served as one
of those “follow me” flags that tour guides held. And actually

waving the scarf in the air made it nearly impossible to miss.
Thank goodness.
Her voice grew sharper. “Eve! Come on now!”
Jace looked over his shoulder and frowned at the man re-
treating to his wares. “Was that guy bugging you?” he asked

when I caught up.
My heart thumped loudly. Surely he could hear it. “Oh, he
was harmless.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but the truth was,

talking to any stranger was hard. Talking to aggressive street
vendors in a foreign country was terrifying.
Jace studied me for a moment, then smiled. “Well, if anyone
bothers you again, let me know,” he said before jogging over to
join his friends.

I wanted to say thank you, but my breath seemed to have
gotten lost somewhere between my lungs and my mouth.
The note to him in my backpack felt like a hot coal burning

through the fabric, scorching my skin. Moving so often as a
military kid, I’d developed several rules for survival. The most
important rule was to blend in and stay low. Don’t be too loud.
Keep any controversial thoughts to myself. And definitely never

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