Vacations from Hell

“You actually believe that shit?” John kissed her cheek. “Superstition.”



“Right. Superstition.” Isabel brightened, and we set off for the forest. In one of the narrow lanes between the houses a bunch of kids were playing some kind of game. Five of the kids stood in the center, and the other kids surrounded them. The kids in the outer circle joined hands and went around and around, singing. When they saw us, they stopped and stared.



“Hi.” Isabel waved as we passed. They fell in behind us. When we’d turn around, they’d duck behind whatever was available. We could hear them giggling, like following us was the most fun they’d had in a long time. It probably was, but it was making our escape into the forest pretty tricky.



“We’re just going for a walk,” I explained nervously. “Okay. Bye now. Have fun.”



“They’re still following us,” Baz whispered.



“Stop and do something boring.” We stood and gazed at the church. Isabel snapped a few pictures. We talked about architecture, totally making it up. A few minutes later the kids lost interest and ducked down another lane to play something else.



“They’re gone,” John said. “Let’s go for it.”



We hurried to the church, creeping around the side. I couldn’t see through the stained-glass windows, but I could hear sounds—not quite singing, not quite praying. More like chanting, maybe. Or maybe it was praying. It was hard to tell. Isabel motioned for me to hurry up, and I ran to the wall.



John stepped right over the wall and the salt ring. He was on the forest side now. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for evolution.”



“Here goes,” Baz said. He and Isabel followed John.



When I got ready to go, I heard those whispering voices on the wind again. “Do you hear that?” I asked.



“Hear what?” Baz asked.



I could almost make out words. One sounded like “avenge,” but I couldn’t be sure.



“Nothing,” I said. “Let’s go.”



As a joke Baz dropped the bread crumbs behind us, Hansel and Gretel style. “So we can find our way back—if we come back. Mwahahaha!”



Isabel rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”



The forest itself was pretty amazing: lush and green with the most fantastic black-spotted mushrooms growing wild everywhere. The only weird thing was there were no animals. No deer. No birds. Nothing with a pulse except us.



John and Isabel continued an argument they’d started a few weeks back. I didn’t even think they cared about what they were saying anymore, but neither wanted to concede.



“I just think everybody in America should speak English. I mean, if I moved to France, I’d learn French, right?”



“No you wouldn’t,” Isabel said, laughing. It was her you-are-beneath-me laugh. “You’d hire someone to speak French for you, John.”



“You think I’d outsource my language?” he taunted.



“In a heartbeat.”



“You know, Isabel, it’s not my fault I’m not poor,” John teased, but there was something a little mean in it. “It’s like you want me to apologize for having money until it comes in handy. No offense, but you know you guys wouldn’t even be here right now without me.”



Isabel pointed a finger. “There it is: the entitled attitude. One minute you’re all, ‘Oh, don’t blame me; I’m not elitist,’ and the next you’re like, ‘Don’t forget I have more money and therefore more say than you do!’” She was breathing hard.



“God! You just…twist around everything I say.”



“No! I’m just saying what you really feel! Sometimes I think you’re only dating me so you can say you’ve dated a black girl.”



John looked hurt. “Take that back.”



“Why? It’s true, isn’t it?”



“Guys, could we give it a rest?” I said. A fog was rising. It made the landscape gray and indistinguishable, and I needed to get my bearings.



Isabel tried not to look wounded, but I knew her too well. “Stop enabling them, Poe. They’ll never let us into the club on their own. You just want to think they will.”



“Hey,” Baz held out his arms. “What am I, chopped liver? Like my people weren’t also enslaved and persecuted? Like we didn’t get slaughtered in places just like this one?”



“Prejudice isn’t the same thing as racism,” Isabel argued.



“Yeah? Six million dead might disagree with you there, Iz.”