1st 5 Pages February Workshop- Jreije Rev 1

Name: George Jreije

Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy

Title: Jewels of the Nile

Bashir sprinted across the boardwalk alongside the Mediterranean coastline. He clutched three popsicles between his fingers, which were dripping spots of orange, red, and blue across the scorched cement. Each step he took was like walking over hot coals. It had to be at least 95 degrees in Beirut today. Had Mama brought a few pieces of lahme, they could have cooked the meat into lamb kabobs right there on the ground.

“We’re here, Bashir!” Farrah gazed up from making kissy faces into her phone and waved him to the edge of the rocky coast beyond the sitting area.

She and Ziad were resting along the clear waters, their legs submerged up to their knees. He handed them each their treat and nudged a space for himself in between, shoulder to shoulder. He stuck his feet in the water and let out a breath. Sweet relief.

“Thanks dude.” Ziad bit from the top of his said, “Sahtan.”

Bashir signed you got it, but he knew neither of his friends understood what his hand gestures meant. He didn't mind. In the eight years they’d been neighbors here in Lebanon, spending the summers together, their company had always been enough. It always would be.

While they all cooled down, Bashir brushed away one of his black curls, squinting from the too-bright sun. Augusts in Lebanon were the best for swimming, but the mosquitos, heat, and enormous crowds made it miserable for just about everything else. Still, he would trade anything to make the summer last forever. Tomorrow, he would be flying back to America, to the frigid Boston winters. His friends were also returning home. With Ziad heading back to Michigan, and Farrah to California, both would soon be too far away to sit side by side with. They would be too far for him to listen to their complaints about school and summer reading and all the other things Bashir couldn't hear his American friends talk about, because he had none. He sighed at the thought. It was tough being different back home.

“Cheer up,” said Ziad with a distinct lisp, raising his nearly-melted popsicle in a toast. “To surviving eighth grade. Next time we sit here, we’ll all be thirteen!”

Bashir forced a smile as he and Farrah both raised their frozen treats to toast. That’s when he noticed there was nothing but the stick left on his. Peering down, lines of red and blue ran down his bare chest. He gazed back up and, noticing that Farrah was looking at him, he wrapped his arms around his chest, fearing judgement. But she only grinned.

“Uh-oh. Looks like someone needs a bath.” Ziad gripped Bashir’s thin arms. Before Bashir could do anything, Ziad shoved him into the water.

He didn't have time to curse Ziad in his thoughts as water cooled his face and head. He sunk deeper and deeper. The further down he went, the cooler the water. It relaxed his limbs and provided a welcome change from the heat. There was no need to resurface just yet, to get back to the real world. Up there, Bashir had to deal with bullies and schoolwork and all manners of wajbat―what his parents called responsibilities in Arabic.

So he swam deeper instead. Opening one eye, then two, sight settled in quickly. The depths were murky green amidst the sea plants. Fish darted by at frightening speeds, entire schools of them. No different than the kids back home, it seemed.

A gleam caught Bashir’s eye. He blinked and it was still there―an almost imperceptible shine amidst the shades of red, brown, and green all blurring together underwater.

Commanding his burning lungs to hold firm, he swam towards that light. His heart began to thump faster. Seaweed brushed his chest and the fish became larger. He sank down further still, to where the sand and rock intertwined, where tiny critters crawled in and out of holes invisible to the eye. He reached along the rough sea bed. His palm ran alongside the smallest of crabs, then swept across more quickly as the need for air reached desperate levels. His fingers found a soft patch and dug in. Scooping weeds and pebbles, feeling something crawl along his knuckles and fall away, he retrieved the shiny mystery last of all.

A jolt raced up Bashir’s spine and he let out a stream of bubbles. Though it had hurt like in the moment, like touching a hot stove, the pain vanished as he kicked off of the rocky sea floor and shot up towards the sun. He broke surface and his mouth shot open, sucking in quick breaths. Soon his chest settled as he began to take in longer, soothing breaths of air. The popsicle stick floated right beside him.

“I didn't mean to push him, I swear!” Ziad’s lisp separated his voice from all the others, loud and worrisome. “He could be dead by now. I’m going in.”

Farrah shoved him away. “Are you crazy? Going after Bashir will be hard enough, I don’t want to rescue two idiots. I’ll jump in.” Bashir blinked the water out of his eyes, spotting Farrah toying with her earrings. “Hold these, you darn―

He’d just gained full vision, ready for Farrah to come to his rescue when her neck tilted up and she spotted him. Both her and Ziad waved him over. He swam toward them, now several feet off the coast. He was sure to keep his hand closed into a fist. The more he swam, the more sand filtered out his hand, so he squeezed harder, cautious not to drop his treasure. He held tight until, upon reaching his friends, he raised his arm and dropped a glittering golden ring onto the rocks between them. Neither said a word as Bashir hoisted himself out of the water. Both were curiously eyeing the ring’s solid gold finish. It had no scratches or dents, appearing as though it had just been forged.

“Where’d you find that?” Ziad’s eyebrows furrowed, and Bashir swatted away his friend’s hand when he reached for it. “What gives? I push you into the water and you come back with a cool trinket. Not fair!”

“So you did push him, eh?” Farrah reached over and jabbed Ziad hard enough to elicit a yelp.

Bashir laughed soundlessly. He couldn't take his eyes off his prize, and claimed the piece of jewelry shamelessly, slipping it into his middle finger on the right hand. Holding it up to the sun, the shine intensified; he could feel his own smile growing. He’d gone with Baba to to Suh al-Dahab enough times to know that gold didn't rust, that it shined bright in natural light, and it was heavier than other precious metals. This was gold. And not just that, but there appeared to be three ridges along the top. Something looked to be missing from the ring, maybe a jewel or an ornament.

“This sun is roasting me like a chestnut,” groaned Farra. “And it’s getting way too crowded. Can we please get out of here?”

Ziad kicked his feet out of the water. “Ditto.”

They both looked to Bashir, who, gazing up from his ring, just shrugged. He got up with his two friends, still dripping wet. Thankfully, that helped in crossing the hot cement. They weaved around families playing with their young children and groups of old men stroking their chins over a game of backgammon.