Buku Hold My Hand by Michael Barakiva

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Hold My Hand by Michael Barakiva

Author:Michael Barakiva

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

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Hold My Hand by Michael Barakiva

13

“You said that to them?” Arno’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “If I spoke to my parents that way, they’d pack me up this afternoon and send me to live with my cousins in Armenia, and I’m not sure they have indoor plumbing!”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Alek played it cool, although he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t been grounded for the rest of his preadult life was because his parents were taking pity on him. “Besides, can you believe that Reverend Father talked to them about me? Like he doesn’t have anything else to worry about. Like, what about trying to find out who wrote gyot in your book?”

 

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Hold My Hand by Michael Barakiva

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Hold My Hand by Michael Barakiva

 

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Hold My Hand by Michael Barakiva

Author:Michael Barakiva , Date: June 12, 2019

,Views: 40

Author:Michael Barakiva

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)
13

“You said that to them?” Arno’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “If I spoke to my parents that way, they’d pack me up this afternoon and send me to live with my cousins in Armenia, and I’m not sure they have indoor plumbing!”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Alek played it cool, although he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t been grounded for the rest of his preadult life was because his parents were taking pity on him. “Besides, can you believe that Reverend Father talked to them about me? Like he doesn’t have anything else to worry about. Like, what about trying to find out who wrote gyot in your book?”

“Let that go, Alek. You already got the reverend father to come to class and talk about it.”

“But that was total bullshit! And now my parents are freaking out because I came out to him.”

“I haven’t even come out to my parents yet. Or anyone else, other than you. You are such a … badass.” Arno stumbled over the profanity.

Alek and Arno both hushed up as they heard a swarm of people moving past the little alcove where they hid after smuggling two cups of coffee and a plate of frosted ma’amoul stuffed with pistachios from the main hall.

They should’ve been with their families, sampling the treats and shopping for gifts at the annual Christmas bazaar that took over the church. Coincidentally, the day was December 25—the same day that Western Christian religions celebrated Christmas, unlike the Eastern Orthodox churches, which celebrated it twelve days later. But the Armenian craftspeople, artists, and bakers from the congregation and the surrounding community seemed oblivious to this fact in St. Stephen’s Church. Stands featuring a wide display of possible Christmas gifts alternated with the full array of edible delicacies, both savory (kibbi, hummus, bourmah, tourshi, and all six varieties of buregs), and sweet, like the stand from which Alek and Arno had got their ma’amoul, which also offered baklava, apricot squares, vanilla cookies, and nutmeg cake with rose, honey, and pistachios.

Technically, the two of them weren’t doing anything wrong, hiding out here in the alcove. Technically, should someone have stumbled upon them, they wouldn’t have had anything to hide. But it still felt clandestine, sneaking off together when they should’ve been with everyone else in the bazaar, buying tickets for the 50/50 raffle, watching children tell Santa what they wanted, or playing any of the lame carnival games.

“If we were, like, real badasses, we’d totally be smoking right now.” Arno lifted his chin and looked away into the distance, fantasizing.

“You smoke?” Alek didn’t disguise the surprise or disgust in his voice.

“Of course not!” Arno snapped back to reality. “Smoking is terrible for you!”

“I know,” Alek agreed. “And the smell…”

“Right!” Arno took a small sip of his black coffee. The way he grimaced led Alek to suspect that black wasn’t how he usually drank it. “It’s like, if you’re going to spend money killing yourself, can you at least do it

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