Sea by Heidi Kling Page B

referring to me that way too. What if Dad had been with Mom on that small plane? What if I had lost both of them to the sea?
    Orphaned by a plane crash, Sienna Jones, please stand.
    Then a chorus of little girls approached the front, taking the place of the drum circle. They stood side by side, facing their peers and four American strangers.
    “The song is about a fragrant jeumpa flower that grows only in Aceh,” the translating boy explained in a throaty voice.
    Of course, I didn’t understand a word of what I assumed was now Acehnese, but I could tell by the far-off looks on their faces that the girls were singing about their home.
    When the song ended, the girls bowed and we all clapped.
    I was already glancing at the back door, ready to bolt. The hot, stale air was suffocating, and my shirt and pants were both stuck to my skin with glue-like sweat.
    Just when I was about to flee, a line of older boys began to form, winding their way toward us.
    “What’s going on?” I whispered to Dad.
    “They’re coming to meet us. The boys first, then the girls.”
    He had to be kidding. “All five hundred?” I eyed the door.
    “I think so. Are you okay? I know this is an awful long time to stand.”
    I fanned my face. “It’s just so hot in here ...”
    Too late.
    One by one, the boys approached us like we were a receiving line at a wedding reception. When I realized the leader of the drum circle was first, my heart sped up. I stopped worrying about the heat. Wished I were wearing something clean. Something nice.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the drummer take Tom’s right hand, hold it to his forehead and then let it fall as he touched his own heart, bowing as he did.
    Closer now, I noticed the boy’s thick sideburns, his full, serious lips, the stubble of goatee peppered across his chin like it wasn’t sure if it should keep growing or fade away.
    I swallowed. I was next.
    Quickly, I wiped my sweaty hands on the sides of my pants.
    “What is that?” I whispered to Dad, suddenly wishing like heck I’d read that handbook.
    “It’s their welcoming handshake,” Dad whispered back.
    And then he was standing in front of me.
    He looked about sixteen or seventeen. When his eyes met mine, they were so intense and dark. Bottom-of-the-ocean dark, the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. Up close his eyes were even more piercing, like he was trying to peer right into my soul.
    Before I had time to wipe the new nervous sweat off my palms, he reached out, took my hand in his and lifted my fingers gently to his forehead. His skin, the color of driftwood, was soft, smooth, hot to the touch. When he let go, when he let my fingers fall gently by my side, his penetrating look dove even deeper. When he touched his heart with his palm and shyly bowed his head, then, only then, did he lower his gaze.
    Whoa .
    My brain was swimming, and I had to focus to remember the one Indonesian phrase I overheard Dad say to the taxi driver.
    “Terima kasih,” I whispered. Thank you.
    At that the boy raised his eyebrows, mischievous, teasing.
    What? Had I pronounced it wrong?
    I hoped he couldn’t hear my heart pound. I tried to calm down, but it was hard to do. Practically impossible, in fact. When he finally walked away, I watched the hard muscles in his back ripple under his white shirt, shadowed with sweat. He walked with a slight limp, which only added to his allure. I wanted to find out why.
    But he didn’t turn around again.
    When he opened the back door and slipped into the daylight, I had to fight the urge to run after him.
    “Sienna?” Dad’s voice slowly pulled me back to reality. “This young man is trying to get your attention,” he said.
    “What? Oh. Sorry.”
    Standing in front of me waiting to greet me was another boy. A new boy. I gave him my hand, but I knew his welcome would feel nothing like the one that came before him.

ELLI
    Even after the hundredth greeting, I started to eye the door again, distracted, wondering