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luminescent as she sucked on the mouthpiece of a waterpipe.
    Marya recognized the other team members in the circle -- Steven and James, two quiet Canadian undergrads who hung out a lot with Luke; and Amber, the petite blond girl who kept to herself. Steven passed Marya the shisha, and she took a nice, long drag. Waterpipes reminded her of childhood summers in Syria, laughing with her cousins and eating sunflower seeds into the wee hours of morning. Her father and uncles would sit together smoking, drinking tea, and discussing politics. Those were some of her best memories. But things changed when she was thirteen or fourteen, much to her dismay. Suddenly her male relatives became distant, spoke over her rather than to her. She was excluded from their camaraderie and scolded by her female relatives for being too loud, too boyish, to disobedient. It was then that she realized she didn't belong in their world.
    The volunteers didn't speak much. Everyone was tired from the long day and buzzed from the shisha, and the sounds of the night relaxed them. Marya found herself watching Luke smoke, the way his lips curled around the mouthpiece, the way his cheeks puckered as he inhaled. He made perfect circles with the smoke, and wispy Os hovered above his head, ascending into the night. When she met Liz's hard, glittering gaze, she pretended to stare at the mosaic on the wall behind him.
    We are definitely not going to be friends, Liz and me.
    "Nine o'clock," Luke muttered. "About time to get some shut-eye. We're up before the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow."
    The others agreed and slowly rose, bidding each other goodnight. Marya followed Liz into the girls' hostel, where Amy was already fast asleep. She slipped into her pajamas and curled into bed, waiting for sleep to overtake her, but it wouldn't come.
    What's wrong with me? I need to sleep.
    An hour passed; she glanced at the clock and stood. She leaned out the open window, sucking in the fresh air. She heard gravel crunching as someone approached, and she ducked behind the diaphanous curtain. The lone figure of a man walked down the road towards the gate, a satchel hanging from his hip.
    Luke.
    There was no question it was him. She watched him slip through the gate and hail a cab. He climbed into the car and it headed towards town, its red brake lights disappearing as it turned a corner.

 
     
    5.
    Just as the sun became hot, the Bedouin workers appeared.
    Ducharme called the team down from the tell to introduce the dark-skinned young men and assign them to different sections. Marya wiped the sweat from her eyes and surveyed the six Bedouin boys, no older than seventeen.  They were wiry and thin, wearing loose shirts, pants, and plastic sandals, with headcloths on their heads. One of them, one of the smaller ones, appeared to be the leader; his name was Yusef and he communicated with Dr. Ducharme on behalf of the others.
    Luke nudged Marya forward. "I think your services might be needed."
    Marya stepped forward, and the Bedouin boys looked at her suspiciously. Yusef said in Arabic, "Now who's this?"
    Marya licked her lips. "My name is Marya," she managed in her pathetic Arabic.
    Yusef's eyebrows shot up and he grinned, revealing that he had most of his teeth. "She speaks Arabic! Brothers, they brought someone who speaks Arabic this year! Thank Allah!"
    Marya smiled. "I speak very little."
    "It's better than nothing," Yusef replied. He turned to Ducharme. "I will work with Marya this year," he stated.
    Ducharme looked to Marya for a translation, and Marya felt her cheeks grow warm. "He wants to work with me."
    Ducharme sighed. "That's fine. Tell Yusef to have the others follow me."
    " Yusef," Luke said warmly. "Good to see you again."
    Yusef chuckled and thumped Luke on the back. "Luke! You've returned again, eh? As I said last year, you are an honorary Jordanian."
    Luke laughed but didn't ask Marya to translate. They climbed back into their pit and began breaking rocks that blocked