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pharmacist,” Lily says. “And they’re not Russians, they’re from Belarus.”
    “What?”
    “She’s a pharmacist and he’s an engineer. It’s hard in this country. They can’t find jobs. And the language.”
    Talia stares at Lily for a while and breaks into a grin. “You looove her. Little Arafat is in love.”
    “No, I’m not.” Lily blushes. She gets up and puts her plate in the sink, her face tingling.
    The next day, a heat wave travels from Libya and Sudan, draping the city like a down blanket, painting the streets a desert yellow, the houses like sandcastles in the haze. Lana tells Lily that this is the time to hang out in the mall; you can die if you stay outside for too long. Neither of their homes is air-conditioned. While they wait for the bus, standing in the small square of shade behind the bus shelter, Lana says, “If you see someone lookingsuspicious, even if it seems silly or you’re not sure, just tell me and we’ll get off the bus. Better to be safe, you know?”
    “How can you tell if someone looks suspicious?”
    “Well, he has to look like an Arab.”
    “But how can you tell?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “In Canada people sometimes thought my mom was an Arab.”
    “Was she?”
    “Well, no, but my grandparents came from Yemen, so we are Arabs in a way, Arab Jews.”
    Lana laughs. “No, that’s impossible. You’re either an Arab or a Jew.”
    “Yeah, but you’re a Belarusian Jew. Why can’t there be Arab Jews?”
    “I’m Israeli now,” Lana says. “And so are you.”
    The bus drops them on the side of a busy road, near a cream-coloured mall. They walk across a large parking lot full of cars, past a man pushing a snake of shopping carts. At the entrance people line up to get their bags checked. Lily flings her backpack forward and unzips it. “Don’t bother,” Lana says. There is something cold and hard in her voice.
    “But …”
    Lana grabs Lily’s hand and leads her through. The security guard doesn’t stop them. “Just keep walking,” she orders.
    Once inside the mall, Lily looks back and sees the security guard staring after them. His eyes look sad.
    “What was that?”
    “Nothing,” Lana says.
    “You know him?”
    “That’s my dad.”
    “You don’t say hello to him?”
    “I’m mad at him,” she says. “Can we go into the jewellery store? I want to get some earrings.”
    They spend a couple of hours wandering through the concourses, up and down the escalators, and Lily’s skin dries and cools, freshened by the artificial draft. They meander into stores: Lana holds earrings to her ear, poses in front of the mirror wearing different hats, Lily tries on sunglasses, browses through magazines. They stop for frozen yogurt and eat it leaning against the railing, looking over a busy food court surrounding a small fountain.
    When they step outside the mall, squinting against the sun, Lana turns to Lily and says, “Close your eyes.”
    “Why?”
    “Just do it.”
    She lifts Lily’s hair and Lily’s skin breaks into goosebumps. She feels something cool dangling against her chest and Lana’s hands fiddling at the back of her neck. “Okay,” she says.
    Lily opens her eyes and touches her chest. A silver pendant of a hand with a blue eye in its centre is hanging from a leather string. Lily remembers seeing the necklace in the jewellery store. But they left without buying anything.
    “It’s a hamsa,” Lana says. “It protects you against the evil eye. Do you like it?”
    Lily looks at herself in a store window.
    “It’s not too girly, is it?” Lana frowns.
    “It’s perfect,” Lily says. “I love it.”
    Lana pushes down Lily’s baseball hat and laughs. She glances at the entrance to the mall, scans the parking lot and says, “Go ahead, kiss me.”
    “Here? People can see us.”
    “Fuck them.” Lana smirks.
    Lily leans forward; she has to angle her head so her cap won’t get in the way. She touches her lips to Lana’s, feels Lana’s tongue