Read Online Rebels by Accident by Patricia Dunn - Free Book Online

have taken to the streets. They have had enough of the corruption.”
    â€œA lot of people were killed,” Deanna adds, turning to us.
    â€œIs that going to happen here?” I ask, trying to hide the panic in my voice. What were my parents thinking? Sending me to Cairo when people are dying in Tunisia? Actually, I have no idea where Tunisia is or how close it is to Egypt. I don’t dare ask.
    â€œSalam, please,” Sittu says.
    â€œMusic, of course,” Salam replies.
    â€œIs that a cassette player?” Deanna leans forward, pointing to a slot in the dashboard. “How old is this car?”
    â€œIf something works, why replace it?” Sittu says.
    Salam pops a cassette into the player.
    â€œClassic,” Sittu says. “My favorite singer in the whole world.”
    â€œGreat sound,” I say, hoping to score some points. “Who is it?”
    â€œUmm Kulthum,” Sittu says. “She died in the seventies. I sent you some of her music. Didn’t you listen to it?”
    â€œOh, of course,” I say. “I just didn’t recognize—”
    â€œHow could you not recognize Umm Kulthum? No one sounds like her.”
    â€œThe cassette is of poor quality,” Salam interjects.
    â€œYes, this isn’t a very good copy,” Sittu says.
    Salam and I make eye contact in the rearview mirror. He nods as if he understands I am thanking him for saving my butt. I never listened to any of the music Sittu sent me for more than a few seconds. Once I heard the Arabic, I turned it off. Not to mention the music was on cassettes and we no longer have a cassette player.
    â€œShe’s no Lady Gaga, but she has a great voice,” Deanna says.
    â€œLady Gaga? This is her name?”
    â€œShe’s popular,” Deanna says.
    â€œYou like her?” Sittu asks.
    â€œVery much,” Deanna says. “She’s awesome.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll like her too, then. You seem like a girl of good taste.”
    â€œ Shukran ,” Deanna says, bringing a huge smile to Sittu’s face.
    We’re barely moving now because of heavy traffic. Under her breath, Sittu says, “This is a country of crazy drivers.”
    I really can’t make out any rules or lanes, and the traffic lights are pretty much ignored. Still, somehow, no one is crashing into anyone else. It’s as if everyone knows what the other driver is going to do next. I wish I had those instincts. I look over at Deanna, who’s fighting sleep. Every few minutes, her head falls back; then she jerks awake and holds her eyes open very wide.
    Suddenly, Salam hits the brakes. Deanna manages to grab the back of Sittu’s blouse, stopping her from flying into the front seat and banging her head against the dashboard.
    A dirty-faced boy, maybe eight or nine years old, with a soccer ball in his hand stares back at us through the windshield. He doesn’t look freaked out, as I would be if a car almost hit me. Like coming this close to dying happens all the time.
    Salam rolls down his window, and the stink makes Deanna and me cough.
    â€œThe window, please,” Sittu says, covering her nose and mouth. “There’s so much corruption they won’t spend the money to take the garbage away.”
    Salam rolls his window halfway up, then yells at the boy in Arabic. I’m assuming he says something like, “Are you crazy? Watch out!” Then Salam rolls the window up the rest of the way.
    The boy just looks away, kicking his ball to another boy, who is wearing dollar-store flip-flops that look like they are at least two sizes too big.
    â€œThese kids have nowhere to play. Maybe if the military gave up some of its country club space… We all know the garbage is always cleaned from there,” Sittu says. Turning to Deanna, she continues, “ Shukran . You saved me from a very ugly lump on my forehead.”
    How does Deanna do it? Even half-asleep, she makes all the