hippopotamus, their friend Paavo. A lot worse.
Chapter Nine
T wo weeks ago, America was just a place where rich people lived, not a place Hannah would go anytime soon. Sheâd been working at her grandmotherâs booth at the open-air market in ChiÅinÄu, picking at the red pepper paste stuck under her fingernails, thinking about her ex-boyfriend Daniil, when sheâd heard an unusual buzz in the market. The older woman selling strawberries a few stalls down was craning her head to look at something, but the narrow aisle was packed with babushkas in colorful head scarves, teenage girls in micro miniskirts, housewives with square bodies, and men in business suits that had seen better days.
Hannah breathed in and smelled a foreign perfume mingling with the sweat and old cardboard of the open-air market. The crowd cleared and she saw a beautiful Russian woman with auburn hair and Western clothing. The woman was talking gaily to an older man who sold things like coffeemakers, toothbrushes, and towels. The man said something and the woman tossed her head back and laughed. Even though he was one of the most serious people Hannah had ever known, he actually laughed with her, pinching his bulbous nose.
Hannah felt what she called âthe acheââa very real, physical pain in her chestâwhich happened whenever she saw something she wanted but feared sheâd never get.
The woman was one of those people who drew others to them, like bees to plum jelly, the kind of woman Hannah had always hoped to become. She wanted to be one of Moldovaâs success stories, but she was starting to worry it wouldnât happen.
Just over a year ago, her parents had been killed in a bombing in the breakaway republic of Transnistria. It was predominantly Russian, and its people longed for the days when they had been part of the Soviet Union. Many people thought theyâd be better off if they separated and rejoined the motherland, but of course the rest of Moldova didnât want this, and the rebellion had begun. Hannah hadnât wanted her parents to go to the wedding, but it was her fatherâs brother and they didnât have a choice. Hannah had exams, so she didnât go, or she would have died in the café along with her parents, the Minister of Internal Affairs, two of his security guards, a cook, a waiter, and two teenage girls.
When her parents died, sheâd gone from being one of the smartest girls in her class, someone with real possibilities, to just another poor girl who worked in the market. She feared that all her friends would eventually leave her, as Daniil had, and sheâd be stuck there, selling carrot salad until her hands turned yellow and the expression on her face shifted into a permanent frown.
The woman strode toward Hannah, gliding around the other shoppers, not taking her eyes off her. Hannah swallowed and her heart beat faster. She stepped backward into her booth and rested her hands on the black garbage bags sheâd stretched over the old wooden table to make it look cleaner.
âPrivyet.â
The woman smiled at her, a little wider than was normal in Moldova, especially for strangers. âItâs nice to finally meet you, Hannah.â
Hannah had never seen this woman in her life. She stared at her in confusion.
âIâm Olga, Valeriaâs friend?â the woman said.
The agent! The night before, Hannah and her babushka had been visiting her uncle, Petru, and his new wife, Valeria, along with her two snotty girls from a previous marriage, who were twelve and fourteen and acted like they were better than everyone else. Valeria had been gazing at herself in the mirror by the hall, primping up her curled-under short blonde hair, and then sheâd glanced back at Hannah and told her she knew a reputable agent who was looking for a nanny to go to America. âI recommended you,â sheâd said. She hadnât given her any more
Chapter Nine
T wo weeks ago, America was just a place where rich people lived, not a place Hannah would go anytime soon. Sheâd been working at her grandmotherâs booth at the open-air market in ChiÅinÄu, picking at the red pepper paste stuck under her fingernails, thinking about her ex-boyfriend Daniil, when sheâd heard an unusual buzz in the market. The older woman selling strawberries a few stalls down was craning her head to look at something, but the narrow aisle was packed with babushkas in colorful head scarves, teenage girls in micro miniskirts, housewives with square bodies, and men in business suits that had seen better days.
Hannah breathed in and smelled a foreign perfume mingling with the sweat and old cardboard of the open-air market. The crowd cleared and she saw a beautiful Russian woman with auburn hair and Western clothing. The woman was talking gaily to an older man who sold things like coffeemakers, toothbrushes, and towels. The man said something and the woman tossed her head back and laughed. Even though he was one of the most serious people Hannah had ever known, he actually laughed with her, pinching his bulbous nose.
Hannah felt what she called âthe acheââa very real, physical pain in her chestâwhich happened whenever she saw something she wanted but feared sheâd never get.
The woman was one of those people who drew others to them, like bees to plum jelly, the kind of woman Hannah had always hoped to become. She wanted to be one of Moldovaâs success stories, but she was starting to worry it wouldnât happen.
Just over a year ago, her parents had been killed in a bombing in the breakaway republic of Transnistria. It was predominantly Russian, and its people longed for the days when they had been part of the Soviet Union. Many people thought theyâd be better off if they separated and rejoined the motherland, but of course the rest of Moldova didnât want this, and the rebellion had begun. Hannah hadnât wanted her parents to go to the wedding, but it was her fatherâs brother and they didnât have a choice. Hannah had exams, so she didnât go, or she would have died in the café along with her parents, the Minister of Internal Affairs, two of his security guards, a cook, a waiter, and two teenage girls.
When her parents died, sheâd gone from being one of the smartest girls in her class, someone with real possibilities, to just another poor girl who worked in the market. She feared that all her friends would eventually leave her, as Daniil had, and sheâd be stuck there, selling carrot salad until her hands turned yellow and the expression on her face shifted into a permanent frown.
The woman strode toward Hannah, gliding around the other shoppers, not taking her eyes off her. Hannah swallowed and her heart beat faster. She stepped backward into her booth and rested her hands on the black garbage bags sheâd stretched over the old wooden table to make it look cleaner.
âPrivyet.â
The woman smiled at her, a little wider than was normal in Moldova, especially for strangers. âItâs nice to finally meet you, Hannah.â
Hannah had never seen this woman in her life. She stared at her in confusion.
âIâm Olga, Valeriaâs friend?â the woman said.
The agent! The night before, Hannah and her babushka had been visiting her uncle, Petru, and his new wife, Valeria, along with her two snotty girls from a previous marriage, who were twelve and fourteen and acted like they were better than everyone else. Valeria had been gazing at herself in the mirror by the hall, primping up her curled-under short blonde hair, and then sheâd glanced back at Hannah and told her she knew a reputable agent who was looking for a nanny to go to America. âI recommended you,â sheâd said. She hadnât given her any more
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