The Dig by Audrey Hart Read Free Book Online

must be roasting in this heat. That‘s when I realize that there is no one wearing a headset, no director‘s chairs, no giant klieg lights.

    Okay, then it‘s an ancient Greece festival, as I‘d first guessed, I reassure myself. And the goat…that must be some kind of remote-controlled toy to lend mythical ―authenticity.‖

    For the record, authentic is the key word here. Everyone is dressed in weird, dirty togas.
    And as for the children, they run wild—no shoes, no nannies chasing them, no parents hovering. I search for a banner or a sign reading welcome to classical times! (PARKING VALIDATION
    AVAILABLE AT ENTRY POINT), but find nothing. That‘s because these people are really hard-core and passionate about their fun, I tell myself. That would explain why a mother is dragging a large jug of water into what appears to be her kitchen. And why men are trading hunks of meat for scraps of wool.

    Nearby, a few women stand in a circle talking. I try to eavesdrop, but they aren‘t speaking my kind of Greek. Like the stonemasons in the temple, they speak in sentences peppered by ancient words that throw me off.

    If there‘s one skill I‘ve picked up on my excursions with Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex, it‘s navigation. It‘s more than just a sense of direction; it‘s a sense of people. If you‘re lost or disoriented, you have to be cautious about who you approach for help. A very old woman smiles at me. Her thick gray hair is tied back with a piece of straw, something I thought women stopped doing once mirrors were invented. But her smile is open, her teeth crooked, as if they all dream of fleeing her mouth and running in different directions. She nods. I wipe my hands on my shirt and cross the dirt road.

    Here goes nothing.

    ―Hello,‖ I say.

    She furrows her brow with confusion. Seriously? Everyone knows what

    ―hello‖ means, even if they don‘t speak English. Okay, let‘s try this again. I make like a game show hostess and direct her eyes toward the activity in the street, the wild children chasing each other, the men clapping and carrying on in song. ―Is this a celebration for the discovery of the temple?‖ I ask in my best Greek, grateful for the first time for the lessons Aunt Sophia forced on me each summer.

    ―Discovery?‖ asks the woman in Greek, turning to look where I‘m pointing. The wind shifts and carries her scent right into my nostrils. Whoa.

    You‘d think they would make an authenticity exception for deodorant.

    ―I am with the team that discovered the temple,‖ I say slowly with a smile.

    The woman shakes her head and gathers her shawl.

    It occurs to me that there might be other nearby temples, so once again I point. This time she doesn‘t turn her head. She only stares at me. It‘s the way some of the girls at school look at me when I talk about what I did on my summer vacation, as if I‘m speaking in tongues.

    ―The temple has not been discovered,‖ the old woman says. ―The temple has just been built.‖

    She shakes her head, having grown bored of me, and shuffles away toward her friends.
    What happens next is no different from what happens at school. The lady is telling her friends about me and they‘re laughing and whispering. So rude, right?

    I sigh. Some kid bumps into me and keeps going and it‘s all I can do to not run after him and make him apologize. Deep breaths, Zoe. You‘re grumpy and thirsty and you‘ve never had a concussion before, so go easy on yourself and the people around you. I look back at the temple in the distance for some reassurance, but seeing it sparkle like a McMansion only upsets me even more. Just been built .That can‘t be true. If that were true, then it would have to be 1000 BC.
    And that‘s impossible because we all know that it‘s the 21st century AD. Right?

    In eighth grade, our history class took a field trip to a living history museum where actors pretended to be pilgrims. If you asked them about TV shows, they asked