Buried Secrets by Kristi Belcamino (book recommendations for teens txt) 📕

the air of a Persian castle minus turrets and a large wrought iron gate surrounded the grounds.

Dallas’s heart was racing when she stepped up to the large wooden desk in the lobby.

“I’m here to see Zawa Harif,” she said.

The woman smiled but shook her head. “I’m sorry but his schedule is full. The next appointment is three weeks out.”

Dallas’s eyes widened. The government officials had told her she could stay two weeks. Frantically, she racked her brains for some way she could get in earlier, but before she could answer, a man in a gray suit carrying a briefcase walked in.

To her surprise, Abet and the man greeted each other warmly with hugs and began speaking in Arabic. Dallas stood nearby feeling awkward. The secretary tapped on her computer keyboard now ignoring them all.

After a few minutes, the man grinned and with a nod to the secretary disappeared behind the door behind the secretary.

Dallas shot Abet a startled look. “Was that him? Zawa Harif?” She was horrified to realize the man had been standing there the whole time and she was daydreaming when she could have been lobbying him herself. And what was up with Abet to not introduce them?”

Abet turned to her.

Dallas raised an eyebrow.

“That man. He is a childhood friend of mine. He is visiting the minister. He said he can ensure we get in today. As a favor for an old friend.”

“Today?” Dallas felt a surge of excitement.

Abet nodded.

“I just want to kiss you!”

“Please.” The blush spread across his cheeks.

“Sorry. I mean that in the friendliest friend way you know.”

“Yes, I realize.”

Within ten minutes they were seated before Zawa Harif.

After shaking his hand and sitting down, Dallas began to hyperventilate. Get it together girl! She told herself. This is a chance of a lifetime.

Taking a deep breath, she began.

The minister had a full head of gray hair and giant bushy black eyebrows arched over his kind eyes. He wore a bright pink sweater over a white button-up shirt. Dallas took this as a sign that he wasn’t afraid to be a little different. It was a good omen because her theory went against conventional thought on where Cleopatra’s tomb lay. She needed someone who wasn’t afraid to buck the norm. And he seemed to listen attentively as she outlined her theory. She reached into her backpack and withdrew maps of all the Isis and Osiris temples within proximity of Alexandria and showed how Taposiris Magna, only 50 kilometers west of Alexandria was the best bet.

He raised an eyebrow so she continued, spluttering the words.

“Then, last night, at the museum, I found further proof,” she said and then showed him her notes translating the hieroglyphics on the stele.

“It sounds like a valid theory,” he said, tilting his head and nodding.

She sat back and sighed with relief.

Then he leaned forward on his desk, lacing his fingers together.

“But.”

She froze at that one word.

“You are with all due respect, a rookie, as they say in American baseball.”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “But I’m the only one who put all these pieces together.”

“This is true. But you are competing with thousands of applications each year to excavate in my country.”

Dallas closed her eyes. Of course, she was. She had been so dumb. Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy.

Harif continued. “Out of those thousands, we only approve at the most 150 applications a year for the extended excavating license. Those who are approved usually have solid sources of funding, backing from major museums and established research universities around the world, decades of experience, experienced teams …”

She tuned his voice out. It was over. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she angrily brushed them away. They made her look weak. Juvenile. She needed to compete with the big boys if she were going to get her way.

Abet poked her in the side and she came back to the present. “I’m sorry?”

“What I said,” Zawa Harif said smiling, “Is that the best I can do is grant you a temporary permit to visit the site. It is only good for two weeks and does not allow any excavation, but will allow you to be present on the site and possibly come up with some more evidence to help me convince others as to why you should be granted a permit.”

Dallas opened her mouth to argue, to protest that she needed to dig and survey if she were going to get anything out of the visit, but she clamped her lips together and nodded.

Looking at Abet’s beaming face, she quickly realized that this was a big as a victory as she could have expected.

Zawa Harif leaned over his desk writing and then with a flourish, handed her a document. It looked like messy scribbles to Dallas, but he said, “Keep that in a safe place. Produce it to authorities in Alexandria and at the temple and you should have no problem.”

She nodded and then remembered her manners. “Thank you.”

After she stood and had her hand on the door, she turned to look back.

He was already absorbed in a document before him, his eyebrows furrowed. “Sir?”

He looked up.

“I’m coming back,” Dallas said. “Just so you know—I’m going to find something that will convince you to give me that excavation permit.”

He nodded solemnly and then looked back down, but Dallas thought she caught a hint of a smile.

Outside, after she said goodbye to Abet with plans to meet later, Dallas slumped on a bench and put her head in her hands.

A memory of her mother and father came back to her.

It had been a day when Dallas’s father had been in town and deciced it was time to teach her to ride a bike. She was growing frustrated. “I’m hungry. I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said, kicking the bike’s tire in a fit.

“But you are so close,” her dad said. “I bet it won’t take much longer!”

“But it’s taking forever!” Dallas protested, scowling at the bike. “I’m tired. Why isn’t it easy