Huda and Me, H. Hayek [book series for 12 year olds TXT] 📗

had chucked at him was caught in the collar of his pyjama shirt.

‘You can’t do that,’ Omar said. ‘That belongs to our dad, and it reminds us to pray on time.’ He sounded brave.

The wrinkles around Aunt Amel’s eyes creased and she pressed her lips together.

‘Omie, don’t fret. I’m just a little sensitive to noise. So remember to be super quiet as you all go about your tasks.’

She glanced at the scrunched-up paper stuck in Omar’s shirt and took one step closer to him. He was almost as tall as her, but she patted him on the head.

‘Not to worry, the clock is safe, tucked away until your parents get back. Just focus on your lists, so we can all have a comfortable and happy two weeks.’

She clicked her fingers again as Omar opened his mouth to speak.

‘Now, let’s start the day! On to your tasks!’ She jabbed a finger at the twins. ‘You two. Tea. My room. Five minutes. Bring cookies in forty-five minutes. With more tea.’

In the kitchen doorway, she stopped one last time.

‘Please, children. We all want to keep Raheed happy while I’m here, don’t we?’

And with that, she was gone.

Huda gulped loudly. For a moment, we all just stood there staring at each other. Huda opened her mouth to say something, but Kholoud put a painted fingernail to Huda’s lips.

‘She has Raheed. Just get on with it, Huda. It’s no big deal – just do what she said.’

‘Yeah, Huda, we have cookies to practise making …’ Layla chimed in.

‘… so we can be famous!’ Suha finished for her. She looked like she’d just had too much red cordial. She was already pulling a rolling pin from the drawer.

‘But …’ said Huda.

I looked at the paper Aunt Amel had thrown at me, then glanced around at the others’. My and Huda’s lists were three times as long as everyone else’s.

My first chore was to scoop up the chicken poo in the backyard and put it in a big poo pile. I wasn’t convinced that butlers scooped poo. I couldn’t imagine them doing it in their nice shirts. Huda’s first chore was to scrub the toilets – and after that, to change all the bedsheets.

I pulled on my gumboots, chucked on my raincoat and went to find my head-torch. It was freezing outside, and the sun was barely up. Then again, maybe Aunt Amel was right – maybe all the blessings of the day were in the morning.

I passed Huda in the bathroom doorway as I headed outside, and we locked eyes. She stood there in the dim light holding the toilet brush in her hand. Her bottom lip quivered. She was about to cry.

I wanted to tell her she would be okay. I wanted to say that she didn’t need to scrub the toilets, or do the beds. But I also knew a little hard work was a good thing – Dad always tells me that. It was only for a little while. Until Mum and Dad were back. Until we knew Raheed could join the rest of us again.

So, instead, I only looked at my sister and hoped she knew what I was thinking before I slipped outside into the cold.

Michael

This place doesn’t look or feel like an airport. Amira leads us past palm trees and water fountains, and seemingly endless fancy shops selling jewellery, make-up and Arabian-looking souvenirs. There are huge blue signs everywhere, in both Arabic and English. I test out my Arabic reading skills, but they must’ve left out some important grammar because none of it makes sense to me. I’m unsure if it’s brighter in here or outside in the hot sun – the shiny tiles and silver and gold things everywhere make me squint.

The men in this airport walk around in white abayas, like the ones I’ve seen Dad’s friends wear at the mosque. They look like they’ve spent five hours in front of a mirror with a small pair of scissors, making sure each little hair on their beard and goatee is perfect. I’ve never seen men look so cool or so clean. I know if I ever wear a white abaya dress, I’ll have spaghetti-sauce stains on it before dinner is finished.

The women wear hijabs, but pin them differently to how I’ve seen it done in Australia – almost like they’ve flicked the hijab over their hair and it’s landed perfectly, like fabric over a beehive. I think that they must have the darkest eyes and the longest eyelashes in the world. Most of them are dressed in black, which is draped right down to their toes, but their huge gold bangles pop out of their sleeves and make them sparkle.

Amira walks us through some security checks, then past more glossy fashion stores and some cafés. Huda slows and elbows me.

‘Oi, what’s this all about? This is meant to be our holiday stopover. Where is she taking us?’ she whispers.

‘I dunno, but Martin said we have to stay with her.’ I keep my eyes on Amira, worried she might turn around and catch us talking about her.

‘Let’s make a run for it.’

My eyes almost pop out of my eye sockets. ‘Make a run for it? Are you crazy?’

‘Yeh, let’s ditch her and go have some fun. Look at all the food and fun we’re missing out on. Check out all those cool shops with the little teacups and other fancy things!’ Huda flaps her hands around in every direction, like I haven’t noticed where we are.

‘Huda, no way!’ I hiss. ‘Amira seems nice, and besides, if we run away we’ll be caught and sent back to Melbourne. That’s if we even manage to find the boarding gate for our next flight.’

Amira stops suddenly, and we almost walk into her. ‘How about a spot of shopping, kids? And then some dinner?’

My sister misses a beat, so I nudge her and she speaks up. ‘Um, sure, Miss Amira. Why not?’

Amira leads us into one of the