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

looked at each other, hoping the other one would tell him. It was Huda who finally did.

‘Thank you very much, Mr Kostiki. We don’t eat porky things.’

I was worried Mr Kostiki would be grumpy because he’d spent ages in the kitchen making them, but instead he shook his head.

‘Of course you don’t. My apologies. How about peanut butter instead?’

That was when I really started liking Mr Kostiki, but he still scares me just a little.

I put the shovel down and dragged the bins to the road ready for rubbish collection. They smelled even worse than they had the day before. Another flash lit up the yard and rain pelted down hard. I raced for the front verandah, almost slipping on wet mud. Another flash of light. As I climbed the steps, I heard a rattle behind one of Mum’s big pot plants by the front door.

‘Oi,’ Huda hissed.

I looked around, making sure Aunt Amel wasn’t watching. She still wasn’t letting any of us talk to Huda, not since the phone incident. She said it was one thing for Huda to run through the night to Mr Kostiki’s house, but another entirely to ruin everyone’s holiday by ‘reporting mistruths’. None of us had laid eyes on Dad’s phone again since.

I darted over to my sister and squatted beside her as the rain poured down.

‘I booked the tickets,’ she whispered. ‘The plane takes off in three hours.’

‘Are you serious! Was it complicated? Did you have any trouble?’

‘Nah, piece of piss.’

‘That’s disgusting, Huda.’

‘Was easy as a chimpanzee.’

‘Okay, well that doesn’t make sense.’

‘So, what do I pack?’

‘Only what you need. Your school backpack – that’s small enough to carry on the plane, so we won’t have to check our luggage in. That means no toys or games or dolls. Got it? Only the important stuff, like the passports, tickets and a change of clothes.’

‘What about my jewellery box?’

‘Just make sure you’re ready to go in twenty minutes. Meet me by the letterbox.’

‘No problem,’ said my sister. She sprang up from behind the pot plant and dived towards the wall of the house, pressing her back against it. She flicked her head about to check if the coast was clear and then snuck through the front door like a cat burglar.

I raced inside too, passing the twins in the kitchen, who were already starting on their second batch of choc-chip cookies for the day. I ran straight to my room and slammed the door shut. I grabbed my bag off the floor and shoved in a jacket, a change of undies and some socks. All the money in the bottom of my backpack would keep us going if we needed anything else along the way. Then I heard a sniffle.

‘Seems rather odd to be packing clothes into your schoolbag, doesn’t it, Akeal?’ It was Aunt Amel. She was standing against the wall by the door.

My blood turned to ice.

‘Yeh, I have sports class today. My P.E. teacher tells us to bring a change of clothes.’ I could feel my breath quickening but reminded myself to stay calm.

‘Huh, is that so?’

‘Yep.’ I controlled the sound of my voice, so it didn’t tremble, then I quickly zipped up my bag and looked her straight in the eye.

Aunt Amel stepped over to my desk and ran her finger along my class timetable sticky taped to the wall. ‘Let’s just have a looksie, shall we? Friday … Friday … does little Akealie have sports class on Friday?’

My mind went blank. I hadn’t even been thinking about school and what classes I had on when I’d lied to her.

She skimmed across Friday’s lessons, tapping each one with her peacock-blue fingernails. ‘Double English, maths, Italian class and …’ She lowered her voice. ‘Sport.’

‘We have athletics carnival coming up, so we gotta train.’ I didn’t look at her while I spoke this time, in case she could read my thoughts.

Aunt Amel tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘You know, Akoolie, I can’t help but feel that you and your little sister are up to something.’

Little beads of sweat began to tickle my forehead. ‘We’re just working hard to keep the house tidy for you, that’s all. I’d better get back to my jobs now, so I can finish in time for school.’ I glanced at the door, to give her the hint.

Amel Amel grinned at me. ‘I will find out, you know. I always find out.’ She glided to the door, then peered over her shoulder at me one more time. ‘Always.’ She slammed the door behind her.

I felt like collapsing onto my rug, but instead I quickly dressed myself in a singlet, polo-shirt and jumper. I’d wear my school trackies to the airport – no one would notice. I pressed my ear to the door for a moment, to listen for Aunt Amel, then grabbed a pen and paper from my desk. I scrawled a note, scrunched it up, and held it tightly in my fist. Then I slipped my bag onto my back and walked out of my bedroom.

Aunt Amel was nowhere to be seen. I passed Omar in the kitchen, his eyes ringed with dark circles, his skin looking almost yellow. As my older brother yawned, I shoved the note into his hand. If we don’t come home after school, don’t worry – and cover for us.

Huda had insisted we tell the others nothing, in case they tried to stop us, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave them all without so much as a note goodbye.

I didn’t wait for Omar to react or look at the note. I bolted out the front door and onto the street, where Huda was waiting for me, her head half in our letterbox.

‘What are you doing?’ I whispered.

‘Just checking if Mum and Dad sent us a postcard.’

The air was cold and I could see just how quickly she was breathing from the white smoky clouds that shot out of her mouth, but at least the lightning and rain had stopped.

‘Anything?’

‘Nup.’

My sister