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

its open front pocket. I pick it up off the floor. It’s folded neatly and it has Huda scrawled on it in fancy writing.

Huda tries to grab the note out of my hands, and that makes me want to open it. Bad. Leaning away from her and towards the window, I unfold the paper.

I have the evidence. I would have enjoyed the Middle Eastern travel experience, had it not been for my airline travel ban. I told them I couldn’t hear the announcements! I know Akeal will look after you. He’s a worthy comrade.

Safe journey.

P.S. – The plan is set. Your siblings will join me at 16:00.

Dr K.

I can feel my mouth hanging open but no words come out. Huda speaks before I can.

‘Okay, don’t be annoyed. I was worried you’d blow it. Although I did mean to tell you about this once we were on the plane and I … I kind of got excited and forgot, I suppose.’

‘You and Mr Kostiki had another plan going this whole time?’ I splutter.

‘Well, kind of.’

‘Why would you think I’d blow it?’

‘Coz you’d have done that face you’re doing right now. You’d have walked around sweating and acting strange in front of Aunt Amel. I couldn’t risk it. It was enough you worrying about our own mission.’ She jabs her finger at my head.

My mind races back to Huda checking the letterbox this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago. ‘You’ve been writing notes to each other?’

‘Yeh, every day. Mr Kostiki knows everything. He knew Aunt Amel was fibbing when she told him I was sleepwalking that night I ran to his house.’

‘How’d he know?’

‘Coz he remembered Mum telling him last year that I’m the only kid who always sleeps right through the night, like a dead person. And also, because he used to be a sleep doctor and he said I didn’t show any of the classic signs of somnambulism.’

I can barely understand what she’s saying.

‘So, anyway, we worked out a plan. You don’t need to worry about a thing, Akeaw.’

My sister grabs the note from my hand and stuffs it into the side pocket of her bag. As if that’s that. As if I don’t have a million questions. But before I can ask a single one of them, she nudges me with her elbow. Her eyes are wide. Like she’s seen a ghost from the past.

‘Check it out!’ She points to a massive yellow-and-red building, with golden arches.

There, on the other side of the world, is McDonald’s.

‘What the heck?’ I say despite myself. ‘I thought this place would only have kebabs and sheesh laham.’ My tummy rumbles.

Huda leans forward and taps the taxi driver on the shoulder, and not in a polite way. I call tell she’s starving too. ‘Excuse me, ya zalami? McDonald’s, please.’

I like the way she mixes up her Arabic and English.

The taxi driver glances over his shoulder. ‘No.’

Huda flinches and turns to me. ‘Maybe he didn’t understand my Arabic.’

She taps him on the shoulder again.

‘Sorry, mister. I mean can we please stop and get a burger and some fries?’ She motions her hand to her mouth like she’s eating something and pretends to chew.

This time the driver looks at her in the rear-view mirror for what seems like too long. ‘No. Not good food.’

Huda blinks her eyes a few times, trying to understand how he could say no.

Then he leans over to the side, keeping one hand on the steering wheel as he rummages through a plastic bag on the front passenger seat.

He finds what he’s looking for and passes it to Huda. It’s a Lebanese wrap, wrapped in plastic. It looks like the ones Mum sometimes makes me for school.

‘You hungry, you eat zis. Better.’

Huda takes the wrap and gently sits back. She looks at me. Then looks at the wrap. And then she slowly takes off the plastic. She stares out the window as McDonald’s gradually disappears behind us. Finally, she bites into the wrap. She chews slowly at first, not knowing what to expect.

‘Oh, it has labni in it. Yum.’ She licks a bit of the thick, white yoghurt off her lip and bites in again. ‘And cucumber. Ahhhh, fresh.’

My stomach rumbles so loudly that she actually hears it. She passes the labni-and-cucumber roll over to me. The taxi driver watches us through the rear-view mirror. I can tell from just his eyes that he’s smiling.

I take a bite and it tastes like home – just like the rolls Mum makes me at breakfast, or the ones I find in my lunchbox. Sometimes she puts a bit of mint in them too. I chew slowly and remind myself of how good it feels to be cared for. Better than any burger in the world.

The traffic begins to speed up as we approach an intersection. A man in a soldier’s uniform with a big gun and a funny black tilted hat stands in the middle of the road. He’s skinny and tall, and he flaps his arms all over the place. He’s trying to tell four directions of cars who can go and who needs to stop. But he looks bored, like he’s annoyed and really doesn’t care. He’s not one of those people who love their jobs, I can tell that for sure.

I can also tell that the gun is a rifle because I saw one like it on an African safari show. But this one just dangles from his shoulder down to his knee, like it’s an old shopping bag and he has no idea it’s even there. He flaps his arm at our taxi, wanting us to hurry up and pass. I wish our taxi driver would go a bit faster, because the last thing I want is to irritate a man with a gun, who hates his job.

As we drive past, Huda pokes out her tongue at the soldier. I choke on my roll and begin to cough. White-and-green bits spit from my mouth and onto the back