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

job last: to be her holiday buddy. I’d assumed she meant for her ‘holiday’ at our house, but now another possibility hits me in the face like six overdue library books. NEW ZEALAND.

And finally … A. Boogie. How many parents out in the world could possibly think that was a good name for their child?

I spot a sign pointing to the departures area of the airport, and I start sprinting. I sort of remember my way from when I was here with Huda two and a half days ago.

‘Hey! Where are you going?’ Dad cries from behind me.

But there’s no time to explain. I have to reach desk 57, and I have to reach it now.

People, signs and destination screens flash by me. I run, and I run, and I run …

Finally, there it is. Departures check-in desk 57. With a big screen above it that says: Flight JFQ 771 to Wellington, departing at 4:20 p.m. GATE 14.

Dad catches up and grabs hold of me.

‘New Zealand!’ I pant-scream into his bewildered face. ‘Wellington! Holiday buddy! BOOGERS!’

‘Akeal!’ Dad pant-screams back. ‘Where are you talking about?’

But I’m not listening. I’m casting my eyes about frantically, because the entire area is packed.

And then … right up the front of the crowd, standing in front of desk number 57 for flight JFQ 771 to Wellington, I spot a woman in an orange hijab holding a baby in a sling.

I beeline straight for her. She’s arguing with a man in a crisp white shirt with a hanky around his neck.

‘Ma’am,’ he is saying to her from his position behind the desk, ‘I’ve already explained to you why you can’t bring the infant on the flight.’

‘Yes, but it’s very important that we go on this holiday. You don’t want me to leave my little baby behind, do you?’ Aunt Amel says.

Dad’s right beside me. He lunges forward, but I hold him back.

‘She’s not going anywhere,’ I tell him.

I swing my backpack around in front of me and unzip the secret pocket on the side, as Aunt Amel half-climbs over the desk and tries to access his computer herself. The airline attendant fends her off in alarm.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, you cannot board the plane without valid documentation.’

I rezip the secret pocket, feeling like I have pure gold in my hands. I step forward and clear my throat. Aunt Amel glances over her shoulder. She looks very stressed, but her skin is glowing. Almost as if she’s just spent two days at a day-spa in Daylesford …

‘Hey, Aunty, you might be needing this if you want to get on that plane.’

And I flutter Raheed’s passport in my hand before I toss it to my baba.

Afterword: Four Days Later

Huda’s face beams at me from the phone screen.

‘So, what did Aunt Amel say when the cops got there?’ she asks as she fiddles with her neatly plaited ponytails.

‘I’ve already told you this five times!’ I can’t help but chuckle.

‘But tell me again! Please!’

‘Okay, okay. She told the police she was taking Raheed for a short break to escape the family trauma he’d experienced over the last week – from us. When that didn’t fly, she changed her story.’

‘Uh huh?’ said Huda eagerly. ‘To what?’ Even though she knew the answer already.

‘Well, she told them she realised she’d trained us kids so well in being self-sufficient that we didn’t need her anymore – only Raheed did. So she’d figured she might as well take him someplace she actually wanted to be, for the second week of her “holiday”.’

Huda was shaking her head, rolling her eyes and smiling, all at the same time.

‘She did book return tickets for them both,’ I went on, enjoying this too, ‘so she really was planning to bring him home again, but the police were still very unimpressed. Not to mention Mum and Dad! And, Huda, can you imagine how she’s going to feel when she gets her next credit card bill and sees our flights on there as well as hers and Raheed’s …?’

Huda bursts out laughing, like it’s the first time she’s heard any of this. She’s giggling so hard she can barely hold the phone. Hearing her laugh makes me laugh too, even though it wasn’t funny four days ago.

Raheed sits on the rug next to my bed, playing with my favourite marbles – the massive bonkers I know he won’t be able to swallow. I lean over and stroke his wispy hair.

Huda finally calms down enough so that I can speak again. ‘How’s everything over there?’ I ask.

Huda presses her lips together. Her smiles fades. ‘Not good, Akeal.’

My mouth goes dry. ‘What’s happened? Is Tayta getting worse?’

My sister doesn’t answer.

‘Hurry up and tell me. Don’t hide anything. I can deal with it.’ But I’m not sure I can.

Huda closes her eyes and takes a breath. ‘Promise me you won’t be upset?’

I nod.

‘You pinky promise?’

‘I said I promise!’ I snap.

‘Okay, well, it’s not good over here … it’s great! Oh my God, this is, like, the most AMAZING place ever, and Tayta is feeling so much better, and look at my hair – she plaited it for me this morning. About an hour ago, Jido went and bought me a watermelon from some guy pulling a little cart full of these monster melons, and now he’s gone to get me baklawa from the little sweet shop down the road, and our cousins came to see me, and I really liked my cousin Heba’s cardigan so she took it off and actually gave it to me, and then we had running races along the river …’

Huda hops off the bed, still blabbering about all the fun she’s having, and opens the door leading to my grandparents’ garden. She switches the phone camera off selfie-mode, and through the glaring sunshine and azalea bushes, I see my mum and Tayta sitting on the bench where we sat with Jido only a few days ago.

‘Habibi, hello!’ My mum’s smile shines brighter than the