Huda and Me by H. Hayek (readict txt) 📕

I consider telling him that I spilled juice on myself, but I know it’s haram to lie. ‘I was … um … I was making wudu.’

I can see he doesn’t know what that means from the way he stares at me blankly. ‘Wud-what?’

But before I can answer, he jumps in again: ‘Is it true they’re changing the team uniform to black and red? I haven’t been able to get it yet, because they said new ones might be coming out.’

I haven’t heard that rumour, but I’m glad he’s changed the subject himself. ‘Um, I dunno, to be honest. But black and red would be so cool.’

Michael grins and shifts his feet. ‘Hey, I’m busting.’ He darts to the closest cubicle and slams the door shut.

I’m not sure whether to wait for him or not. I remember that Amira is waiting. ‘Michael, I’d better head off. I’ll catch you back in Melbourne, okay!’

‘No worries, man! See ya soon!’

I hear Michael pull down a bunch of toilet paper and figure he might need a bit of privacy anyway.

No Escape

I watched the second hand move slowly around the clock above the whiteboard in my classroom. My eyelids felt like they were made of clay.

‘So, what’s the answer, Akeal?’ Mr Morrison was pointing to a division question on the board, and I realised the whole class was staring at me.

I swallowed hard and wiped some drool off my lip. ‘Umm … sixty-four?’

‘Please try to stay awake in class. The answer is eight.’

Mr Morrison rambled some more – something about our projects being due – and then he said the words I was dying to hear.

‘Pack-up time!’

I shoved my homework and pencil case into my bag. I knew I had to be quick – Aunt Amel was waiting. I quite like walking home, but Aunt Amel had insisted she and Omar pick us up after school. ‘To save time,’ she’d said.

‘Excuse me, Akeal. Can I see you for a minute?’ Mr Morrison called.

My heart plopped into my guts and I dragged my feet over to his desk.

The first early morning was easy. Waking up at Fajr time isn’t new to me. Sometimes Dad and I pray and then go on early-morning fishing trips. But I don’t usually have to stay awake dusting and scrubbing until midnight. It was only day two with Aunt Amel, and I was already exhausted.

‘Sure, Mr Morrison. Is anything wrong?’

Mr Morrison was wearing his burgundy woollen vest with the five big buttons. The bottom one fell off earlier in the year, but I don’t think he noticed. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Someone had already turned out the light, so his beard looked almost black. Usually it’s more golden-brown, with a few bits of grey. He waited for the last of the kids to leave the room.

‘I’ve been a bit worried about you this week.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘Is there something going on that you want to tell me about?’

I looked out the window. Anything to not have to look at him.

‘C’mon, buddy. Tell me what’s going on. You haven’t been your usual self. You’ve been half asleep. Your spelling test this morning … I couldn’t even make out some of the words …’

Mr Morrison seemed like he really cared. I took a breath. ‘You know how Mum and Dad have gone overseas?’ I started.

He nodded.

‘Our babysitter, you know, she expects us to do a lot of stuff.’

‘Like chores?’ Mr Morrison blinked his small almond eyes, twice. He’s a blinker.

‘Yeh. Like, she makes us do different jobs before school and after school.’

Mr Morrison crossed his arms. ‘Well, that’s about taking responsibility, buddy. You have a big family, so everyone has to pull their weight. Would it be fair if she had to do everything for you?’

‘No, but—’

‘Would it be right if you left everything up to your older brothers and sisters?’

‘No, of course—’

‘Good. You get it. What you need to do is have a bit of a think about time management. When I was your age, I made sure I did all my chores first thing – none of that jumping on the TV for four hours – and then I got onto my homework.’

‘But she makes us get up so early to—’

‘Early bird gets the worm!’ Mr Morrison chuckled and shook his head.

My shoulders slumped. I realised there was no point. ‘Yeh, you’re right. Thanks, Mr Morrison.’

I turned to leave. I could picture Aunt Amel in the carpark right now, leaning over Omar and beeping the horn in front of all the other kids.

‘Good lad. Remember – time management!’ he said as I walked out of the room.

Huda was waiting for me outside the classroom door. The dark rings around her eyes were worse than mine.

‘What was all that about?’ she puffed as she tried to keep up with me.

‘Nothing. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t listen.’

‘Crap. I thought Mr Morrison would help. We need to hurry – I saw her from my classroom window beeping the horn and throwing lollies at kids. She’s going to embarrass us, especially if she’s waving her hijab around like a flag again.’

Luckily, by the time we reached my parents’ car most of the schoolkids had already left. But a few were still hanging around, picking up lollies off the ground. We quickly jumped into the back seat.

‘The besties are here!’ Aunt Amel cooed from the front passenger seat. She twisted around to face us. ‘And how was your day today, children?’

‘Good,’ me and Huda said at the same time. Then we both stared out the window.

Omar glanced at me in the rear-view mirror as he turned on the ignition. In the last two days, I was sure he’d driven Aunt Amel about the distance between Melbourne and Perth. Three times over. He’d taken her to all her coffee dates and lunches, and waited for her at the cinemas. The worst, he’d said, was when he had to watch her from outside