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

scratched her cheek and I noticed she was wearing my blue mittens I’d bought from the market.

‘Hey! Where’d you get those from?’ I said, pointing at my mitts.

‘I found them.’ She paused. ‘In Mum and Dad’s room.’ She knew I knew she was lying. ‘Get over it,’ she squealed. ‘We’re about to go see Mum and Dad.’

I rolled my eyes. Typical Huda move.

‘I printed off the tickets at the library yesterday,’ she continued. ‘They’re in my bag. I chucked Aunt Amel’s credit card in the recycle bin at school to get rid of it. You have the cash, right?’

I gave her a thumbs up.

‘Cool. We’re good to go.’ She grabbed my thumb, squashed it and then shook it around.

I ripped my arm away from her and glanced at my watch: 8:05 a.m. We were still okay for time. My stomach felt tight.

‘Let’s run to the shops and get a taxi from the taxi rank near the hairdresser,’ I said and started to jog.

‘That’s smart, Akeal. I always knew you were smart.’

We raced up the street, in the opposite direction to school. I checked over my shoulder in case Aunt Amel had followed us. There was no one around but an early-morning dog-walker. If it was any other day, I would’ve wet my undies thinking we’d be caught and reported to the principal, but today I needed to leave Aunt Amel behind.

We got to the taxi rank just as one taxi drove off and another arrived. I waved to the driver so he’d know we were his next customers. He stared at me and my sister, then looked around to see if there was anyone else with us.

‘Act casual,’ I whispered to Huda from the side of my mouth as I took a step towards the car. I opened the passenger door.

‘Hi there, mister. We need to get to the airport.’

The taxi driver didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. He was wearing a turban on his head and had a couple of silver bangles on his wrist.

‘Sorry, mister, I said—’

‘I heard what you said, kid. I’m not taking two children to the airport without an adult.’

I wasn’t expecting him to say no to us. ‘But …’ I stuttered uselessly.

Huda then shoved me to the side and poked her head into the passenger door. ‘You’re gonna be in a lot of trouble if you don’t, mister.’

The taxi driver shook his head at my sister.

‘Our parents and luggage are in that taxi on the way to the international airport.’

She jabbed her finger towards the taxi turning out from the shopping centre and onto the main road.

‘You better make it quick so we don’t lose them. They said the next driver would follow them. If you leave us here, we’re gonna call the cops.’

The taxi driver’s eyes widened. Even though his skin was brown like ours, I could tell his cheeks were going red.

I pinched my sister in the rib and tilted my head to say, Let’s get out of here. She didn’t look at me, though. She didn’t take her eyes off him.

‘All right, get in. But I’m going to charge you for the last two minutes as well.’ He muttered something about us wasting his time.

Huda slammed the passenger door shut. ‘Get in before he changes his mind,’ she hissed from the side of her mouth.

I opened the back door and Huda climbed in, threw her bag on the floor and slid down the seats to make room for me. I jumped in and we both clicked our seatbelts in at the same time. The taxi driver hit the accelerator.

‘So, how’s your day been so far, mister?’ Huda asked him, sounding casual and like they’d been mates for years. She winked at me.

‘Fine.’

‘Not very busy?’ she asked, tilting her head and frowning, as though she was seriously concerned about how his job was going.

He was looking at her in the rear-view mirror now. ‘No.’

‘Pick up anyone interesting today?’

‘No.’

‘Okay, mister. I’ll let you concentrate on your driving. My dad says it’s annoying when I talk to him too much when he’s driving.’

‘Yes. It is,’ said the driver, spinning the wheel as we turned the corner onto the main highway.

Habib

We double-check no one’s on our tail and head to an area where we can see long lines of passengers queuing. At the beginning of each line is a person in a light-brown uniform sitting at a little brown desk. There’s a big sign above it all that says: PASSPORT CONTROL.

Each desk has a few stamps on it, a couple of pens and a computer, and each of the officers wears a serious frown, as they check papers and passports. I wonder if they’re specially trained on how to look so serious when they first get the job. Once each passenger’s passport is stamped, they’re allowed to walk through to the other side to get their luggage. Then to freedom.

We join the end of one of the lines and wait our turn. I pull my school beanie from my backpack and slip it on, over the cut on my forehead. Huda fiddles with the edges of her passport, and the queue moves forward slowly. Very slowly.

‘Hooda and Akeaw, what are you doing at the end of the line?’ we hear a familiar voice say.

Me and my sister turn around and see Martin beaming at us. We can’t help but throw our arms around him. It’s so good to see him again.

‘I heard a whisper that you two were meant to be escorted through passport control. Do you mind if I do the honours?’

‘Oh, yes please!’ Huda squeals.

‘You’ll be waiting here all day otherwise. Follow me.’

I just know Allah answered my prayers.

We move out of the queue and follow Martin. When we reach the front, we get the chance to properly inspect the giant bearded passport officer sitting before us. His muscles are so big he looks like he could star in one of the latest superhero movies –