Aunt Amel poked her head out the window. She was tall enough to do that easily. I knew Huda was a goner. And sure enough, a split-second later Aunt Amel flicked her body around and raced out of the bathroom. I heard the front door open and then slam shut. I hopped back onto the toilet and watched her lope across the lawn and over to Mr Kostiki’s house. Moments later, Aunt Amel was leading Huda back home.
The Incident
I rejoin Amira and my sister outside the bathroom.
‘Ugh, your head is all wet. You look slimy.’ Huda never feels she has to hide her thoughts from me.
I wipe the top of my head and flick away the remaining beads of water.
Amira leads us further through the airport until we reach some huge sliding doors with cartoon pictures printed across them. At the top is a sign in Arabic, then English. I don’t bother trying to read the Arabic this time. Unaccompanied Minors Lounge.
Amira swipes a card dangling from her hip over a sensor-pad and the doors slip open. The room bursts with colour. On one side are some funky red kids’ couches, plus a couple of round blue tables covered with fresh paper and brand-new textas. On the other side, a giant screen faces a smattering of lounge chairs. Stacked up beside the screen are video-game controllers, tablets, board games and books. This must be Jannah on Earth for kids.
Amira asks whether we’d like lasagne or beef burgers for dinner. I say I want a burger. Huda says she wants six.
‘Let’s start with one and see how you go,’ Amira says and heads into a small kitchen area to get our food.
My sister chucks her backpack on the floor and plonks herself down at one of the blue tables. She starts to colour in one of the clean sheets of paper. I want to throw myself onto one of the lounge chairs, but I know I need to pray before anything else.
I unzip my backpack and pull out the compass keychain Dad gave me two years ago on Eid. I always keep it with me, even when I’m at school. The little red arrow points to a little black Kaaba, telling me which direction to face. Holding it in my hands makes me feel close to Dad again, and I feel tears prickle my eyes, but they’re not bad tears – they’re tears that remind me how much I love my baba.
The green, fluffy carpet looks freshly vacuumed, so I lift my hands to pray, just as Amira brings out three huge, cheesy burgers – one for each of us. My tummy rumbles as I place my forehead on the soft floor. By the time I’m finished, my eyes are dry.
Amira drops us to the departure gate, just in time for our departure to Beirut. Miss Rosetta is standing at the doorway leading to the plane with her arms crossed. Huda grunts when she sees her. Amira passes Miss Rosetta our passports and the new tickets for this flight. Miss Rosetta pretends to smile – I can tell because her eyes don’t look as happy as the rest of her face. Amira is so caring. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her sparkly green eyes and the way everything about her felt cheery and safe.
Huda tugs at Amira’s sleeve and borrows a fancy black pen, then fumbles around in her backpack for something to write on. She pulls out an old piece of crumpled paper with orange writing scrawled across it – Aunt Amel’s list of jobs. My sister looks at it in her palm, and then at me. Then she does her best to unwrinkle it, and scribbles her school email address across the orange scrawl.
‘I’d love to be friends with you,’ my sister says to Amira as she passes her the pen and the half-scrunched bit of paper. She picks nervously at a cuticle. Her little round face has gone almost the same red as Raheed’s rosy cheeks.
Amira gives Huda a smile, bigger than all the others we’ve seen so far. ‘I’d love to be friends with you too, Huda.’
Huda throws her arms around Amira’s waist. I glance around and realise we’re holding up the queue. People want to get on the plane, not wait for a couple of kids to say their final goodbyes to their customer service agent.
Miss Rosetta taps her heel on the tiles, then taps my sister on the shoulder. ‘Time to hop on the plane now, children.’
Huda lets go of Amira, gives her one last wave, and then squints up at Miss Rosetta. ‘Where’s Martin?’
Miss Rosetta raises one eyebrow. Then she purses her lips and jabs her finger towards the plane.
My sister nods once and skips ahead. I grab our passports and tickets from Miss Rosetta and follow behind.
We meet Martin at the entrance of the plane.
‘Hooda and Akeaw! Lovely to see you again. I trust Amira took good care of you and showed you the best of Dubai Airport.’ He checks the tickets for our seat numbers.
‘She was great!’ trills Huda. ‘We almost became best friends forever, but we had to leave.’
Martin raises his eyebrows, as though he’s impressed.
‘Akeaw, was Dubai Airport everything you thought it would be?’ I like that Martin asks me this. Huda hogs all the attention whenever she can.
‘I loved it,’ I say. ‘One day, when this is all over—’ Huda shoots me a warning look, and I choke a little. ‘I mean... what I meant was … when I’m a bit older … I’ll come back.’
‘That’s excellent. Good to hear!’ He hands us back our tickets. ‘You’ll be in row number fifty-six, seats A and B. And, lucky you, you’ll have a spare seat next to you today.’
‘Thank you, Martin,’ me and Huda say at the same time.
Martin gestures to show us which aisle to walk down and points
