Huda and Me by H. Hayek (summer beach reads TXT) 📗

me little bitty cutie Raheed. I’ll keep him safe and cosy with me.’

And Aunt Amel yanked our baby from Kholoud’s arms.

Dubai

I must have fallen asleep. When I wake, my eyes barely have a chance to focus before Huda starts talking.

‘What do you think? I look good, don’t I?’

She’s wearing a pink hijab with brightly coloured diamantes all over it and grinning at her own reflection in a small fold-up mirror.

‘I think it’d be good to look like a proper Muslim when we get to Lebanon. I’ll blend in with everyone else. And besides, I look super cute in this scarf.’

Still beaming from ear to ear, she tilts her head in different directions to get the best look at herself. She looks like she’s about to go to a wedding.

Huda puts down the mirror and twists open her tube of strawberry lip gloss. She smears it on her lips and rubs them together, making squelchy sounds.

‘Don’t you think you look a bit … fancy?’ I say, my eyes trying to adjust to all the sparkles.

‘Yes, I do think I look very nice, thank you very much.’

Huda shoves her lip gloss back into the seat pocket in front of her, and I notice she’s also coloured in her fingernails with the textas Martin gave her. In pink, of course. I rub my eyes.

‘You’ve slept for hours, brother. Like a little grizzly in hibernation. I watched three movies and ate four ice-creams while you were asleep. You missed out. But that’s okay, they’ll be bringing us afternoon tea soon. So far, this trip has been worth every penny.’

Huda’s talking really fast, and she’s fiddling a lot too.

‘Did you get some rest?’ I ask, wondering where all this energy has come from.

‘Nah, too much fun to be asleep, Akeaw.’

We went to bed at midnight and woke up extra early before pretending to go to school this morning, but Huda looks like she’s just risen from a two-day nap. She reaches into her seat pocket again and pulls out an almost empty packet of sugared lollies.

‘These are so good. This is my second packet. Want one?’

She shoves two into her mouth and begins to suck all the sugar off them. Now I get it. I shake my head.

‘Akeal, where do you think all the poo goes when people flush the toilet on a plane? Reckon there’s a hole so it falls straight out?’

I crumple my nose. I don’t want to think about passengers’ poo falling from the sky.

‘That’s gross. How do you even think about this stuff?’

My sister shrugs.

‘Dunno. I gotta go dunny. Move over.’

She lifts up her tray-table and squeezes past me, deliberately putting her hands on my face as though she’s trying to stay balanced. My sister’s in one of those annoying moods. She laughs as she walks off down the aisle, flicking her scarf over her shoulder. She wants people to notice her new look.

I lean over and lift the window shade. There’s nothing below us but white clouds, spread out forever, like a soft bed carrying us to our parents. Looking at them, I feel a sense of calm. This is the first time I’ve rested in days, and had time to really think – about what’s happened, where we are, and where we’re going.

I let myself imagine what’s at the end of the clouds. Lebanon. Mum and Dad have always told me how beautiful it is, and how they know I’ll love it when I finally get there. How I’ll be able to play next to the Litani River, like they did when they were kids, and watch the sea from the mountains.

I close my eyes and I can see it. Maybe I’m only imagining the old photos Mum and Dad have showed me, but it’s beautiful. I love how the air feels on my skin, and the way the sun shines on my face. I love the green from the cedar trees, the blue from the summer sky, and the big smiles I know are waiting for me. I wonder why I feel like it’s where I belong, when I know Melbourne is home.

My stomach rumbles and I open my eyes. The ache in my guts reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. I’m starving. Hopefully Mum will have made something yummy, like rice and chicken soup, when we get there.

I open my backpack and fumble for the muesli bar and apple rolling around at the bottom, but the rolls of cash we stole get in the way. I don’t know exactly how much money we nicked, but it has to be thousands. I quickly grab the snacks, zip up my bag and cram it back under the seat in front of me before anyone sees. To make sure it can’t be pulled out easily, I give it a couple of hard kicks.

My stomach rumbles again, and I look at my apple. It’s bruised and soft and wrinkled, but Mum told me never to waste food, so I make myself eat it. As I force the mush down my throat, the flight attendant with the red lipstick suddenly pops her face in front of mine, so that we’re almost eye to eye. I glance at her badge to remind myself of her name. Rosetta.

‘Excuse me, would you like help placing your bag into the overhead locker?’

‘Um...no, that’s okay. Thank you, though, miss.’ I want to keep my parents’ money as close to me as possible.

‘It will be safer and more comfortable if your bag is placed in the locker,’ she says firmly, reaching down to try to tug my backpack from its resting spot.

Panicking, I press my legs forward against my seat to block her, so that her hands can’t get a decent grip. She grunts and stands.

‘Your bag is protruding into the aisle. Unless you fix it, I will be back to remove it and ensure it’s placed in the locker securely.’ Miss Rosetta glares at me.

‘Okay, miss,’ I gulp.

She