Huda and Me H. Hayek (reading fiction txt) 📖

runs her hand through her hair, then walks back towards the front of the plane. I unclip my seatbelt and kick my bag in a little more from the aisle, to make sure it’s not sticking out. I wonder for a second if Miss Rosetta knows about the money. I wonder if that’s the real reason she was trying to get my bag.

An announcement over the speaker cuts into my thoughts: ‘On behalf of the crew, we’d like to thank you for flying with us. We will shortly be making our descent into Dubai International Airport … ’

I barely hear the rest of what the pilot is saying as I stagger back into my seat. My fingers fumble with my seatbelt. Dubai. I knew we’d get lost in some other country. I don’t even know what country Dubai is in. My heart races and the pressure in my ears builds until it hurts. I knew I shouldn’t have let Huda book the tickets. It’s my fault for falling asleep and not keeping an eye on things.

My polo shirt feels tight around my neck. As I pull at it to try to get more oxygen down my throat, I see Huda skip up the plane aisle towards me. She’s grinning so much that I can see both full rows of her white teeth. The closer she gets, the more my ears ring. My sister slides into her seat and buckles her seatbelt. The words in my head muddle. I feel stupid and angry. Stupid for going along with her plan. Angry for letting myself get into this disaster.

I take a big breath, ready to yell and cry and freak out. Huda has no idea what she’s done to us. She’s busy pretending to read the in-flight magazine.

‘Huda—’

It’s the only word that comes out of my mouth before she cuts me off. ‘Holiday time, baby!’ She does a little dance in her seat.

‘Are you serious! Holiday time?’ I can’t believe she doesn’t realise we’re about to be stranded, alone, in some country on the other side of the world.

‘Yeh, bebe! Dubai, here we come!’

I choke on whatever spit is left in my dry mouth.

She cocks an eyebrow at me. ‘What the heck is wrong with you, brother? You look araf. Like, really araf. Like, super, seriously revolting.’ She chucks the magazine at me.

My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to croak, ‘Dubai?’

‘Yes, Dubai, you ning-nong. Our stopover.’

I haven’t seen Huda this excited since Eid last year. It could be the sugar rush. Though she also keeps saying Dubai is ‘the city of gold’. She says she read it on the website when she booked our tickets.

We peer out the window as the plane drifts through the clouds and dreamily glides onto the runway without a bump. The tarmac stretches forever, and there are differently sized planes parked in every direction, with all sorts of coloured logos and swirls on their tails.

‘Folks, welcome to Dubai International Airport. Local time is 4:05 p.m. and the temperature is forty degrees. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign …’

I glance towards the front of the plane. Miss Rosetta is unlatching the plane door, and Martin is checking over papers on his brown clipboard. He says something to Miss Rosetta and they both look over at us. Martin smiles as he walks up the aisle towards me and my sister.

Huda doesn’t notice because she’s too busy watching airport workers zip around the tarmac in bright-yellow buggies. I can almost see the sweat dripping from their foreheads from here.

‘Hooda and Akeaw, as you’re unaccompanied minors, I’ll be escorting you off the plane first.’

‘Oooh, VIP service. I like it,’ Huda chirps as we unclip our seatbelts.

We grab our bags and follow Martin to the front of the plane, where Miss Rosetta is busy ordering an old man with a walking stick back into his seat. She flicks her head my way and points to my shoes. I think she’s going to yell at me for not shifting my feet when she tried to get my backpack earlier.

‘Shoelaces. Tie them now. You’ll end up falling headfirst from the plane.’

I glance down and see that she’s right.

‘Sheesh, bit of a grump, isn’t she?’ Huda mumbles under her breath as I bend to tie my laces. Once I’m done, Martin leads us out the door of the aircraft.

I expect to walk straight into the airport but instead find myself at the top of some rickety metal stairs leading down to the tarmac. My head spins at how high up we are. The hot air outside hits me in the face like a cricket bat.

Huda is already three steps ahead of me, and I see a woman standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for us. She’s wearing a bright-green uniform that makes her look like a chef, but without the funny hat. Her light-brown hair is twisted into a loose bun and her high heels are taller than any of Mum’s.

Before I quite reach the bottom, she’s already speaking to my sister. ‘Hello, Huda, welcome to Dubai! My name is Amira.’

Amira doesn’t hug Huda, but it looks like she wants to, the way her hands are moving around in circles. She speaks loudly and with a lot of good expression – that’s how my teacher Mr Morrison would describe it.

Huda turns back to me and winks, then turns back to Amira. ‘Thank you very much, Amira. Pleased to meet you, indeed.’ She’s trying to sound proper.

Amira bows her head softly towards my sister. ‘I’m your customer service agent and will be escorting you through Dubai Airport until it’s time to board your second flight. You’ll be under my care and supervision.’

Huda shoots me another look, but her eyes aren’t big and round anymore and her mouth is crumpled to the side. She shifts her eyeballs between me and Amira as if