![]() ![]() Huda catches hold of my hand again and squeezes it. We pass an apartment walk lined with tiny gray-and-white filler stones, and I snatch up a pebble. Ladies in crisp dresses water window boxes or fan themselves on the upper balconies. It's cooler on this street, and the iron gates of the houses are curled into the shapes of birds and the tufts of flower petals. Huda checks the street signs before we turn away from the tangle of cars. "We should play the spinning game with him," I say. The sun simmers the silver roofs of cars. "He's missing the most important ingredient." "Abu Sayeed is like us, then." I look down at my plastic sandals, still warm from the sidewalk stones. "And we're distracting him with food." Zahra kicks a stone and scoffs. "He had a son?" Somehow I never imagined Abu Sayeed had a family. "Today is the anniversary of when Abu Sayeed lost his son. ![]() Down the street, a man sells tea from a silver jug on his back, Heat shimmers off the pavement and Zahra's black hair. "Clearly you don't know what it means to be grown-up." "Bleeding isn't what makes you grown-up," I say. "You don't even have your period yet," Zahra says. "This one's my favorite, because of the roses." "Maybe I'll wear one when I'm older." I reach up and skim my fingers along the cotton hem. ![]()
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