Grounded, page 5
“I know this is disappointing. You’ve worked so hard.” Mom glances at my dad and then back at me. “Might be a good time to just take your mind off things? Why don’t you catch up on some Zelda?”
“Let me know if you get stuck with the divine beast,” Dad says. “I have a trick for that.”
Do they really think playing a video game will help me feel better about missing the most important competition of my life?
Thunder clangs outside, but I don’t even flinch. I’m numb. Like someone’s dipped me in a bucket of ice water. Even the prospect of unlimited Switch time can’t make me feel better.
I pull out my tablet and text Ibrahim.
Well the worst-case scenario came true this time. Our flight is canceled and my karate competition is not happening.
Miraculously, the text goes through. I stare at the text box, waiting for an answer, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot Hanna. She’s close by—and I’m pretty sure she’s looking intently in my direction.
“Psst! Sami, over here!”
Okay, she’s definitely looking in my direction.
But I’m not in the mood to talk about Snickerdoodle. (I’m 99.99 percent sure that’s what she’s here about.) I need to figure out some way back to Orlando.
Maybe . . . I feel a glimmer of hope. We could do something like in the movie Home Alone. The one with the kid who gets left behind by his family. His mom ended up getting a ride in a rental truck with a band of polka players to reach him. We’re not going to hitchhike with a band of musicians, of course, but maybe we could rent a car? That’s it! I’ll find nearby rental car companies and present them to my parents. There’s no way my parents will say no if I hand them the solution on a silver platter.
I type in “rental cars” and grimace. The Wi-Fi is out again.
“Sami?” My mother nudges me. “I think there’s someone here for you.”
I look up—it’s Hanna. Right here. Her arms are folded. And she’s smiling.
“Looks like our gates are near each other,” she says. “That’s pretty cool.”
“Uh. Yeah,” I say. “Cool.”
I’ve known Hanna for approximately five minutes, but I’m reasonably certain she’s not here to make small talk.
“Soooo.” Hanna tilts her head. “I was thinking . . . since we’re stranded here anyway, would you be up for helping me?”
And there it is. But luckily, while she was talking, I was coming up with my own counterpoints of why I could not help. A) I am trying to figure out some important stuff of my own (which is true); B) it is late (also true); and C) my parents don’t want me out and about just because the flight isn’t going on as scheduled.
And that is the moment when my mother absolutely and completely betrays me by saying, “Sami would love to help you.”
I stare at her, sending her the clearest subliminal, telepathic message I possibly can that I have my own important mission to figure out. But both Hanna and my mother are beaming.
“You . . . don’t even know what she wants me to help with.”
“There’s a missing cat in the airport,” Hanna explains to my mother. “Snickerdoodle. I have some ideas where she might be, and I could definitely use an extra set of eyes.”
Instead of frowning and asking Hanna why she is taking it upon herself to do this, my mother nods like this is the most logical thing in the world and says, “Sure, Sami loves animals. He has two rabbits, Lucy and Ethel.” Completely ignoring my death-ray eyes lasering in on her, she turns to me and says, “We’ll be here Sami-bug—and yes, I know.” She raises a palm, completely misunderstanding my stare. “If by some miracle they let flights take off before morning, there’ll be an announcement. Go on and spend some time with your friend. It’ll make the waiting go faster.”
My friend. My chest tightens. So that’s what this is about. Of course it is. They think I’ve made a buddy. Why am I surprised? She always does this.
Hanna’s looking earnestly at me. My mother’s still smiling. I stuff my tablet in my book bag, sling it over my shoulder, and get up. I’ll go for a little bit, then head back to figure out the rental car situation.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we walk away. “Did you get some kind of lead or something?”
“Not really.” Her eyes wander over to the other gates around us. “But I figure we can start by interviewing employees . . . and . . .”
I see where she’s looking. Feek’s at the gate near the Rube Goldberg marble machine thingy. His mom is asleep. I see a little baby asleep too. But Feek’s wide-awake, sitting on a cot, looking resignedly at his little sister next to him, who is also super awake.
She’s eyeing them wistfully. Was I plan B after Feek? Or plan C after Feek and Ruqi?
“I don’t get why he can’t help.” Hanna shakes her head. “It’s not like we’re going to wander into traffic—it’s an airport!”
There it is. I swallow. She tried him first and he said no. I am the backup plan, and even though I’m not surprised, the confirmation hurts.
“She might not even be here anymore,” I tell her. “She could’ve slipped out of the airport. Got on a plane or something?”
Hanna shakes her head firmly. “Someone thinks they spotted her just a little while ago! She’s here. She’s definitely here.”
I’m slowly realizing resistance is futile. Hanna is on a mission, and I am apparently now part of that mission, even if I am option C.
I see Ruqi perk up in the distance. She’s looking at something past our shoulders. Glancing back, I realize it’s not a something, but a someone. Nora. She’s got her headphones on, and she’s completely absorbed with something on her phone. (Is her Wi-Fi working?! Maybe she’d be up for letting me use it for just a minute . . . ?)
“Nora!” Ruqi squeals from across the hall. She turns to her brother. “That’s my fwiend!”
“Your friend?” I hear Feek snort.
“Our fwiend. She bought me a Cinna-Yum!”
Hanna moves toward them. “I think I’m going to ask him again. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”
Before she can reach Feek, Ruqi’s up and running toward Nora’s gate. Feek jumps up and chases Ruqi. Hanna hurries after Feek. My tablet buzzes in my book bag. Ibrahim just replied.
Aw bummer, but no big deal, there’ll be other competitions. No need to get all squirrelly. It’s not the end of the world.
The words land like a gut punch. Squirrelly. Sami the squirrel. He hasn’t called me that in years. But it lands just like it did when I was five. When I stared too long at the Dumbo ride at Disney World and lost my family for the longest twenty-two seconds of my life. I’d been crying uncontrollably when my parents and brother finally retraced their steps back to me. Those were the words he’d spoken. He’d only ever used them a few times. And he’s using them now.
Shake it off, I tell myself. I walk toward the others. It’s one thing for kids at school to call me Sami the Scaredy-Cat, but it hurts to know that’s how my family sees me too. Someone who’s afraid a thunderstorm’s going to zap him while he’s sitting inside an airport. Someone who freaks out. Someone who can’t get a grip. And considering I was her last choice, it’s pretty obvious Hanna thinks so too.
That’s why this karate competition was so important. It was a chance to prove that I’m not squirrelly. I’m not a scaredy-cat. I can do a roundhouse kick better than anyone in my age group. I’m the youngest purple belt the dojo’s ever had. And tomorrow my brother and my parents were going to see just how good I can be at something.
But that’s not happening now.
And maybe it’s for the best.
You can’t just put on a karate uniform and change who you are. At the end of the day, the closest I’ll ever get to being brave is in a video game. In real life, no matter what I might try to do, I’m still me. I’m still Sami.
There’s no way I’m getting home in time for my party.
The rain is coming down hard and loud. People are sitting everywhere, spread out on the floor, leaning against the walls and their luggage.
I have a seat because Mom saved one for me. She’s answering emails, and I’m scrolling through NokNok when I get a message from Sumaya that makes my stomach drop.
Real nice, Nora/Noora, you told me you weren’t having a birthday party.
Below the message is a forwarded post—with a countdown to my party. Mackenzie and Kennedy post about everything. I should’ve known I’d get caught in a lie.
I groan, and Mom thinks it’s about missing my party.
“Don’t worry about the delay. We’ll reschedule as soon as we can.”
“I don’t care about rescheduling,” I say. “Just cancel it.” I keep my tone flat, but I’m frustrated. There’s so much more going on here than a stupid birthday party. I might have told her about it if we’d had more than ten minutes alone together this entire weekend.
“Why, habibti, what’s wrong? It’s your thirteenth birthday. That’s a special one. Did something happen between you and the girls?”
I stare at my phone’s home screen. It bugs me that she’s calling me “my love” in Arabic. It’s my grandmother’s pet name for me, but even thinking of my sittee is not enough to override the urge to say something sarcastic like, “Why do I even need a party when I just had such a special birthday weekend at the Chocolate Garden?”
But before I can say anything, Ruqi comes charging through the crowd of people at our gate.
“Ruqi! Are you lost again?” I call out before I see Hanna, Feek, and Sami trailing behind her.
Mom looks surprised that I remembered Ruqi’s name from the conference, but I offer nothing by way of explanation. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking that I made friends on this trip. Mom says, “It’s my future intern.”
“She’s not lost!” Feek says and grabs Ruqi’s hand.
Sami is quiet, standing behind Hanna while she introduces herself and gushes over how much she admires Mom. “I also want to be a force of change in the world,” she adds, “and right now my mission in life is to save animals lost in airports.”
Hanna explains about Snickerdoodle, and even though I can tell that Mom is caught off guard by Hanna’s passionate, impromptu speech, she doesn’t show it. Congressmom always looks interested in the requests she gets.
But when Hanna concludes her mini-presentation with, “So, Nora, can you help us look for Snickerdoodle?” Mom surprises me. She doesn’t put Hanna or her cause first. Instead, she says, “Wow, this sounds like such a worthwhile issue, and I love your enthusiasm, Hanna. But perhaps Nora can join you later. We were in the middle of discussing something important.”
It’s unlike Mom to put our time together before others, and it makes me so uncomfortable that my skin itches. Where was all this concern when I was alone and without any friends at the conference or when we were trying to make it to the Chocolate Garden? She just wants to ask me more questions about what’s going on with my friends at school, and the last thing I want to do is tell her.
The truth is I did something really unkind to Sumaya. One day, I was in the bathroom with Mackenzie and Kennedy, and we were freshening up our hair. First, Mackenzie said something like, “Can you imagine being like that girl Sumaya and not being able to style your hair?” Then Kennedy added that she thought it would be so boring to have to wear this thing on your head every day and not change your look, and I joined in and said, “Yeah, and imagine trying to shop. Her clothing options must be so limited.”
Then out came Sumaya from the stall right behind us. She heard the whole thing, and instead of apologizing, I let Sumaya defend herself and say, “And I can’t imagine spending my lunch break in the bathroom talking about people. Especially my own people.” She made air quotes with her fingers and added, “Noora Najjar,” with an Arabic accent, just the way my grandma and sometimes my mom say my name.
After she washed her hands and left, Mackenzie asked me why Sumaya said my name like that, and I shrugged. Later I regretted it. That was the moment when I should have told Mackenzie and Kennedy about my family’s background.
That night, I messaged Sumaya on NokNok, but it got ugly real fast. She said I was an Arab who’d forgotten where I came from and that I probably didn’t even know that my name is supposed to be pronounced Noora, not Nora, and that it means “light” in Arabic.
I told Sumaya the truth—that my grandparents were born in Michigan and there were a lot of things I didn’t know about my ancestry because there was a lot my parents didn’t know either.
Sumaya was surprised. She said that her family came to the US from Iraq when she was seven and that she didn’t know there were Muslims and Arabs who had been here for generations.
Somehow after sharing all that, we got to messaging about other stuff—school, family, baking. Turns out Sumaya’s a sweetie too, and we started sending each other recipes and pictures of desserts we’d made. But at school, I didn’t tell anyone we’d become friends. As my birthday drew closer, she asked me directly if I was having a party. I lied and said no because I thought it would have been worse for her to know that she wasn’t invited.
But now I see that finding out from someone else was definitely worse.
“Come on, Hanna,” Feek whispers. “We don’t need her to find Snickerdoodle.” He turns to leave.
I’m about to lose my chance to get away.
“That’s okay, Mom,” I say. “We can talk later.”
I put out my hand and let Ruqi pull me to her side. I don’t know where we’re going or what cat-obsessed thing these kids are up to next, but doing just about anything in this airport sounds better than waiting here.
I feel like I’m in that painting Liberty Leading the People that my art teacher showed the class last year. (I’m Liberty, of course. Holding up a flag—with the logo of Animal Allies—for all to follow.)
I turn to check if they’re still following me, and what I see fills me with pride. Puffy pride.
Sami and Feek (Feek! Clutching the ripped LOST SNICKERDOODLE flier!) are marching behind me, and they both have the same look on their faces: EXCITEMENT.
They are as excited about finding Snickerdoodle as I am.
I glance back again. Yup, even Nora, who’s being pulled along by Ruqi, has a determined look in her eyes.
“There it is!” I yell. “The Zoomi store!” I half run, half speed-walk to the luggage store across the food court.
Just as we were leaving Congresswoman Sarah Najjar, RainingCatsNDogs finally responded to my messages and told me that Snickerdoodle may have last been seen at the Zoomi store! (A message I almost missed because I had my phone on vibrate only! You bet that after this, I turned the volume ALL THE WAY UP!)
It felt so good to tell everyone that I had an actual solid, real, true lead.
When we get to the luggage store, I pause to address them all. “Okay, this might be a historic moment. Several airports have lost several—actually hundreds, or, maybe, if we count all the airports all around the world, thousands of animals. Only a fraction of those animals are ever found.” I pause for dramatic effect.
Nora, who’s come to a stop behind Sami and Feek, convinces me to keep my speech short and sweet by the way her eyes move from determined to skeptical—again.
I don’t have much time. “This may be a historic moment because we get to help increase that fraction of found pets. We,” I say. “We the—”
“Please don’t say we the people,” Nora interrupts.
“I wasn’t going to. I was going to say we the . . . the ones who care . . . we can join together to help find a poor lost cat in”—I point to Zoomi—“that store. Where she was last seen. That’s why this is a historic moment. Very few lost airport animals get found by travelers. Travelers who care. Like you.”
“Wow, you sound like my mom,” Nora says with a slight smile on her face. “Are you sure you’re not running for office?”
Maybe she’s making fun of me, maybe that’s actually a smirk on her face and not a slight smile, but I’m thrilled Nora connected what I said to her mom, a person who’s actually changing the world every single day. (Though, when I met her mom a little while ago, she turned down a new opportunity to change the world. But I just know if I had had a few more minutes with Congresswoman Sarah Najjar, she would have been onboard with my plans to ensure the safety of flying pets.)
I pivot to face the store, the others now flanking me. “Okay, let’s go. If you see anything suspicious, record it. Even the slightest thing. We’re looking for evidence of a cat hiding in the store in the recent past. So look everywhere. And, again, record!”
“I don’t have my phone on me, so you guys will have to record,” Feek says. “But I’ll look around carefully.”
Sami puts up his hand, the one that’s not holding his iPad. “But are we even allowed? To record inside a store like that?”
“And how likely is it that the cat would still be there?” Nora asks, her eyes boring into mine.
“Snickerdoodle may have been at Zoomi’s an hour ago. She could still be there. But if she’s not, recording video is important. We could look at the footage later and see if we missed anything. And Sami, we’re allowed to take pictures inside stores. I’m pretty sure.” I march toward Zoomi, still giving directions, but at a murmur now. “Let’s keep it quiet—don’t bring attention to yourselves. In case they figure out we’re not just customers. And in case they treat us like kids. But I’ll be talking to the person who works here to get some more background.”
“But wouldn’t that look suspicious?” It’s Sami again. I knew he was the type of kid in class who said “BUT THIS” and “BUT THAT” a lot during group work.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be professional about it. Let’s do this,” I whisper as we step into the store.
Ruqi stops suddenly and yells, “I need to use the bathwoom!”
“Right now?” Feek shakes his head. “Can’t you hold it for just five minutes while we look around?”
“I need to go nowwww!”
