Grounded, p.3
Grounded, page 3
I turn to Hanna. “Where should we go now?”
Tucked-in shirt says, “Does Ruqi like stuffed animals? I think I saw a gift shop back—”
“No, that wouldn’t be right.” Hanna holds up her hand. “When cats go missing from their families for too long, they lose their zest for play. They seek their most basic needs for survival: food and shelter. Ruqi must be in search of a food source.”
I fix my face to not show how confused I am by her professional language. It’s been only thirty minutes. Is Ruqi already starving? And is she calling my sister a cat?
“So . . . the food court?” I ask.
“Yes, let’s go immediately,” Hanna says.
“Cool.” I sigh, and then the whimpered question is out of my mouth before I have time to stop it: “What if she isn’t there either?”
“We have to make dua that she is,” Hanna says. In one fluid motion, she whips a scarf out of her belt strap and slings it around her head. Who is this girl?
She cups her hands. “Say it with me: Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.”
I gasp. “The dua we say when someone dies?”
Tucked-in shirt’s brown face turns almost white.
“You can also say it when you lose something,” Hanna explains. “Now pray.”
I slowly exhale. Ruqi is okay. This is a prayer for when someone is lost too.
We bow our heads and say it together, “Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.”
As we enter the busy food court, I think about that prayer: from God we come. Ya Allah, let Ruqi come! And I tell myself to believe it. Ruqi will come. In the way Hanna almost marches into the food court, I see that Hanna believes it too. Ruqi will come. Even tucked-in shirt is with us, though he trails behind, his eyes darting everywhere like he’s scared. I slow my breathing and my walk. My grip on the headband loosens. Look calm. Be calm. Ruqi will come.
And then, can you believe it? Ruqi is standing outside Cinna-Yum with a cinnamon roll and laughing like everything’s fine! I almost run to pull her into a hug, but then I realize:
Ruqi’s just standing outside Cinna-Yum with a cinnamon roll and laughing like everything’s fine.
Like I wasn’t just begging Allah to save her from a kidnapper named Brutus. Like I wasn’t just thinking about all the ways a kid could get trapped or worse in an airport.
I march up to her and call her by her full name the way Mom does when she’s mad at us. “Ruqayyah Khalilah Stiles! Where have you been?”
“Feek!” She even has the nerve to smile. “This is Nora! My fwiend!”
“Don’t you ‘Feek’ me! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I even had to get people to help, Hanna and, and, and—”
“Sami,” the boy says quietly.
“Right, Sami! You got me, Hanna, and Sami running all over this airport for you because you want to get a snack! When are you gonna grow up?”
Ruqi’s eyes are wide now. Good, she needs to know how serious this is.
“And you even left your headband!” I say, pulling it out of my pocket.
Her mouth forms an O as she pats her head, feeling that it’s gone.
She reaches for her headband, but I snatch my hand away. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders as I let loose on her. “I am too old to keep playing these games! It’s bad enough I have to spend all my time babysitting you, but then you run off too!”
“It’s not her fault,” some girl says. I look behind Ruqi and notice the girl, her arms folded and her face red with anger. Ruqi pulls the headband out of my hand.
Of course now the brother and two other MONA kids show up as Ruqi and I are about to leave. Where were they before I bought Ruqi a Cinna-Yum and gave up on my iced mocha latte?
My hands go straight to my hips, and my face grows hot. The brother—I guess his name is Feek—jumps into lecturing Ruqi. You can tell he’s one of those kids who thinks he’s older than he is, wearing one of those Muslim hats and brand-new Nike Air Force 1s. At least the two other kids he’s with look appropriately freaked out. As freaked out as Ruqi’s brother should be! The girl, Hanna, I recognize from MONA because she always had a pack of friends in matching T-shirts with her. This poor Sami kid I don’t recognize. His clothes have more of a blending-in kind of style.
I’m about to interrupt and say, “Hey, I found your sister trying to order this Cinna-Yum that I actually bought for her,” because I can’t deal with this Feek kid’s responsible-older-brother act. But I worry it will sound petty to be talking about who bought whom a Cinna-Yum.
Instead, I say, “It’s not her fault. She’s little, and this is not the first time you lost her.”
Feek, Hanna, and Sami look me up and down. They’re surprised I know about Ruqi climbing onstage. They must have seen my outfit and assumed I wasn’t at MONA.
It annoys me that they’re judging me by my clothes, even though I guess I do it too. Sometimes Kennedy, Mackenzie, and I talk about what people are wearing and what we would do to make their outfits better. Lately I’ve been trying to keep my comments about only style and not judging people. Still, this whole weekend, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Kennedy or Mackenzie would say if they saw me at MONA, and now I’ve got these guys who can’t believe I was at MONA either.
Feek says, “Wait a minute. What do you mean, this isn’t the first time I lost her?”
I roll my eyes. Does he always have to play things cool?
“Because it was my mom’s speech Ruqi interrupted,” I say, and a flash of embarrassment passes over his face.
Hanna, however, looks starstruck. A lot of people make that expression when I tell them who my mom is, and I’m not gonna lie, there are times when dropping that piece of information is very helpful.
“Congresswoman Najjar is your mom?” Hanna asks.
Now that I have the upper hand in this conversation, I lock eyes with Feek and add, “Yup. That’s how I recognized Ruqi. So I offered to bring her back to your family before the Cinna-Yum people called security and this turned into a huge deal for you.”
Feek doesn’t acknowledge that I saved him. Instead, he says, “Hey, I was about to find her myself. Hanna here is a professional.”
Just when I thought these kids could not get any weirder. How can an eleven-year-old be a “professional”? Now I really NEED to put this whole weekend behind me, but first I say, “Whether you were about to find her or not, the nice thing to say to the person who did find her is thanks.”
I grab my roller bag and my Cinna-Yum, and I’m about to make a dramatic exit when Hanna grabs my arm and says, “Wait! Don’t leave! I desperately need your help!”
I wonder if I should stand on a chair. To get their focused attention. Especially the girl in the dress who says she’s Congresswoman Sarah Najjar’s daughter.
A congresswoman getting involved with Snickerdoodle’s rescue would be so important to Animal Allies.
Maybe we can finally get action.
Congresswoman Najjar can write a law that says traveling animals must have a separate part of the airport to prepare for their flights so they don’t get lost. Like a special, exclusive lounge. Maybe called Cubhouse or Pup-park or something.
She could even make all airlines have a pet section on their planes, one that’s not in the cargo. (BECAUSE LIVING BEINGS ARE NOT LUGGAGE.)
I start to climb the chair but then catch Feek’s eyes. He looks at me like he’s worried about what I’m going to do. From my estimation, Feek is the type who wouldn’t want the entire food court paying attention to us.
He’s my client, and I like clients, so I decide to kneel on the chair instead.
“Ruqi is safe now. But . . . is Snickerdoodle?” I pause for dramatic effect. Sarah Najjar’s daughter must be used to hearing a lot of speeches, and I want mine to get her attention. And then she can help me get her mom’s attention.
But the daughter just grabs the handle of her carry-on like she’s going to storm off.
“WAIT!” I say again, reaching out so abruptly I almost fall out of the chair, my headscarf falling forward and then back off my head to settle around my neck. I talk fast. “There’s a missing cat at this airport! She’s been missing for a week! Her name is Snickerdoodle! She may have been seen a couple of days ago! She’s hiding somewhere, all scared! She needs to be rescued! Her family is heartbroken, so heartbroken! A million times heartbroken! WE NEED TO FIND HER!”
Everyone—Feek, Sami, Ruqi, the congresswoman’s daughter—stares at me.
So, for speeches, maybe speed-talking works?
I pull off my scarf, wind it back through my belt loop, and knot it swiftly. Then I take off my backpack. Unzipping it, I grab the five hundred grams of salmon-flavored Meow Mix and hold it up before sticking my hand back in the bag for the only other visual I need: a printout of Snickerdoodle herself.
Real pictures are better than digital ones.
You can see the sad eyes more clearly.
I unfold the paper and thrust the image of the Himalayan cat into the other kids’ faces, banking on them falling hard for the fluffy, dusty-white, long-haired cuteness. (Though she does have a smudgy-gray Himalayan cat face some people think looks real grumpy. I hope these guys don’t think she looks real grumpy.)
“I’ve been working on this case on my own. But now I can use all your help! Let’s go find Snickerdoodle!”
“You’re stalking a cat?” Sarah Najjar’s daughter crosses her arms.
Sami’s eyes are darting around like he needs to find the bathroom. Or like he’s embarrassed.
Or like he’s trying to understand the case?
“Cookie Cat!” Little Ruqi grabs the paper from my hand so abruptly that it rips and I’m left holding Snickerdoodle’s droopy eyes and the part that says, LOST CAT AT THE AIRPORT.
Oh no . . . it was my only picture of her. How am I going to get more people invested in the mission now?
“We’ve got some time before we board, so yeah, me and Ruqi can help,” Feek says. “You helped me find Ruqi. So yeah, for sure.”
A client testimonial.
I turn to him, grateful. Maybe I can get him to sign up for Animal Allies too. “Snickerdoodle and hundreds of traveling animals like her are thanking you right now, Feek. You may not be able to hear them, but they are sending you silent messages of gratitude.” This time, I don’t pause for effect but whip my head to the others. “Who else is in?”
I stare at Sami first, afraid to turn with appealing eyes to the most important asset: Congresswoman Najjar’s daughter.
If Sami is in, maybe she’ll be too?
What. Is. Happening?
Snickerdoodle?
Don’t get me wrong. I feel horrible for this poor animal, but that doesn’t change the fact that rescuing an animal is one million miles outside my range of expertise. Not to mention that it’s—I check the wall clock—8:24 P.M., and I have a flight I need to hurry back to my gate to catch.
Hanna glances at me expectantly for a split second (at which point my brain goes blank) before she moves on to pleading her case with the girl who found Ruqi. And Hanna is on a roll. I wait for a pause in the monologue so I can politely let her and Feek know I’m relieved Ruqi is safe, and while I really am rooting for Snickerdoodle, I’ve got to get going. But Hanna waves her phone, explaining the situation a mile a minute, which makes it hard to figure out how to get myself out of this politely.
Nora’s hands are on her hips. She looks at Hanna with an expression I recognize because it’s one I’ve seen thrown my way by people in school countless times. The “are you kidding me what is seriously wrong with you” look.
It happened just last week. That look. The Bunsen burner was about to boil over, so I waved my hands frantically for my teacher to come make sure there wasn’t some sort of environmental hazard about to unfold. (It was really hot!) Turns out I’d just put in too much baking soda.
“Scaredy-cat Sami strikes again.” Jackson smirked from the next table as all the boys sitting there erupted into laughter.
Looking at Nora, she’s shooting the same kind of look. But unlike me, who takes that kind of look as my cue to scurry away, Hanna either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Both of which are pretty impressive, because Nora is getting more and more visibly irritated with each passing second.
I glance back in the direction of my gate. Uh-oh. It’s not even visible from where I’m standing. My parents have no idea where I am. I pull out my tablet from my book bag, and that confirms it. No signal. They could be FaceTiming me over and over, and I wouldn’t even know it! Ruqi Part Two, the Sami Edition, could be taking place at this very moment. And even if somehow they’re completely chill about my being missing for the last ten minutes, the flight might be boarding. It’s time to go. And if we’re being honest, it’s not like Hanna needs my help. Before I can say anything, Nora holds up her hand.
“Look,” Nora says as Hanna launches into her top three theories. “It sounds like there’s actual experts helping with this cat thing. And from everything you’ve said, they’re doing all they can.”
Yes, Nora! I silently cheer. She’s saying exactly what I’ve been trying to get through to Hanna since we met. Let experts handle situations requiring expert help!
“Exactly!” Hanna says, undeterred. “They’re doing everything they can, but it hasn’t worked.”
“And you’re going to figure it out?” Nora retorts. “What are you, like, ten?”
“Eleven and a half. But that doesn’t matter. I know what I’m talking about here.” She says it confidently, but I see pink rising on her cheeks. So she does care, at least a little bit. I agree with Nora, but she didn’t have to say it like that.
“You don’t have to be so harsh. Hanna’s a pro,” Feek says quickly.
Hanna smiles. “Thanks, Feek.”
“I wanna help too!” Ruqi squeals.
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a team,” Nora says dryly. “Good luck.”
I watch Nora walk away. Great. Now seems like the worst time to let Hanna know I have to go too. I clear my throat. I’ll assure Hanna I’m not leaving because I don’t believe in her. It’s that I believe in her so much I know she doesn’t need me. I brighten. Yes, that’s it.
But before I can say anything, a bolt of lightning flashes outside the airport. For a fraction of a second, everything from the radio tower to the waiting airplanes on the runway is illuminated so brightly against the jet-black sky that it’s like looking at a black-and-white portrait. Thunder follows, crackling so loud the ground rattles beneath us. The lights above us flicker. Ruqi grips her brother’s hand tight.
“Uh . . .” Feek says slowly. “That . . . didn’t sound so good.”
The loudspeakers come to staticky life across the terminal. “Attention all passengers,” the voice says robotically. “Due to inclement weather, all flights are grounded until further notice. We repeat, all flights are grounded until further notice.”
No. No. No.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It’s possible I hallucinated. My anxiety ramped up so high that I imagined my worst-case, deepest-fear scenario. I have to go to the karate competition. I can’t miss my flight! But when I look at everyone’s pale expressions, I swallow. It’s not my imagination.
This is all too horrifyingly real.
And Feek’s right. This is not good at all.
After the announcement, the whole airport seems to groan, and Sami takes off with a speed I didn’t know the kid had. How does dude move like a track star in mom jeans? When Hanna, unbothered, follows me and Ruqi and starts talking about registering for some animal group, I almost grab Ruqi and run too.
Almost, but I remember how Nora talked to Hanna like she was dumb. Like she was a nobody. Like she hadn’t dropped everything to find my sister. And I remember how Hanna looked like a puppy who had just been kicked. Seeing that made me think about how Dad left this morning and didn’t keep his promise.
I’d barely eaten my fancy dinner last night and I’d gotten in trouble, all so I could perfect lines he said he’d look at after Fajr prayer. But when we finished praying in our hotel room this morning and I pulled out my notebook, Dad pushed it away. Kicking me would have been kinder.
“I have to get to my show,” he’d said. Yeah, I knew that. In LA or some other city. What I didn’t know—and what I still don’t know—is when Dad will return to our home in Philly. This morning was supposed to be my chance. I can’t keep track of all his shows. I should have taken a picture of the calendar of Dad’s gigs that Mom keeps on the fridge before we left for MONA.
I hold Ruqi’s hand tight. Even with all that’s happening, she’s dancing as I drag her and my own feet to our gate. I kind of miss being little and not caring about anything. Hanna seems upbeat too, and it’s . . . strange.
“You going to your gate? To talk to your parents?” I ask.
“My parent. My dad,” she corrects me. “No, Dad’s fine without me.”
“I don’t have to check in with my mom either, since I’m about to be a teenager,” I say. “I only do it to be nice.”
“Let your mom know we’re searching for Snickerdoodle. You promised.”
“Snickerdoodle! Snickerdoodle! We’re finding Cookie Cat!” Ruqi sings.
I quietly pray that Mom doesn’t embarrass me and say I can’t help Hanna.
Mom is standing and patting Hamza’s back when we get to her. “At least he’s finally going to sleep,” she whispers with a smile. “I got these from the airport as soon as I heard.” She motions to two blue foldable cots on the floor.
Nice. Even though we’re stuck here, she’s in a good mood. Ruqi nuzzles into Mom’s side.
I begin working my charm too. “Alhamdulillah, Mom, you can finally put your feet up. Can I get you something?” I motion to Hanna, who’s hanging back a little. “I was just going with my friend, Han—”
