Home

    As we pull up to the soccer field, Bilal comes running to the minivan in his practice jersey. 

    “Can I take Hakeem to meet the team?” he asks.

    “Now? I need to get back by six for a call,” Mama says. “And Hakeem didn’t take a nap today. He’s really tired.”

    Mama yawns as she says the last words, and I can tell she’s tired too. The rest of us get a break during the day, but Mama works from home. I overheard her complaining to Baba that she can’t get anything done.

    “I’ll be quick,” Bilal promises. “Come on, Hakeem. The guys want to meet you.”

    “Guys,” Hakeem repeats. He’s turned into a parrot the past few days, repeating everything we say. It’s cute, but I’m still mad about the slime incident. 

    “Yes, we’re going to see the guys,” Bilal says. “Come on, Aleena.”

    I climb out of the car behind them. Bilal’s team is always excited to see me, especially if I’m in my soccer uniform. I love it when they call me Little A and let me kick the ball around with them. 

    “There he is!” says David, Bilal’s best friend. He smiles wide. “Hey, big guy. You know how to kick a ball?” 

    “Ball!” Hakeem says. David and the rest of the team laugh.

    The next thing I know, Hakeem is running all over the field. The whole team is cheering for him. I stand on the sideline, feeling invisible. After a couple of minutes, I walk back to the car.

    “What are they doing?” Mama asks.

    “Playing soccer,” I grumble.

    “I have to get home. Can you please go get them?” 

    That’s when I see Bilal and David walking to the parking lot. David is carrying Hakeem.

     “Hi, Mrs. Siddiqui,” David says. “Hey, Little A! Next time we need you to play too, OK?”

    I nod as Hakeem says, “Little A!” 

    “Let’s go home,” Mama says.

    “Home?” Hakeem asks, turning to me. I’m the one he always turns to when he doesn’t understand something.

    “I’ll show you what it is when we get there,” I promise with a sigh. 

    As we pull into the driveway, I point toward the house. “Home, Hakeem,” I say. “This is home.”

    At bedtime, I hear Hakeem and Mama in his room. For the past week, Hakeem has been pointing to his things before getting tucked in. He says “thank you” to each of them—the airplane pictures on his wall, his bucket of cars. Tonight, I hear him pause and then add “Thank you, home.”

    Hakeem follows my parents into the house. There are tears on his face and sand all over his shoes.

    “I’m so glad I don’t have a little brother,” Izzy declares.

    “But I wanted one so much,” I remember. 

    “Yeah, until he trashed your room,” Carmen adds. “I would be so mad.” 

    I don’t even remember telling my friends about that. Baba finally painted over Hakeem’s scribbles on the walls, and the carpet stain is almost gone. It finally feels like my room again.

    “No wonder you don’t want us to come over here most of the time,” Keisha says. “I don’t blame you.”

    I know my friends are trying to make me feel better, but it isn’t working. Instead, their words swirl inside me. I feel emptier than the empty sand bottles.

    “No. You shouldn’t say those things,” I finally respond. “Hakeem’s learning. He just wanted to play with the sand. We can put it back in the bottles even if it’s mixed up, maybe add glitter or beads.”

    I look at my friends and wait for their reactions. 

    “OK.” Keisha shrugs.

    “He is cute,” Priscilla concedes. 

    Mama brings out cupcakes arranged in a tower. Each one has a candle on it. Baba and Bilal trail behind her. 

    “Ready to sing?” Mama asks cheerfully. 

    I glance around and see Hakeem standing alone inside. His face is pressed against the glass of the sliding door.

    “Hold on.” 

    I walk to the door and open it. Hakeem grabs my hand and almost dances outside.

    “Now I’m ready,” I say.

    Everyone sings to me, including Hakeem, who just makes up his own words. Hakeem’s birthday is next month. I decide that he needs to practice before he turns 5. After I blow out my candles, I ask Baba to light them again.

    Hakeem is so excited that he almost touches a candle. He sticks his finger in a cupcake, licks off the icing, and spits while he blows. We all cheer for him, and he smiles and gives everyone high fives.

    I suddenly remember my birthday wish from last year, back when we were talking about Hakeem becoming part of our family. It came true. 

    Hakeem is home—and I’m the one who got to teach him what that means. 

Here are three fast facts about the writer of this month’s fiction:

1- Khan was born and raised in Maryland. She loved reading but never saw characters like her in books. This made her feel less important. (See below for a picture of Hena in middle school!)

2- Her family is originally from Pakistan, a country in South Asia. She enjoys writing about her culture and her religion, Islam. 

3- Amina’s Voice is one of her most popular books. It’s about a Pakistani American girl who is dealing with the changes of middle school.