A Long Pitch Home by Natalie Dias Lorenzi Read Free Book Online Page B

“Thank you, Bilal, but I can get these last two bags.” She nods toward the open door of the minivan. “Why don’t you wake your sister and bring her in out of this heat.”
    I peek into the van to find Hira fast asleep, her head back and her mouth open. In one hand she clutches a paper bag. Around her wrist is a bracelet woven from colorful threads. I tap her arm gently and her eyes fly open.
    â€œAre we home?”
    She tries to push herself off the seat before remembering she is still wearing her seat belt. I unbuckle it for her and she reaches into the bag.
    â€œLook what I made at camp!”
    She pulls out a bookmark made from yellow flowers pressed between two strips of clear plastic. Some of the petals are wrinkled and one is torn, but I can tell she worked hard on it.
    â€œNice, Hira.”
    She takes my hand and leaps from the van. “It’s for you!” She thrusts the bookmark at me. “The flowers are called buttercups .” This last word she says in English, and we laugh that a flower is named after butter.
    â€œAre you sure you wouldn’t rather give this to Ammi or Auntie?”
    Hira seems to consider this. “I can make more tomorrow. This one is for you.”
    â€œThank you, Hira.” I smile, but silently vow never to be seen with a buttercup bookmark outside this house.
    As we head up the driveway, Hira asks, “What did you make at baseball camp?”
    I shake my head. “You don’t make anything at baseball camp—you play baseball.”
    â€œOh.” Hira frowns. “Was it fun?”
    I think about coming in second place in the throwing contest, which was fun up until the part where I found out that a girl beat me. I shrug. “Some of it was fun, I guess.”
    We get to the shade of the porch, and Hira heads straight for the swing. She settles herself onto the bench seat and holds up her wrist. “This is a friendship bracelet. I can teach you how to make one—it’s easy.”
    Hira’s feet can’t quite reach the floor, so I push the swing with the toe of my sneaker while she describes in detail how to make a friendship bracelet. She says some of the words in English, like thread and weave .
    I give the swing another push. “Did you understand everything at camp today?”
    Hira looks up from her bracelet and shakes her head. “But I watched. And one girl speaks Urdu, so she helped me.”
    I wish someone at baseball camp spoke Urdu besides Jalaal, who doesn’t even work with my group.
    Ammi opens the front door and pokes her head out. “I want to hear all about your day.” She smiles. “Your auntie just finished making cookies with chocolate bits.They are delicious. Tidy up your rooms and then it will be time for tea.”
    Hira frowns. “Ammi, do I have to clean my room now? Can’t I do it later?”
    Ammi kneels in front of Hira and pats her knee. “ Baytee , this is not our home. We must always be respectful and show our thanks to Uncle and Auntie. They are very kind to take us in until Baba can get here and we can look for a home of our own.”
    But we already have a home back in Karachi. I don’t say this, because even though Ammi wears a smile, her eyes are shiny. My heart feels like it’s stuck in my throat.
    â€œCome on, Hira.” We stand, and the swing knocks into the back of my legs.
    Ammi takes Hira’s hand. “Besides, the sooner you clean your rooms, the sooner you will get to taste Auntie’s cookies.”
    After a month of the adults fasting until sundown, it sounds strange to hear Ammi talk about eating in the middle of the day.
    When I get to my room—Jalaal’s and my room—it is a mess. Clothes have been tossed on both beds and the floor. One clean-looking stack of folded clothes sits on Jalaal’s desk. Others are definitely dirty, like Jalaal’s camp uniform dumped in the middle of the carpet. None