Or tell Nuah the truth finally.
When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me.
Haytham. But then, when he sees I’ve noticed, he looks away while still singing.
Nuah is leaning back into his chair, his hands behind his head as he looks at the dark sky, speckled with stars.
Maybe his head is racing. Because he’s in college now. And he’s got a ton of things going on.
He doesn’t see me looking at him, so I don’t stop.
I feel a weird sense like someone’s staring at me, though, and when I pull my eyes from Nuah and scan everyone around the bonfire, I see that it’s Dad. He’s kneeling in front of Logan’s chair, holding Luke in his lap, directing the marshmallow on a stick protruding from Luke’s clutched hands.
But his eyes are on me. I do a what’s-up smile, but he doesn’t return it and just looks at Nuah.
Uh-oh. Does Dad suspect something?
Well, there is nothing. Yet.
Just our feelings for each other.
Haytham switches chords on his guitar. After humming for a bit, he begins another song, this one in Arabic, “Tala’al-badru ’alayna, min thaniyyatil-wada’.”
Muhammad joins in on the traditional Muslim song, and Dawud bobs his head to the tune.
Nuah turns to Haytham, and I can tell it’s in appreciation for his voice. He opens his mouth to sing as well, and I notice the rock next to him has become empty, maybe abandoned by Dawud, who’s now dancing to “Tala’al-Badru.”
I get up and take the seat.
Dad immediately turns his head. Is that a slight frown on his face?
I raise my eyebrows at him.
I mean, I’m surprised at him if he is frowning. It’s Mom who’s always been more be careful about boys and I don’t want anything happening until you’re finished with college and I declare you old enough and tell me everything if you like someone and I’ll explain those feelings away.
Dad always acts like he’s totally cool with everything as long as I do my schoolwork. He’s always said he wants us, me and Muhammad, to have fun.
He hasn’t really described his idea of what fun entails, but I just got the vibe that it’s different from Mom’s idea of it.
And that boys and I were okay.
So why is Dad still staring at me across the fire while pretending he’s not?
I turn to Nuah. “I didn’t get to ask you how the end of freshman year went.”
He looks surprised to see me beside him. Did I approach that stealthily? “Oh, yeah, it’s been amazing, actually.”
“Good to hear,” I say. “ ’Cause, you know, I’m starting school soon.”
“Yeah. You ready?” He tilts his head while waiting for my answer, and this thing goes right through me. Like I want to reach over and twist my arm through his to find his hand. To link fingers.
I need to suppress that—because that’s not going to happen for a long time.
“Sort of. Did you miss everyone when you moved away from home the first time?” I ask.
“I did. A lot, actually.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying not to think about. Because right now I’m excited—about my own space, my dorm and things, but then I think about not being home and get worried.”
“Text me. Whenever you feel worried. I got a million more cat videos lined up.” He laughs.
I laugh too, but, really, I want to ask why he’s going back to California on Sunday. But then it’ll show how much I care, and I’m weirdly still unprepared to do that.
I look away and, ugh, catch Dad’s eyes again.
Okay, now that’s a full-blown frown on his face. And—oh my God! “DAD! LUKE’S MARSHMALLOW!”
It’s on fire, as always happens, but this time Dad hasn’t been paying attention, and the fire is moving up Luke’s stick.
Dad grabs it from Luke’s hand and flings it into the sand and then throws more sand on it. It goes out along with Haytham’s singing.
Luke starts screaming and flailing in Dad’s arms. “MY MAMALLOW!” he sobs.
Muhammad plops another marshmallow on a fresh stick and passes it to Dad. Then he whispers something to Haytham.
Haytham nods and sings, “A one, two, one, two, three. ‘Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo…’ ”
As though controlled by a remote, Luke stops crying, gives a huge smile, and flails his arms, this time in dance.
“I think I’m ready for college. After this summer, I think I’ll be ready for anything,” I say to Nuah, laughing.
“That’s good. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” He gets up and stretches. “That song, man. I think it’s my cue to call it a night.”
What?
Is he leaving?
But I just got here. Beside him.
“Guys, I’m heading to bed. Thanks for the songs. Great campfire, Uncle.” He nods at Dad.
I get up too. Maybe Nuah and I can talk more on our way back. “I’m tired too. We have an early start tomorrow,” I say.
Haytham stops playing, looks at Dad and Muhammad, and slides the guitar strap off his head. “Okay if I turn in too?”
Dad nods and picks up Luke. “Yeah, this guy needs to sleep. Muhammad, take the kids in? I’ll put out the fire.”
Muhammad continues singing the baby shark song while grabbing Luke from Dad, which makes the handover seamless.
My brother will make a good father flits through my head, as I begin to ascend the sandy slope to where the grass before the grove of trees starts.
“You want to help me, Janna?” Dad calls out, his eyes widening at me when I turn. “Deal with this fire?”
No, Dad, I don’t want to. No way, not after seeing that expression on your face that lit a baby’s marshmallow on fire.
“Sorry, Dad, I gotta get back into the house. I forgot to put on mosquito repellent, and they’re killing me.” I don’t look at him when I say this and just proceed to follow everyone else as they make their way along the forest path to the house and the barn at its side.
I’m not going to let Dad’s obvious perturbation get me down.
I’m also not going to let Nuah’s weird curtness and abruptness ruin my thoughts.
“Hey, Haytham, you’re on first for ice-cream-truck watch. How about you’re on duty until five, and then it’s my turn?” I call out as I hold Logan’s hand so he doesn’t trip on the sprinkler heads sticking out of the grass in the field on the other side of the cluster of trees.
“As you wish!” Haytham calls back.
Dawud buckles over in laughter on hearing this. Logan shrieks with him, though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even get what he’s laughing at.
“Ha-ha! You. Are. Buttercup. And. Haytham. Is. Westley!” Dawud singsongs in a weird staccato.
I wrinkle my nose at his silly shenanigans. “Okay, whatever.”
“Oh boy,” Nuah says to me, a grin on his face. “And he’s even a stable boy. Haytham.”
Haytham stops and turns around. “This is factually true. I am indeed a stable boy, as I sleep in the barn.”
Muhammad’s already gone ahead and wouldn’t have heard this stupid conversation anyway as he’s deep into shark-doo-doo-doo-ing to keep Luke subdued.