In the Key of Nira Ghani by Natasha Deen

Author:Natasha Deen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Press
Published: 2019-04-08T16:00:00+00:00

The entire family comes to the airport to drop me off. I hug Grandma and whisper, “Sure you don’t want to take my place?”

She squeezes me tight. “Not for all the tea in China.”

Farah and her parents are waiting for us at the terminal. There’s an awkward hug between Grandma and Uncle Raj, an even more awkward one between her and Aunty Gul. When it’s Farah’s turn, she holds Grandma tight. They whisper in each other’s ears until Uncle Raj pries them apart and says we need to leave. Mom makes me share my phone location with Farah, in case we get separated. I do, then make a mental note to shut it off as soon as we’re on the plane.

We get to the check-in desk, where my uncle asks for a first-class upgrade. I’m basking in the luxury until I realize the upgrade is only for him.

“My back,” he tells the airline rep. “It needs the extra support.”

Apparently, so does his ego.

Farah makes me take the middle seat in between her and Aunty Gul, then spends most of the flight sleeping on my shoulder.

“Things are good?” Aunty Gul asks.

“Yes.”

“School is okay, too?”

I nod. “I’m an A student, all the way.”

“And work?”

I’m starting to see why her marriage was arranged. How many ways can I say my life is fine? “Everything is great.”

Her smile is more plastic than the dinner tray in front of me. “How about you?”

“Good.”

I cast around for an attendant, hoping they’re coming down the aisle with drink, food, or anything else I can put in my mouth to end the conversation. The corridor is empty, just like my brain when it comes to holding Aunty Gul’s interest. “You were volunteering with—”

“The nonprofit.”

I’d have preferred a specific answer, but on this expedition, I’m the girl Indiana Jones. Instead of a whip, I have a dull spoon and a dull subject. “Do you find it enjoyable?”

She closes the window shutter against the rising sunlight. “We work with community stakeholders to ensure resources are directed to appropriate avenues.”

The meaning of the words is lost on me, but the job doesn’t sound like fun. The fact she didn’t answer my question isn’t lost on me, either. I heft my spoon and dig again. “Do you work with donors or community advocates?”

She nods. “I network with a diverse group of people. We synergize our resources to facilitate a granular approach so we can hit the ground running.”

She’s not the only one who’d like to hit something and run. I put down my spoon and pick up my headphones.

A few hours later, the plane touches down. In what feels like a lifetime later, a red-coated bellman opens the limo door. Uncle Raj leads the way to the front desk. I try not to gawk at the chandeliers, vases of flowers, and marble floors. Farah and her mom take a spot at one of the seating areas, and I join them.

“This will be exciting,” I say. “We get to see one of the launch pads and the balloon office.

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