A Long Pitch Home Read Online Free PDF

butterflies!”
    My mother slips her arm around Hira’s shoulders. “Let’s give Bilal a chance now, baytee .” She catches my eye and I smile my thanks. Ammi understands that Baba and I need time to talk without little kids around. Holding Humza on one hip, she steers Hira from the room. My sister protests: “But I didn’t get to tell him that Girl Scouts go camping!” Her voice fades into the next room, and I turn back to the screen.
    Baba leans forward and squints. “Bilal, what happened to your eye?”
    I hope my voice sounds light when I say, “Oh, this? It is nothing.” I shrug and force a grin.
    â€œHow did you get a black eye?” I hear worry in his voice as lines reappear across his forehead.
    â€œI was playing baseball with Jalaal. Baba, do you know about baseball?” I talk faster and faster, hoping he’ll forget about my eye. “It’s a little bit like cricket. Next week I start baseball camp to learn how to play.”
    Baba tilts his head. “I have heard of baseball, but I am afraid I don’t know much about it.”
    â€œThat’s okay, Baba. Neither do I.”
    Baba smiles. “You are a fine athlete, my son. You will learn this baseball game quickly.”
    I nod, but I am not so sure. And I don’t want to waste my Skype time with Baba talking about baseball.
    When Baba opens his mouth to say something, I blurt out, “When are you coming?”
    Baba’s lips form a straight line. Then he sighs. “As soon as I can, Bilal. I am waiting for a visa—permission from the government.”
    â€œBut why did Ammi, Hira, Humza, and I get to come when you have to wait?”
    Baba doesn’t speak at first, like he is trying to think of the right words. And then he says, “A friend of mine in the passport office was able to arrange your visas quickly because your mother’s brother already lives in America.”
    â€œSo when can you get yours?”
    â€œThere is something at work that I must finish first.” Baba takes off his glasses, cleans them with his shirt, and then slips them back on. “And it may take a while.”
    I know the “something at work” has to do with Mudassar’s father.
    Baba sighs. “Things are complicated right now.”
    I am about to say that I am old enough to hear about complicated things when Baba leans toward the screen. “I am sorry about your birthday party, Bilal jaan .”
    I don’t know if I can get any words out, so I nod for now.
    â€œI called everyone and explained that something came up unexpectedly.”
    â€œDid you call Mudassar, too?” What I really want to ask is if Baba and Mudassar’s father are friends again, and if not, why?
    Baba pauses. “Bilal jaan , there is something that you must know. Something that I cannot fully explain. Not yet.”
    Baba is not talking about my birthday party anymore.
    â€œFor now, you can have no contact with Mudassar.”
    I stare at the screen. How can such a thing come from Baba’s mouth? “What do you mean? Why, Baba?”
    â€œIt will not be forever. His father and I have some things to sort out.”
    I want to ask how long I have to wait to talk to Mudassar—a few days? A week? But I can tell from Baba’s tone that this subject is closed.
    Instead, I say, “I think I am already forgetting.”
    â€œForgetting?”
    My shoulders slump. “About home. I mean, I remember what everything looks like. But we only just left, and already I am forgetting what home sounds like, what it smells like.”
    Baba seems to consider my question. Then his eyes smile. “Today smelled like rain. Loud rain—too much rain! Our first proper monsoon of the season.”
    â€œDid Mrs. Ahmed get her laundry in time?”
    Baba nods. “Luckily for my ears, today she remembered.”
    I grin. No one ever sees Mrs. Ahmed’s laundry because