Hot Pink in the City Read Online Free PDF Page A

soft drink and fries at
McDonalds since he's really there for his friends," Nasreen says.
"Mom is almost done with dinner, so he should be here soonish."
    I gasp at the thought of him coming home. I
also think about tonight, which is when I should be calling my
parents to tell them I arrived here safe and sound. I told them I
would call around nine. I can't tell them about what I did. They'll
be so embarrassed. This will totally be the last trip they ever
send me on. I hope my parents don't take soccer away from me,
because I live for practices and games -- that sport is in my
blood. They've taken away phone and TV privileges in the past, so I
wouldn't be surprised if they limit my freedom even more.
    "We have to hide the evidence," I say.
    Nasreen grabs the Madonna-Aunt's voice-my
protest-Umm Kulthum tape, and we rush into her room. I wish her
door had a lock, but I'm pretty sure I gave Omar enough goodies to
occupy him until late tonight.
    "So what should we do?" Nasreen asks.
    "Well, we definitely can't have Uncle or
anyone else find the tape," I say. "Once he hears Madonna and my
voice, he'll know I did this and that you're my accomplice. We need
to destroy this tape but keep the box and insert for when we find a
replacement."
    "Good idea. Some of those cassettes were
gifts, but my dad does buy tapes here. I'm sure we'll find a
replacement."
    We brainstorm and do the following: Nasreen
finds a Bon Jovi cassette box minus the tape since she lent it to a
friend who never returned it, and I take a black marker and
scribble all over the ruined tape so that if anyone were to find it
he or she would never figure it was Uncle's cassette. Then Nasreen
cuts the spool of the tape with scissors. I slip the ruined tape
into the Bon Jovi holder. The Bon Jovi-destroyed Umm cassette is
now in my purse so I can dispose of it in an outdoor garbage can
the next time I go out. Nasreen puts the original cassette box
under a stack of clothes in her closet for the replacement tape
we'll find. We act like we're in Iran, with intelligence officers
spying on us. Stories of the old country told to us by our parents
have seeped into our bones. We're really going out of our way to
disguise, hide, and throw out the cassette we bungled.
    "It's not like your dad is the secret
police," I say.
    Nasreen snorts. "You don't live with him,"
she says. "They open my mail. Colleges send me material I
requested, and sometimes I don't see it until weeks later. Don't
underestimate my parents."
    That sucks. Even my parents respect my
privacy by not opening my mail. I guess we are doing the right
thing by getting rid of this tape. Poor Umm. She had a brilliant
singing voice, and I messed with it. Umm is like Madonna to Uncle.
I covered my room with Madonna posters, and his home has Umm
collages. Umm has a magical voice that transports you somewhere
else -- I'm positive if I knew Arabic then this feeling would be
stronger for me -- and Madonna takes me someplace else, into her
world where everything is cool. Hours ago I was upset that I forgot
to pack Madonna with me, and Uncle will feel the same way when he
can't find this tape. I vow to find a tape to replace it since I
ruined Uncle's best copy of her songs. If only the write-protect
tabs had been broken in, then we never would have recorded over it.
It's amazing how something so small, a tiny piece of plastic, makes
a world of difference.
    "Ooooooh, I'm telling," someone murmurs
behind the door.
    I jump, and so does Nasreen. We look behind
us and see a big brown eye peering at us through a crack in the
door. Sneaky little booger.
    "You two are up to no good," Omar says,
opening the door wider.
    "You little..." Nasreen utters.
    "Watch it," he says, sounding far older than
his age. "You can't afford to say anything bad about me. Why did
one of you say 'replacement' awhile ago? Did you mess up one of
Baba's tapes? You know he loves his music, and he never wanted
either one of you touching his tapes or his