A Tale of Highly Unusual Magic by Lisa Papademetriou Page B

computer rang and her mother’s voice sounded through the speakers.
    â€œLeila! How is it? We miss you!” her mom asked. As usual, she had the computer angled so that it showed a corner of her forehead and the curtain behind her.
    â€œMom, you’ve got to adjust it. Tilt the screen down—there you go. Over a bit. Can you see me okay?” Leila asked. Her parents were pretty terrible at video chatting, in spite of the fact that Leila’s mother sat in front of a screen all day and her father was a computer expert.
    The screen tilted, and her parents came into view. Her father’s green-and-gray striped shirt stretched over his belly, and Leila knew he must have been sneaking into the chocolate halvah at night. “Hi, Daddy!”
    He waved from behind his wife. “Hi, sweetheart!”
    â€œAre you loving it?” her mom asked.
    Leila thought about how best to answer. “Yes, loving it!” seemed like a lie. But “no” would set off alarm bells. “Everyone’s nice.” Leila glanced toward the window, looking out at the dome of the mosque. The smoke in the air made it look soft.
    â€œHow’s the food? I’ll bet they’re stuffing you! Is the food good?”
    â€œIt’s a little too spicy.”
    â€œI hope you aren’t complaining!” Her mother’s bright-red-framed glasses were perched on top of her head, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in three days. This was her Deadline Look.
    â€œNo, no. . . . It’s great. Jamila Tai knows I love kabobs, so they’re making extra ones for me.”
    â€œIt’s very generous that they’re hosting you,” her mother said.
    â€œIt’s family!” Her father gave a dismissive little hand-flip away from his forehead, which Leila had recently realized was a very Pakistani thing to do.
    â€œYes, I know, it’s nice of them,” Leila said.
    â€œYou should buy them a gift while you’re there.”
    â€œI gave them the stuff you sent along.” Her mother had packed bags of chocolates and fancy soaps and perfume, which Leila had doled out the first night.
    â€œThat was nothing. This is really very gener—”
    â€œIt’s family!” her father insisted. “I would hope that my own brother would be happy to have my daughter in his house!”
    â€œOh, Bilal.” Leila’s mother shook her head, and then turned back to Leila. “You wanted an international adventure like your sister’s, and it’s very nice of your aunt and uncle to give you this opportunity!”
    This comment irritated Leila a bit. It felt like her mother was saying that Nadia found her adventure on her own, while Leila needed help. It might be true , but nobody wants to be told that. “It’s great that you’re getting to know Pakistani culture a little bit.”
    Leila’s father huffed. “She knows Pakistani culture!”
    Her mother held up a hand. “Bilal, please.”
    â€œYeah—no, it’s good. It’s different when you’re here,” Leila said quickly. This was a familiar argument for her parents. Her mother often wished that Leila’s father would teach her Urdu, or take her to the mosque sometimes. Herfather insisted that he had never been religious when he lived in Pakistan, so he wasn’t going to start now. As for Urdu, Leila and Nadia didn’t even call their father Abu.
    â€œSo, uh—like what should I get these guys?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe something for the house?” Leila’s mother was famously bad at choosing gifts, but she did have one good suggestion: “See what they like when you’re out together, and just get that.”
    Her father rolled his eyes. “Then they’ll get Leila something else! The gifts are nonstop! It never ends!”
    â€œBilal, I do not want Jamila to say that my child is so American that she didn’t