Zara’s Rules for Record-Breaking Fun

“Someone’s going inside!” Zayd yells,
his face smooshed against the glass of the front window.
“Is it a family?” Mama rushes over from the kitchen, still holding the head of lettuce she was shredding.
I squeeze next to them to peek through the curtains. We watch an elegant older woman in a suit and heels walk past the FOR SALE sign to the entrance of Mr. Chapman’s house.
“I think that’s the agent,” Mama whispers, as if the lady might hear us from across the street.

“Like a secret agent?” Zayd gasps.

“No, Zayd!” I roll my eyes at my little brother. “A real estate agent, who’s selling Mr. Chapman’s house.”

“It would be cooler if she was a secret agent,” Zayd says, before continuing to narrate. “Now there’s another car. It’s a man and woman, but no kids.”
“And hopefully no teenagers?” Baba asks from the stove, where he stirs the spicy meat that’s sizzling in a pan.
“What do you have against teenagers?” I flip around to face my father. “You know I’ll be a teenager in only two years and three months.”
“Don’t remind me.” Baba clutches at his heart and moans.
“Baba! I’m serious.”
“Fine. It’s not that I don’t like teenagers,” Baba clarifies.
He tastes the meat and sprinkles more chili powder on top.
“I just don’t want any living on our street, driving too fast, having loud parties. And I’d prefer that you and Zayd stay exactly as you are, forever, please.”
Mama smiles. “I’m sure Zara and Zayd will be perfect
teenagers when that day comes, eventually, a long time from now, inshallah,” she says. She goes back to the kitchen, slides the lettuce into a bowl, and turns the grater on the cheese.