Chapter Three
“Amo Zahir! Amo Zahir!” Aisha yells, throwing her arms around Zahir’s waist.
“Were you talking about something interesting? I was looking for Princess and I found her out here spying on you!”
Wow, I think, blinking at the little girl. This kid really does not subscribe to the “snitches get stitches” school of thought.
Zahir’s eyes narrow on me as he returns Aisha’s hug. Like a hawk. Then he bends all the way down to talk to her in soft Arabic.
Up to now, Aisha hasn’t seemed like one who follows orders easily, but Zahir must have said something convincing in all that pretty Arabic because suddenly she’s like, “Bye, Princess,” and cuts out back in the direction of the ballroom.
“Most people just call me Prin!” I call after her. “In fact, I like Prin a whole lot better!”
