Clattering from the kitchen guides me through the house to find Baba trying to unclog the sink with a bottlebrush. A pot boils on the stove to alleviate grease from the drain. He's too busy to notice me until I speak. 'Can I go to a party at the lake tonight?'

A laugh rolls from him into the drain as he yanks out the brush and twists on the tap to check if the block is gone. 'Inshallah.'

'So no?' I drop against the washing machine and exhale, digging out my cell. Catastrophe averted. 'Allahu Akbar, I thought you'd say yes and then I'd have to go cause I told Miles I would.'

Something about this sentence catches his attention and Baba looks up from the water still struggling through the drain. 'You should go.'

'What?' My head shakes so frantically that his face blurs. 'Aren't I grounded? No, Baba, it's a party. Do you know what people do at parties? They swim naked and have sex — unprotected sex, so they get pregnant. Alcohol, drugs, cocaine — which is a drug, so I guess I've already said that, but I'm specifying it. They steal traffic signs and shopping trollies and vandalise public property. You can't let me go to a party.'

I-think-you-watch-too-many-American-movies is etched into his raised eyebrows. 'You're ostentatiously virtuous, Ziri.' How is he making that into an insult? 'I trust you won't forget your mores if you hang out with a boy for a few hours–'

'I'm not "hanging out with a boy".'

Baba points at me with the bottlebrush. '–and you need some friends.' He sees my argument form as if my skull is transparent and smiles as he digs his keys out of his pocket. 'Friends your age that you've spoken to in the past year.'

His eyes glint when he glances at me only to overcast when they spot the plaster on my thumb.

I dash to explain. 'Just a paper cut, promise.'

Though he stares a second longer, he nods.

I move away from the washing machine to make space for him to unlock the cabinet above and retrieve a bottle of enzyme drain cleaner. Not intended for my throat.

'Anyway, the reason people don't speak to me is cause you sent me to that stupid independent school and everyone thinks I'm posh, so we can stop actin like I'm socially inept when this is actually all your fault.'

Baba accepts this with the kind of placid "okay" he uses when everyone involved knows he's right but he doesn't want to pour salt into the wound. He's humble and kind in that way, unlike me.

'Well, I'm giving you permission to go, so you have to if you told Miles you would. It is most hateful to Allah that you should say that which you do not do.'

Dropping my head back, I groan but accept defeat. It won't be that bad: Miles will pretend he doesn't know me, I'll get to hang out with Sonia, and then get back home for curfew.

But Baba turns back from the sink before he can measure out the cleaner. 'And you have to stay out for at least an hour. Your curfew can be eleven tonight.'

He gestures at me with the plastic cap of the bottle that doubles as a measuring cup. It looks ironically like a shot glass — B'saha!

'But you come one minute after eleven and you're grounded.'

I stare at him, mouthing silent words but I'm unable to come up with a response that even begins to express my frustration. 'You make no sense.'

Baba's laughter follows me through the dining and living rooms even when I attempt to cover it up with exaggerated groaning. He only gets control of his amusement to call after me. 'Congratulations on finishing exams!'

Grabbing my backpack from the lowest step, I stomp up the stairs to express that I couldn't care less only to hurry back down and thank him.

Why is Iya at work? She would've said no.

Notes

Inshallah: (Arabic) God willing

Allahu Akbar: (Arabic) God is great

B'saha: (Darija) To your health, used to cheers