Ali and I were sitting in his Nissan Rogue at Roll Hill, parked along the empty roads of Red Fields Estate. Hardly anyone ever came here—except for the occasional kids doing stunts with their cars or people just coming to zone out. We’d both taken off our red coats and tossed them in the back, leaving us in just our white shirts. Ali never wore his tie; he hated it with a passion.
Today, we were starting our so-called “driving lesson.” Ali nearly freaked out when he found out I couldn’t drive, swearing he’d teach me if it was the last thing he did. “No brother of mine,” he’d said, “is going to be unable to drive. No, habibi.”
I glanced over at him as he had what seemed like a heated conversation with his dad on the phone. They were speaking in a weird mix of English, Arabic, French, and other languages I didn’t recognize.