English F

Sami had built the kite himself, from bamboo sticks his uncle gave him and a sheet of bright red paper that crinkled like fire when the wind touched it. It had taken three afternoons and one small cut on his thumb, but now it was finished, and he carried it up Barker's Hill the way you carry something you are proud of and a little afraid of losing. His younger sister, Nadia, trailed behind him, complaining that the grass was too long and the hill was too steep. Sami did not slow down. He had promised her a turn once the kite was safely in the air, but first he wanted to fly it himself, just once, to be sure it worked. At the top the wind was stronger than he had expected. He held the kite up, waited for a gust, and let go of the string a little at a time. For a moment the kite dipped toward the ground and his heart dipped with it. Then the wind caught the red paper, and the kite climbed, tugging at the string like a dog that wants to run. Sami laughed out loud. He had never made anything that flew before. The kite rose higher, a bright red diamond against the grey sky, and the string hummed under his fingers. Then he remembered Nadia. She was standing a little way off, watching the kite with her mouth open, not complaining anymore. Sami looked at the string in his hands, and at his sister, and at the long climb she had made without giving up. He walked over and held out the string. "Your turn," he said. "Hold it tight. It pulls harder than you think." Nadia took the string as if it were made of glass. When the kite tugged, she gasped, then grinned, and Sami stood beside her with his hands ready to help, though he found, to his surprise, that she did not need them.