Curse of the mummy's tomb

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A short while later, we were back on the crowded, noisy sidewalk, an unending stream of cars honking
past, all moving in starts and stops, drivers hanging out of car windows, shouting and shaking their fists.
Ahmed checked to make sure we were with him, then turned right and began leading the way through
the crowd. The sun was high over the buildings now. The air was hot and humid.
"Hey, wait — " I called.
Ahmed turned back, but kept walking.
"We're going the wrong way," I called to him, shouting over the cries of a street peddler behind a cart of
vegetables. "The hotel is back that way." I pointed.
Ahmed shook his head. "My car is just up there."
"We're driving back to the hotel?" Sari asked, her voice revealing her surprise.
"It's only two blocks," I said to Ahmed. "Sari and I could walk back by ourselves if you want. You really
don't have to take us."
"It is no trouble," Ahmed replied, and he placed his hands firmly, one on my shoulder, one on Sari's, and
continued to guide us to his car.
We crossed the street and continued walking. The sidewalk grew even more crowded. A man swinging a
leather briefcase accidentally clipped my shoulder with it. I cried out in pain.
Sari laughed.
"You have a great sense of humor," I muttered sarcastically.
"I know," she replied.
"If we'd walked, we would have been at the hotel already," I said.
Ahmed must have overheard, because he said, "The car's in the next block."
We made our way quickly through the crowds. A short while later, Ahmed stopped at a small, four-door
stationwagon. It was covered with dust, and the fender on the driver's side was crunched.
He pulled open the back door, and Sari and I piled in. "Ow," I complained. The leather seats were
burning hot.
"The wheel is hot, too," Ahmed said, climbing in and fastening his seat belt. He touched the steering
wheel a few times with both hands, trying to get used to the heat. "They should invent a car that stays
cool inside when it is parked."
The engine started on the second try, and he pulled away from the curb and into the line of traffic.
Immediately, he began honking the horn at the car in front of us. We moved slowly, stopping every few
seconds, through the narrow street.
"I wonder why Daddy didn't come to get us," Sari said to me, her eyes on the crowds passing by the
dusty car window.
"He said he would wait for you at the hotel," Ahmed replied from the front seat.
He made a sudden sharp turn onto a wider avenue and began to pick up speed.
It took me a long while to realize that we were heading in the wrong direction — away from our hotel.
"Uh . . . Ahmed . . . I think the hotel is back that way," I said, pointing toward the back window.
"I believe you are mistaken," he replied softly, staring straight ahead through the windshield. "We will
be there shortly."
"No. Really," I insisted.
One thing about me is I have a really good sense of direction. Mom and Dad always say they don't need
a map when I'm around. I almost always know when I'm heading the wrong way.
Sari turned to glance at me, an expression of concern beginning to tighten her features.
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