“Sorry … Ms. Grenham wanted to talk to me.” I link my hand through hers and begin to lead us out of the school. The hallways are almost empty now—only the students participating in today’s after-school activity are left behind. “It was useless.”
“They didn’t find the person who did it?” Priti asks, her voice suddenly sounding grave.
“We know who did it,” I say. “And … I think I know how to get back at them.”
“Get back at them …?” she asks slowly. The plan is clicking together in my head slowly. I just need Priti to be on board.
“They outed me to the whole school because of this … henna competition. We can’t just let them get away with it.” The anger I’ve tried to suppress is still throbbing somewhere deep inside of me, growing bigger and bigger with the more weight I give it.
I’m the one who has to go into school every day and face rooms full of people who know something about me that I never told them. Something they had no right to know. Just because I had a crush on the wrong girl. Because I entered into a competition with someone who decided they could appropriate my culture and win.
I can’t let them win.
“Are you sure that it was Flávia?”
“If it wasn’t Flávia, it was Chyna because Flávia told her,” I say. “You can’t give Chyna that kind of information without her spilling it to the whole world. You know the kind of things Chyna does.”
Priti frowns, looking like she’s really considering it. “Does it really mean that much to you, getting back at them?” she asks.
“Why do they get to take away my right to come out, and win a competition with my culture on display?” I ask.
Priti sighs. “Okay … what’s your plan?”
21
THE NEXT MORNING PRITI AND I GET TO SCHOOL WAY earlier than usual, just as the doors are opened. Only a small number of people are in. Priti grumbles something incomprehensible before staggering off to her locker on the other side of the school. Rolling my eyes, I make my way to my own.
I stand in the hallway, fiddling with my phone as I wait for the rest of the school to file in. Flávia and Chyna are nowhere to be seen, and I have no idea when the two of them usually get to school. I don’t even know if they come together.
But about half an hour before the start of classes, Priti sends me a text that she just spotted Flávia and Chyna making their way over. I jump up and begin to dig into my messy locker full of books. Everyone else has decked their lockers out already; I know Chaewon has pictures of her favorite K-drama stars, along with her favorite boy bands. Jess has pictures of her favorite video game characters. But I’ve yet to put anything up in mine. Not because I don’t want to, but because it feels too much like exposing myself to my classmates. It’s announcing allegiance to something, or someone. It’s putting your identity on display for everyone to see—and judge.
I make a show of pulling my books out of my locker and stuffing them into my bag as Flávia strolls up and starts jiggling open her locker. I watch her heavy black lock out of the corner of my eye.
“53 … 2 … 12,” she whispers. I have to stop myself from grinning. She’s making this way too easy.
53. 2. 12.
It’s like Flávia wants me to break into her locker. She’s basically inviting me to do it.
“Do you have a problem?” When I tear my eyes away from Flávia, I notice Chyna standing right behind her. She has her arms folded over her chest and is glaring at me like I’m no better than the dirt beneath her shoes.
Yesterday, this would have made me burst into a fit of anger. But today, with Flávia’s locker combination in my head, I only feel a quiet glee.
“Nope.” I swing my door shut, shoot her the sweetest smile I can, and slip away to my first class.
By the time lunchtime rolls around, I’ve memorized the numbers.
53. 2. 12. I’ve been repeating it inside my head all morning, afraid to write it down in case it could somehow be used as evidence.
I spot Chyna, her posse, and Flávia sitting in one corner of the lunchroom. They’re sitting in a circle, all eyes on Chyna as she talks about something or other. Flávia is picking at her lunch—a dry-looking sandwich, cut up into triangles—and seems to be more interested in the graffiti on the desk in front of her than whatever Chyna is saying.
Jess and Chaewon are at the front of the lunchroom. They wave me over, but I just give them a quick wave back before slipping out the door.
“You know, you’ve made me miss sleep and food today,” Priti grumbles to me when she meets me outside the room. “This better be worth it.”
“Just keep a lookout, okay?” I say. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go eat your lunch.”
“Okay, Apujan.” She sighs heavily, like this is a very stressful thing for her.
I slip through the almost empty corridors until I get to the one where my locker is located. Right next to Flávia’s.
I saw the henna tubes there this morning, stuffed into the top shelf, nearly toppling over. She doesn’t have even half as many as I do, but she has enough.
My heartbeat is suddenly faster than should be humanly possible. A scene of someone catching me in the act replays in my head as I open Flávia’s locker. Sure, Priti is keeping lookout, but there’s only so much she can do. And if I get caught, she’ll be in trouble too.
Grabbing a handful of the henna tubes, I drop them through the limited spaces between the books in my bag, until they’ve disappeared into the black depths of the bottom.
I’ve almost emptied out the locker when I hear a chorus of voices in the distance. My eyes dart toward the voices, but they’re far enough away, and Priti hasn’t sent me a warning text. Maybe they’re turning down another hallway, or going into an empty classroom.
I should be okay, I hope.
I take the last of the henna tubes and stuff them into my bag before zipping it up.
As the group of girls round the corner—a bunch of tall, gangly sixth years who look at me with frowns as they pass—I’m jiggling open my own locker door. When they disappear out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief.
But now I realize I have a different problem entirely. Do I have to go through the rest of the school day with these henna tubes in my bag? What if Flávia realizes they’re missing and reports it? Will they search the school? Lockers? Bags?
And what if my books mess up the henna tubes? What if the henna leaks all over my school bags? Then I would be caught red-handed. Literally.
“What are you planning to do with those?” I hear a familiar voice behind me as I swing my locker door shut. Chyna is staring at me with the smuggest smile I’ve ever seen.
“With what?” I blink back at her innocently, my voice far calmer than I feel. There are a million thoughts screaming in my head, most of them to the tune of when did she get here? And how much did she see? And where is Priti?
Her smile tells me she’s seen far more than I want her to. Her gaze travels down to the bag that I’m clutching in my arms. Hugging to me like it’s my lifeline.
“I won’t ask you to show me,” she says, like she’s doing me a favor. “I’m sure Principal Murphy will be more than happy to ask you to do that.”
I gulp, feeling my heart sink. For a moment, time seems to stop. All I can see is the way Chyna’s lips curve up into a malicious grin. It’s all too familiar. I’ve seen it too many times, paired with disparagement of me, my heritage, my culture.
There’s some irony in the fact that it’s the henna in my backpack that’s going to get me into trouble. What will the punishment be for theft? Detention? Suspension? Will Principal Murphy go easy on me because I’m a first time offender? Or does that not make any difference?
“There you are.” Flávia’s soft voice breaks me out of my thoughts. She’s walking around the corner with a frown on her lips. Her eyes flit from Chyna, to me, back to Chyna. “What’s going on?”
“I think your friend Nishat has something
of yours.” Chyna says the word, “friend,” with so much venom that I’m sure she knows about what almost happened between us at the party.
Flávia’s eyes rest on me now. I can’t read her expression.
“Nishat?”
She’s staring at me with so much expectation. I open my mouth, but there’s nothing to say. Not really.
I pick up my bag instead, unzipping it and digging around to find the henna tubes.
“Here.” I reach out and hand them to her. She takes them wordlessly, her expression still unreadable.
I wish that she would get angry. That she would get upset. At least, with Chyna, I know she hates me. I know she’s taking pleasure in all of this.
“You can report me to Principal Murphy. Whatever,” I say, after all of the henna tubes are emptied out of my bag. Flávia looks at them, at me, at Chyna—who is growing smugger and smugger with each passing moment.
“Principal Murphy?” she asks.
“She stole from you. That’s not tolerated in this school. Come on.” Chyna waves her hand at me, motioning for me to follow her, but Flávia shakes her head.
“We’re not going to Principal Murphy.”
“What?” It’s Chyna’s turn to frown. “Why not? She stole from you.”
“I don’t care.” Flávia shrugs her shoulder. “It’s not a big deal, Chyna. We’re not telling Principal Murphy.”
“Flá.” Chyna growls out through gritted teeth.
“Chyna, please.” For a moment, they hold each other’s gaze. I’m sure Chyna will argue. Will refuse to listen to Flávia. Will do something. Chyna always gets her way, after all. But she doesn’t. Instead, she spins around and stomps away wordlessly. She doesn’t even throw me a nasty look, like she usually would.
Flávia stares at her retreating form before turning back to me.
“Nishat—”
“I’m not apologizing.” I zip my bag closed and swing it over my shoulder. And I’m not thanking her, either. Though I don’t say that out loud.
“Okay.” She breathes. “Just … did you really think that would work?”
“Whatever.”
“Really? If I hadn’t stepped in, you would probably be getting suspended right now.” There’s a throb of anger in Flávia’s voice now. Somehow, it’s the exact same pitch as before, but I can feel the anger resonating through it.
“Wow, thank you so much for saving me from getting suspended.”
Flávia shakes her head again. Slower, this time.
“Look, I know you’re angry about what happened, but you’re too caught up in … whatever this is. Victimizing yourself. You don’t even realize what a brat you’re being.”
I almost have to laugh at that. Whatever happened to me, like somebody didn’t make it happen.
“I don’t care Flávia, okay? Report me, don’t report me. Do whatever you want.” With that, I turn around and walk away. My footsteps echo a little too loudly in the empty hallway. My heartbeat is still trying to find its normal pace as I search for Priti.
She’s not where I left her, and not in any of the surrounding hallways either. Finally, I hear the sound of her voice coming from one of the classrooms farther away; it’s choked, like she’s trying to keep in her tears.
“Were you just going to pretend?”
Ali’s voice doesn’t sound much better, but her voice is a mix of anger and sadness. “It was a mistake!”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Priti’s voice comes angrier than I’ve ever heard it before. “I can’t believe you. It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“I came clean to you, isn’t that worth something?”
There’s a cold, hard edge to Priti’s voice as she says, “That’s worth absolutely nothing. You’ve already done the damage. You can’t take that back. Nobody can take that back. You don’t even get what you did, do you?”
“Priti, I—”
But the next moment the door to the classroom is clicking open and Priti comes rushing out, her eyes rimmed red. She stops in her tracks when she sees me.
“Apujan,” she says, blinking at me like this is the first time she’s seen me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though it doesn’t feel like enough. From her broken voice, her blotchy face, I know that she isn’t okay.
Priti rubs at her eyes as Ali appears from the classroom behind her. She looks at us both warily before dashing away to the other side of the hallway.
Priti watches her for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m fine. I’m …” she pauses, looking up at me with wide eyes. “The henna tubes. Did you get them? I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t worry about that,” I cut her off. Priti obviously has bigger things to worry about, and here I was getting her involved in something that could potentially get her into trouble. I should never have asked her to help me. “Come on, let’s go get some food, yeah?”
I take her hand in mine and begin to lead her toward her locker, where I know she has stuffed away her lunch box.
Priti sniffles, wiping away the last of her tears with the hand that I’m not holding. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice comes out a lot more definitive than just a moment ago.
“Okay,” I say. “We don’t have to talk. Just … the food?”
She nods, and the two of us settle into a corner of the hallway, lunch boxes open. I try to ignore the pang of guilt in my stomach from forgetting about Priti’s problems with Ali because of what happened to me. For putting her at risk, when I should have known better. The henna competition is important, and I want to beat Flávia and Chyna. But the cost of it can’t be my sister.
22
MS. MONTGOMERY FINDS ME FIRST THING THE NEXT morning, before I’ve even had the chance to go to my locker. My stomach drops at the sight of her because for a moment I’m afraid that Flávia and Chyna decided to report me after all. Priti awkwardly hovers beside me, clearly trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. I shoot her a glare, but she doesn’t get the message.
“Nishat, I’ve been informed that the text sent about you might have something to do with this business competition. Do you know anything about that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.” I train my eyes on my shoes instead of her.
“Nishat, this is serious. It can be good to be competitive, but this is not healthy competitiveness. It’s harassment, and whoever did this will face serious consequences. If it’s someone participating in the competition, I will find out and disqualify them, at best. At worst, Ms. Murphy will ensure that they face a long suspension.” When I look up, she looks determined. Like she really believes she’ll get to the bottom of this.
“I really don’t want to draw any more attention to this, Miss,” I say, shrugging my shoulders again.
“Nishat—”
“It probably wasn’t because of the competition,” I say. “It could have been anyone.” I don’t tell her that I know exactly who it was.
She studies me silently for a few moments, her frown deepening as her eyes travel around my face. I think that she’ll protest, insist that she’ll look into it further. Instead, she nods her head.
“Okay, well. If anything else happens, you come straight to me, okay?”
I nod, though I don’t mean it. And I think something like relief flashes in her eyes as she turns away to walk back to the staff room.
Priti catches my eye as soon as Ms. Montgomery disappears from sight. There’s a frown plastered on her face, but she just shakes her head and sets off toward her locker. I’m not sure if she’s disappointed, or it’s something else.
I sigh and head toward my first class of the day: French. I slip into my usual seat toward the back of the room. Both Jess and Chaewon take Spanish, so I’m on my own during French, which is a shame because it’s probably the most communicative subject I’m taking. Especially this year, when it seems that all we do is practice for our orals.
“Bonjour!” Ms. Kelly walks into
the classroom, past the row of desks where I’m sitting to the top of the class.
“Bonjour,” everyone says back with as much enthusiasm as, well, students forced to come into school at eight-thirty in the morning.
Ms. Kelly’s eyes scan the classroom. I slink back in my seat, hoping that whatever she’s searching for, she doesn’t find it in me. Her eyes don’t rest on me. Instead, they flick to the top of the class where Chyna is sitting next to Flávia. They’re whispering to each other—quiet as anything. I’m surprised Ms. Kelly noticed.
But she has. Maybe because this has become Chyna and Flávia’s daily routine in this class. Usually she doesn’t mind, but she doesn’t seem to be in the best of moods today.
“Flávia,” Ms. Kelly says in her stern I’m-not-taking-any-bullshit voice. It’s the voice that makes everyone behave immediately, no matter what. Because Ms. Kelly is not one to put on that voice willy-nilly.
“Yes, Ms. Kelly?” Flávia asks. She’s all wide-eyed innocence. I narrow my eyes at her, even though she can’t see me. I hope she can feel my glare burning through her.
“Parlez français en cours de français,” Ms. Kelly says with raised eyebrows.
Flávia smiles sweetly. “Bien sûr.”
But it seems Ms. Kelly knows as soon as she turns her back, Flávia and Chyna are going to go back to speaking English again.
She heaves a sigh and says, “I want you to take your things and sit beside Nishat for the rest of the class.”
The smile vanishes from Flávia’s lips. She turns around, searching for me. Our eyes meet—for a moment. She looks away and frantically shakes her head.
“Mais non, Ms. Kelly,” she says. “S’il vous plaît. Je ne parlerai pas anglais.”
But Ms. Kelly simply shakes her head, turning away from Flávia and Chyna’s row and taking her seat behind her own desk.
I can see Chyna leaning over to whisper something to Flávia as she packs up her things. Then she slinks to the empty desk beside me. She slumps down in her seat. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak to me.
The Henna Wars Page 16
