The Henna Wars

by Adiba Jaigirdar

  I nod, feeling a lump rising in my throat.

  “I was just trying to understand. I don’t … understand it, Nishat. I’ve never met someone like that before.” There’s a slight waver in her voice. “I thought … it was just something that happened here. Not to Bengali girls. Not to my daughter.”

  “It’s not something that happens, Ammu.” I rub at the tears running down my cheeks. “It’s something that I am.”

  “I know.” She reaches out, wrapping her arms around me. “I know.”

  When Ammu and I pull away, we’re both rubbing at our eyes. Even Abbu has put down his book and has red-rimmed eyes—like he’s been not-so-secretly crying too. He rubs at his nose when he catches me looking, like he’s embarrassed that I’ve seen him.

  “Hey …” Priti’s voice jolts us all out of our teary emotions. She’s standing in the doorway to the room, taking us all in with wide eyes. “Um … what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Ammu sniffles once, rubs away the last of her tears and settles into position in her bed again. “Come here, let me put oil in your hair.”

  Priti looks at us all skeptically for a moment before sitting down right beside me on the bed. She gives me a questioning look as Ammu begins to brush her hair back.

  “Can I play a song?” I pull out my phone and start scrolling through Spotify.

  “Rabindranath Sangeet.” We all groan at Abbu’s suggestion—even Ammu.

  “Play something Bollywood,” Ammu says. “Something upbeat that your Abbu can’t sing along to.”

  “Play ‘Tum Hi Ho.’” Priti bounces a little as she says it, but Ammu pulls her down by her hair and she settles again immediately, mumbling, “ouch,” under her breath.

  “‘Tum Hi Ho’ is old, and it’s super depressing.”

  “Play ‘Amar Shonar Bangla,’ we can all sing along.”

  “Abbu!” Both Priti and I groan. Singing our patriotic national anthem is definitely not what I had in mind.

  Finally, after scrolling through my Spotify for too long and battling away awful suggestions from my whole family, I put on a Bollywood song that everyone—including Priti—complains about. I roll my eyes and sigh, leaning against Ammu’s shoulder as she puts oil in Priti’s hair. But really, inside I am bubbling over with happiness.

  32

  TWO WEEKS OF APPLYING HENNA, OF HARD WORK, OF accounting and of business plans pass. Despite my trashed stall, I manage to pull things together. It helps that Jess and Chaewon make me a brand-new poster with the colors of the lesbian flag. They even laminate it for good measure, so that nobody can rip it up.

  But at the end of the two weeks our final presentations are due.

  Ms. Montgomery told us about it the week before, calling us into her classroom at the end of the day on Friday. We all took seats as she stood at the top. She gave me a secret smile, like I’m her favorite to win; maybe that means something? That I have a chance? I seriously doubt it though.

  “Next Friday is the last day of the competition,” she said in a booming voice that immediately shut everyone up. I caught sight of Flávia in one corner of the room. She was sitting beside Chyna, but she didn’t look happy about it. She shot me a weak smile.

  “We’ll have your stalls set up all day, but because the judges will be coming around, you’ll also need to have your portfolios to present to them when the time comes,” Ms. Montgomery continued. “You’ll have to show them your accounts, your business plans, everything you’ve been keeping a record of. It’s not just the business with the most profit that’ll win, they’ll also be looking for the most innovative, the most eye-catching ideas. There are a lot of different criteria that go into the judging, so make sure your portfolios are up-to-date and ready.”

  She went around to each group, going through what we had prepared so far and what we still needed to do. It didn’t sound too difficult. I had everything all set up, basically, since I’ve been keeping up with everything since the very beginning. I’m the daughter of a business owner, and I’ve been using Abbu’s work as an example every step of the way, and I’m Priti’s sister, which means she’s micromanaged everything. I’m kind of thankful for that now.

  When presentation day comes I am fully prepared, but I still feel butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

  Chaewon: TODAY IS THE DAY!!!!!

  Jess: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

  I keep typing and erasing, typing and erasing. I’m not sure what I can say, and I’m not sure what I feel. I’m excited, but also relieved. Today is the day all of this stops. The whole mess of me and Flávia and Chyna started with this henna business, after all. Maybe some semblance of normalcy will return to my life after today. Though after everything that’s happened, I seriously doubt it.

  Jess: meet you guys at my locker before school?

  Chaewon: yes!!

  Nishat: see you there

  We gather at our lockers with excited grins. It feels like Christmas has come early for everybody involved in the competition. We’ve been working so hard—each and every one of us—and today is the day we get to show the world what we’ve accomplished. We get to claim the fruits of our labor—or try to, anyway. We spend the first class setting everything up once again, all of our stalls and banners and posters. I put up the poster Jess made me—the lesbian flag with all of its different shades of pinks and whites and reds. I can feel the others in the hall eyeing me with disdain, but I don’t care.

  Flávia catches my eye from the other end of the hall as I put it up. I smile and she smiles back, waving at me. I feel my heart speed up and I take a deep breath. I have to keep my feelings in check.

  My phone vibrates in the pocket of my shirt. Two messages. From Flávia. I glance around, trying to catch her eye again, but she’s in an animated conversation with Chyna.

  Flávia: good luck

  Flávia: hope you win :)

  My stomach plummets. I have no idea what to say back.

  Me: thank you, good luck to you too

  It’s the only thing that feels sincere. I want to tack on an I miss you, because I desperately do; I even type in a heart before deleting it.

  Chaewon and Jess come up beside me as I slip the phone back into my pocket. Chaewon hooks her elbow with one of mine, and Jess takes the other. They both smile.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  After the judges have had a chance to speak to all the contestants, fake smiles and clipboards in place, they take their spots on the stage that’s been set up at the top of the hall. The rest of us gather around. An excited chatter builds in the hallway, broken only by a loud shriek from the microphone as Ms. Montgomery takes hold of it.

  “Oh, sorry,” she mumbles, holding the mic up to her lips and smiling down at all of us. “Um. Welcome everyone. And a very special thank you to our judges, Mr. Kelly and Ms. Walsh, for joining us today. We’re so delighted that we got the chance to participate in this competition this year. It brought out so much dedication in our young Transition Year students, and I’m sure in a few years we’ll be seeing some of them up here on stage with us.”

  As she hands the mic over to Mr. Kelly, I feel a presence a little too close to me. When I turn around, I find Flávia smiling down at me. She slips her hand into mine and leans close.

  “I’m nervous,” she whispers, her lips grazing my ear and sending a shiver down my spine.

  “Me too,” I whisper back. She edges closer, and I can smell her sugary-sweet perfume.

  “There are a lot of excellent business ideas and executions in this school this year,” Mr. Kelly announces into his mic from the top of the hall. He’s wearing a plain black suit and tie. The judge next to him, smiling through bright red lips, looks more relatable. In an all-girls school I think she should be the one running the competition. She should be the main judge, to show girls that they can make it in the business world.

  “But unfortunately, there can be only one winner.” As Mr. Kelly says this, silence spreads over the e
ntire hallway. We all wait breathlessly to hear who the winner is.

  Flávia’s hand squeezes mine at the same time Chaewon finds my other hand.

  “And the winning business belongs to … Chaewon Kim and Jessica Kennedy!”

  I gasp out loud, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the hall bursting into applause.

  Chaewon and Jess have the biggest grins on their faces. I wrap my arms around both of them before shoving them through the crowd. They walk up, looking at the stage in awe. They obviously didn’t expect to win, but if anyone deserves it, it’s definitely them. They’ve been working hard through and through. No games. No sabotage.

  My heart fills with pride as I see them up there, accepting their award from Mr. Kelly and Ms. Walsh. Their smiles are so wide it’s contagious.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Flávia leans down to whisper while everybody is still clapping.

  “What’s funny?”

  “That this was all about the business competition. That’s how it all started out and now …”

  “I know. Neither of us are up there.”

  Flávia heaves a sigh and turns away, trying to find someone in the crowd of people. “I better go … Chyna doesn’t look too thrilled with the outcome. Talk to you later?”

  I want to tell her to stay, but I just shrug and say, “Sure.”

  Jess and Chaewon can’t stop smiling after they’ve come down from the stage. I envelop them both in hugs, before admiring their trophy.

  “I can’t believe we won,” Chaewon whispers. “I can’t believe we won.”

  The trophy is translucent glass shaped like a diamond. In the very middle it says YOUNG ENTREPRENEUR’S AWARD in glittering gold writing.

  “You guys deserved to win,” I assure them. “You’ve worked so hard for this.”

  Chaewon wraps me up in another hug so tight that I can feel her ribs poking at me.

  “Okay, okay. Wow, let me breathe.” She lets me go and rubs at her eyes, like she’s trying really hard not to cry.

  “Chaewon.” Jess rolls her eyes and pokes her until Chaewon does begin to sob a little bit, but also to laugh. And then we’re all giggling together and I’m not sure why, really. But it feels like a huge weight off my shoulders. It feels like the most normal thing to happen since Ali outed me to the entire school. Like at the end of the day, none of that really mattered. Not Ali, not Chyna, not even the business competition. Because I’m still here and I have my friends, my sister, my family. And things will be okay.

  It feels odd to be stripping my stall. Like it’s the end of an era, even though the competition only lasted a couple of weeks. I carefully roll up the banner with the lesbian flag and tie it up with a rubber band. I’m thinking I’ll stick it up on the wall of my bedroom.

  “… her mom basically did all the work for her.” A hushed whisper comes from the girls in the stall beside mine. I place my banner aside carefully. Soundlessly. So as to not attract any attention.

  “That’s why Chyna even did henna as her business. These days, if you’re white, people don’t even want to consider you.”

  “Right. The trendy thing is to be ‘diverse’ or whatever.”

  I can’t even hear the speakers’ next words, because I’m feeling that simmering of anger inside me again. Of course even when Chaewon and Jess win the competition Chyna still does everything in her power to manipulate the situation.

  I catch sight of her and Flávia packing up their stall next to Chaewon and Jess’s. The next thing I know I’m marching right over there and staring Chyna in the face.

  “Nishat.” Her lips are pressed into a thin line. “What do you want?”

  “You can’t stand that someone else gets attention even for a second, can you?” The words tumble out of me before they’ve even formed in my mind. It’s like I’m working off adrenaline.

  Her lips get thinner somehow. “What are you talking about?” she asks at the same time that Flávia shuffles over with wide eyes and says, “Hey, Nishat.”

  I barely register her. All I can see is Chyna, with her wispy blonde hair and blue eyes—trying to manipulate a victory for someone who deserves it, just like she tries to manipulate everything. Like she manipulated our friendship to make herself out to be kind of person who fits in, and me to be the “other.”

  “Telling people that the only reason Chaewon and Jess won the business competition is because being diverse is trendy?” It’s an effort to get out the words in a remotely calm and collected way. The way Flávia is looking back and forth from Chyna to me makes me think maybe I’m not as composed as I think I am.

  Chyna has the gall to sigh, like this conversation is boring her. “People like new things. It’s not exactly a reach. Whatever Korean stuff they were selling is something we haven’t seen here before so yeah, it’s trendy and nothing we have is going to be new in the same way.”

  “Like henna is trendy?”

  Chyna rolls her eyes. “Yes, like henna is trendy. That’s why we did the whole henna thing. That’s how business works, Nishat.” She says it as if she has a master’s degree in business and I’m someone who needs to be schooled.

  There is more anger in me than I know what to do with. But before I can say anything more, Flávia’s hand is on my shoulder. Instead of sending me into a tizzy like it normally would, it actually calms me. I feel like she’s on my side for once.

  “Flá, come on, we have to finish packing up,” Chyna is already turning away and I realize that a bit of a crowd has gathered around us. I must not have been as quiet as I thought I was being. Chaewon and Jess are looking at me from their almost-packed stall with wide eyes. Chaewon gives me a weak smile when I catch her eye.

  “Chy, do you think it’s trendy to be Brazilian?” Flávia asks this softly enough, but it seems to ring out across the entire hall. More and more students are stopping in their tracks to listen in on this conversation. I don’t think Flávia cares.

  Chyna turns back, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and heaving another deep sigh. “What are you on about, Flávia?”

  “You come to our Brazilian barbecues every summer. You eat our food. Do you think it’s trendy?”

  “No … yes … I don’t know. That’s just something we do. Not a trend.”

  “Neither is being Korean,” Chaewon says from the other side of us. “Or wanting to sell something that’s Korean. It’s just something I do.”

  “Or henna. That’s just something that’s a part of my culture. Just like our food is—you know, the food that apparently gives everyone digestive issues?” I shrug. “One you thought was trendy, the other you didn’t, so you used it to spread rumors about my family.”

  “That’s … different,” Chyna says, but for once she doesn’t sound like she actually believes what she’s saying.

  Flávia shakes her head and says, “Imagine someone said the same stuff about me that you said about Nishat. Imagine they excluded me because I eat Brazilian food and speak Portuguese.”

  “That would never happen,” Chyna chimes in immediately. “Flávia, that’s not … Nishat hasn’t given you the whole story. Nishat has her own friends, and her sister. I’ve never had anything against her.”

  “You spread rumors about her for being a lesbian.” It’s Jess who volunteers this piece of information, and I wonder if it’s going to make Flávia back off. But it doesn’t. Her grip on my shoulder tightens, and I’m not sure if it’s to help her or to help me.

  “Because being gay makes her different?” Flávia asks, and I’m not sure if anyone else hears the tremble in her voice but I do and it sends an ice pick through my heart.

  “I didn’t spread any rumors about anyone,” Chyna says, with less and less conviction. “I really don’t know why you’re ganging up on me like this.”

  Flávia takes a deep breath and says, “Come on, Nishat.” She slips her fingers through mine and leads me away from Chyna and the hall full of girls in our year. All of them seem a little stunned by what
’s just passed. If I’m honest, I’m also more than a little astonished. The most I expected was to get rid of some of my anger by telling Chyna what was what. I never expected this.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say to Flávia once we’re outside the school building. The place is deserted. Most people have already gone home. It’s only our Business class left now.

  “I think I did.”

  “You didn’t have to do it for me.”

  Flávia smiles. “I did it more for me than for you, Nishat.”

  We sit down on the steps beside us. They’re near the front entrance to the school but far enough away to obscure us from view.

  “Do you want me to go get your stuff from inside?” I ask. My bag and all of my henna supplies are still strewn across my table; I’m hoping Chaewon or Jess will grab them.

  “It’s fine. I’m sure … Chyna will take care of it.”

  “Are you okay?” It’s the only question I can think to ask even though it doesn’t feel quite right.

  She shrugs and says, “Are you okay?”

  I smile. “I guess it felt kind of good to stand up to Chyna for once.”

  “Even though you were standing up for someone else and not yourself?”

  “I guess it’s easier to stand up for someone else. Plus … Chaewon and Jess don’t deserve that kind of slander. They worked hard. They didn’t play any games. They won fair and square.”

  “I feel like I’ve seen a new side of Chyna these past few months.” Flávia sighs.

  “Did you know her as a nice person before?”

  Flávia lets out a small laugh, like thinking of Chyna as a nice person is maybe a little bit too much to ask for. “Chyna … has always been competitive and strong-willed. It can come in handy, like, when our whole family gets together and we play games together or whatever. I always hope I’m on Chyna’s team because I know she’s going to win. Whether we’re playing soccer in the summer or Harry Potter trivia in the winter.”

  “Chyna likes Harry Potter?” I don’t know why that’s the most shocking thing to hear—but it really is. I would never have thought someone like Chyna could be a Harry Potter fan.