The Henna Wars(18)

“I’ve only been there when I was young and I barely remember it,” Flávia says. “I thought … it would be good. A way for me to actually learn about where I’m from, and brush up on my Portuguese.” She sighs. “But … it didn’t really work out. I don’t think my mom was ready to go back, and she says we have more opportunities here.”

It’s funny that Flávia and I are from such different parts of the world but our parents have the same philosophy. They shifted us halfway across the world, risking our culture, putting us in the middle of two nations and giving us an identity crisis, all because they believe it gives us more opportunities. It’s strange to think about how much our parents really sacrifice for us. But then, I’m stuck on the fact that Ammu and Abbu can leave their entire world behind, yet they can’t pause for a moment and consider who I am. How can they sacrifice everything for me and Priti, but they can’t sacrifice their closed view of sexuality to accept me as I am?

“Well … I’m glad that you’re back,” I say. It’s not like I pined after Flávia all these years, considering I didn’t even realize that I had a crush on her way back then, but … having her here feels weird, in a nice way. She’s changed so much—from her height to her hair (which she used to always straighten and put up in a ponytail), and just the way she carries herself—but then there are so many things that seem the same. She still has that warmth about her that she did in primary school, and a smile that could make anyone melt.

Flávia turns to me with that smile playing at her lips once more. “Yeah, I’m pretty glad to be back too,” she says, holding my gaze for a long moment.

We’re interrupted by the rushing sound of the bus zooming up, and I have to leap out of my seat to hold my hand out. If I miss this bus, I’ll have to wait a whole hour to catch the next one.

Flávia stands as the bus pulls up. “I’ll see you later, Nishat,” she says, and she steps away from the bus stop and toward the traffic lights with the zebra crossing.

“Wait … you’re not getting the bus?”

“Nope!” Flávia shoots me a grin. I want to ask her why she decided to stay and talk to me, but the driver is already glaring at me and I know if I don’t hop on now, he’ll close the doors and pull away.

So I step inside, swipe my card and hurry to the window. As I watch Flávia walk away, her curls bouncing in the wind behind her, I can’t help the flutter of butterflies in my stomach.





8

“WHAT’S THAT?” PRITI ASKS LATER, AFTER BARGING INTO my room when she gets home from after-school study.

“It’s a form.”

“Well, I can see that.” Priti reaches over and tries to grab the piece of paper out of my hands. “But … what’s … it … for?” She stops her attempts to frown at me. “And why won’t you let me look at it?”

“Remind me when this became your business?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She lets out a huffy breath and slumps back onto my bed. “Fine, don’t tell me. See if I care.”

I laugh and sidle closer to her, poking her in the ribs until she giggles. Priti is still the most ticklish person I know.

“Stop it!” she says, slapping my hands away until I’m laughing too.

“Sorry,” I say once we’ve both settled down. “I’ll tell you about the form. I need your help with this anyway.”

“Maybe I don’t want to help you.” Priti sticks her chin out at me.

“Do you want me to tickle you again?”

She shoots me a glare, but mumbles “no,” before quickly leaning toward me to read the form over my shoulder.

“Business idea?” she asks. “You’re not a business person.”

“Well, duh. But Ms. Montgomery is setting up this business competition for our class. Basically, we all set up our own businesses, and we have a few weeks to work on it and try to make a profit. The person who does the best job will win a thousand euros, but also it’s going to be a part of our Christmas exam results.”

“Oh, your first taste of Transition Year. You’re going to be an entrepreneur!” She’s only half serious so I roll my eyes. I don’t see any entrepreneurship in my future.

“I need ideas!” I say to Priti. Chaewon and Jess have been blowing up our usually dead group chat with all of their ideas. They’ve already eliminated anything related to food because that’ll be too much hassle, and Jess has started to consider how her obsession with video games can be made into a business venture.

But my well of ideas is dry and I have nothing to contribute to our chat. I want to somehow swoop in with a brilliant idea that makes Chaewon and Jess think I’m a genius, though.

“You could start a food stall?” Priti suggests.

“What kind of food would I sell?”

She shrugs. “You could take some food from the restaurant? Or maybe ask Ammu to cook for you.” She holds one hand out in front of her and, dragging it through the air, says “authentic Bengali food” in a dramatic whisper.

I start laughing at how ridiculous it sounds and next thing I know Priti’s hitting me over the head with her English textbook.

“Okay, okay, ow. Sorry.”