The Henna Wars(28)

I just want it to stop.

She stands up too and turns her whole body toward me. She has only a few inches on me but it feels like she’s towering over me. I realize this is the first time she’s looked at me—like actually looked at me—since I walked into this room. I wait for her to say something more but she doesn’t. Instead, she shakes her head and slips out the door. I can hear the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs, and then Ammu’s murmurs.

I close my door before I can decipher what they have to say to each other.

I’m too tired to hear them discuss me. I’m too tired to hear them judge me.

I’m too tired.



An entire hour has passed by the time Priti barges into my room. It’s strange, because if things were the other way around I would already be in Priti’s room, asking her to fill me in on all of the details. Instead, I’ve just been sitting alone in my bed, going over henna designs and stewing in my own misery.

When I look up at her though, I realize why she is only entering my room now. She has her hair up in a bun, prepared to get ready for tonight’s party, and a nervous smile on her lips.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, but I already know that she doesn’t really want to talk about it. She’s already in the headspace of the party and hanging out with Ali.

I shrug. “I’m okay.”

“Sure?”

I wonder how much of Ammu and Sunny Apu’s conversation she heard; she’s an expert eavesdropper, very light on her feet. But if she did hear their conversation, she doesn’t say anything about it.

“Well, do you want to come with me to Chyna’s birthday party tonight?” she asks after a moment of silence. The smile on her face has disappeared and she’s staring intently at the carpet.

Chyna’s birthday party is the last place I want to go. And it’s the last place I want Priti to go as well.

“I thought you were going with Ali?”

“I am.”

“So what do you need me for?”

She shrugs. “I just thought … it’ll be better than you hanging around here all evening by yourself.”

“I have things to do, you know,” I say, even though that’s a lie. I’m probably going to spend the night watching something cheesy on Netflix, trying not to think about the fact that nobody in my family can look me in the eye anymore.

“This will be fun!” She’s smiling again but there’s something in her eyes, her tone, that tells me maybe she’s not as invested in this party as she would have me believe. Maybe this is Priti asking for a helping hand. If she goes to the party with only Ali as company, will she be safe? What if Chyna decides it’s the perfect time to say more horrible things? At least in school Priti and I always have each other. We might not be in the same year, but we’re always within reach, and we always have each other’s backs.

“Okay.” I sigh.





12

I KNOW I’M NOT GOING TO LIKE THIS PARTY EVEN BEFORE we step inside. There’s music blasting so loud that I can feel the walls and the ground shaking, and even through that I can hear laughter and screaming.

Priti rings the bell and we stand on the doorstep, waiting. I wonder if it’s in vain. I mean, how could anybody have heard the bell through this blaring music? Priti is shivering beside me from the cold air. She’s wearing a thin, pink dress that doesn’t even reach her knees. I smile, smug that I decided to dress more casually in jeans and a black sweater.

Surprisingly, after we ring the bell for the second time, an excited Chyna opens the door. A shadow passes over her face when she sees us, but she quickly reverts back to being upbeat.

“Hey!” Her eyes shift from Priti to me. “You … brought your sister.”

“Is that … okay?” Priti asks. As if there’s anything to be said about it now when I’m already on her doorstep. Not that I would put it past Chyna to suggest leaving me out in the cold.

But she doesn’t. She smiles. Her pretty red lips look like blood against her pale skin.

“Of course. Nesha, right?” She asks it like she hasn’t spent the last three years spreading racist rumors about me around the school. Like we weren’t friends once.

“Nishat.” I give her a smile of my own, but it probably doesn’t look very friendly.

“Come on in.” She opens the door wider and allows the two of us to step inside.

“Happy birthday!” Priti says brightly once Chyna has closed the door behind her. She thrusts a pretty floral bag at Chyna and throws her arms around her neck. It’s an awkward, uncomfortable hug; even before Chyna and Priti disentangle from each other I wonder what exactly Priti was thinking.

Chyna smiles. “Thanks. I think Ali is around here somewhere. The kitchen, maybe.”

“Great, I’m going to go … find her.” Priti gives me a look, her eyebrows raised asking if I’m joining her as she turns around. I’m about to follow but Chyna says, “nice sweater,” and I stop.

I look down at my plain black sweater and smile.

“Thanks.” I’m not sure if she’s being serious or mocking.

“I saw your new Instagram account. About your henna business?”

I sigh.

“You’re not going to do better than us, you know. Flávia is the best artist in our entire school. You really think you can beat her? You don’t even take art as a subject anymore.”