The Henna Wars(38)

“What?” Priti turns to me with furrowed eyebrows.

“Steal the henna tubes.”

“That’s theft.”

“Only for a short while. Long enough for it to make a difference. Think of it as … borrowing, not stealing.”

“Apujan … I was just kidding. I’m pretty sure you’d get in trouble for that,” she says.

“Not if I don’t get caught.”

“You’ll get caught. You’re not exactly James Bond.”

“I won’t get caught if you help me.”

“I’m not James Bond either!”

“Please, Priti. It’s kind of the exact right form of payback. She stole something from me, now I borrow something from her.”

Priti hesitates. “And you will give it back?”

I don’t have time to answer as the bus jerks to a stop.

“This is us!” I grab my bag and hurry down the stairs before the driver decides to shut the door and zoom off. Priti hurries after me. She must not be too bothered by the idea of me taking Flávia’s henna tubes because when we slip through the front door, she’s too busy glaring into her phone to repeat her question.



An hour before bed, my phone rings. It actually rings. The only people who have ever called me are Ammu and Abbu, and both of them are in the house with me. Not to mention I don’t think either of them particularly wants to speak to me at the moment. Or maybe ever again.

For a second, I just stare at my vibrating phone. There’s only a number flashing on my screen. I wait the ringing out, then go back to working on my henna designs.

But a moment later the phone begins to buzz again. One, two, three times. I let it ring out. It has to be a prank call.

When it rings a third time, though, curiosity gets the better of me.

“Finally. Where have you been?” I recognize Chaewon’s low, lilty voice in an instant. “I’ve been calling for ages.”

“You only called three times … whose phone are you calling from?”

“My mom’s. My phone is out of credit,” she says. “So … hey.”

“Hi.” Chaewon and I barely text, much less talk on the phone. We’re friends, or were friends, as a trio, and that was it. There’s a silence on the line between us, and all I can hear is Chaewon’s breathing, soft and slow. I want to ask why she’s calling, about what happened earlier today, about why she didn’t defend me to Jess. But before I can string the words together, she breaks the silence.

“So … what did Ms. Montgomery say when you told her you were going to do this on your own?”

I shrug, before realizing she can’t actually see me.

“She said it was fine. She didn’t seem too bothered about it.”

“Oh.” There’s another lull. I chew my lip, wondering why exactly she’s calling. What it is she wants.

“What did … what did she say to you when you told her you wouldn’t have an idea for her until later?” I ask after too much silence has passed for it to be normal.

“Well …” Chaewon begins. “We actually did give her an idea.”

“Oh?”

“It was … I mean, I don’t know if you read all of the texts in the group chat, but Jess and I had kind of settled on an idea before you suggested the henna business.”

I try to recall what the texts in the group chat were about. I remember scanning through a few of them without really considering them. Maybe I should have taken their ideas into consideration before bulldozing in with my own but, whatever their idea is, I’m sure mine is better. Mine is unique. Authentic. Nobody else would have thought of it … unless of course they attended a South Asian wedding and decided to take all of the sparkly, nice things from our culture that they liked.

“What’s the idea?”

“Well, you know how my parents have their shop in town?”

“The Korean shop?”

“Yes! Well, my mom sells these cute trinkets that she imports from Korea. They’re really popular over there, so I thought we would try and sell them over here too. I think the girls in school will really like them. They have cute cartoon characters on them and stuff.” Chaewon’s voice is bright as she says all of this, like she’s really excited about it. She must have been excited all along, but I didn’t even consider it. I feel a stab of guilt in my stomach but I push it down.

I may not have indulged Chaewon’s idea, but she hasn’t stood up for me, well … ever. Shouldn’t we have some kind of solidarity between us? We’re both Asians. We’re both minorities. I would stand up for her.

“It sounds like a good idea,” I say, trying to mean it. It’s reselling products that her mom has already shipped in; not exactly the pinnacle of creativity, but it is … something. And I’m sure that most of the other girls in our year will be doing something similar.

Minimal work, after all.

“Thanks.” There’s a dip in her voice. “And I’m … I’m sorry about what happened earlier today.”

Ah, there it is. What she really called to say.

“It’s …” I begin to say it’s okay, before realizing that really, it isn’t okay. That the way things happened was far from okay. Friends shouldn’t treat each other like that. “It’s … what it is,” I say instead.