The Henna Wars(42)

“We … have a complicated relationship.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gives me a smile. “We’re supposed to be friends, but we’re also kind of competitors.”

“Because of your mom and that side of the family?”

She pulls at a loose thread in her shirt absentmindedly for a moment. “When I was younger, it didn’t seem like there was a difference between us, really. But the older we get, the more aware I am of just how different we are. And I think … the less aware she is.”

“Because she’s white and you’re Black?”

Flávia doesn’t seem taken aback by the bluntness of my question. I know if it was Jess, she’d be annoyed that I was “playing the race card” by bringing up race at all. White people like to pretend that race is only as deep as the color of our skin—maybe because the color of their skin gets them so many benefits.

But race is so much more than that. Good things and bad things. And when you’re Brown or Black, it shapes you in life. Maybe even more so for Flávia.

Flávia takes a deep breath and says, “It’s like … I know that I have to be certain things to get by in life. I have to be smart enough and talk a certain way and adapt to what my dad’s family wants. Chyna thinks that’s just who I am. I guess she doesn’t really see the other side of me. Maybe because I don’t show her the other side of me.”

I want to ask her what exactly she means by that, what the other side of her is, but she shakes her head.

“Anyway, that’s enough about Chyna. You know, you look nice tonight.” Before I can reply, she reaches out and touches the sheer sleeves of my dress, running her fingers over the cloth.

My heart is going a mile a minute all of a sudden and I can hear the rush of blood in my ears, drowning out almost everything else.

“Though I didn’t think this was exactly your style.”

I shrug, trying to be nonchalant even though I am definitely freaking out inside.

“It’s a celebration, right?” I say.

“Right.” She catches my eye. “Well, I like it. And when did you get this?” This time, she reaches over to touch the gold ring jutting out of my nose. It’s the same one I was wearing at Sunny Apu’s wedding. “I don’t remember this from primary school. It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

Flávia leans forward so much that our faces are inches apart. And she’s touching me—albeit on the nose, which is weird and not romantic at all, but it’s still making my stomach do somersaults—and I can feel how hot my face has gotten. Just from that single touch that I can barely feel.

I want to think this is just something girls do—that it means nothing. But I’m one hundred percent sure that the way she’s looking at me is not the way friends look at each other. Her eyes are bright, but hooded. Intense.

She’s inching forward.

Is there a heterosexual explanation for why she’s inching forward?

Her hand drops from my nose, grazes my cheek, and cups my face.

And then I’m inching forward, though it’s an unconscious decision. My heart is about to burst out of my chest.

PING!

Flávia jumps, her head nearly bumping into mine.

I slide my phone out of my pocket, mumbling apologies and trying to ignore the lump in my throat from the sudden distance between us.

Priti: How’s the party? Did they eat you alive yet?

I have never hated Priti as much as I hate her at this exact moment.

“It’s just my sister.” I type a quick reply and hit send. “Checking on me.”

Flávia smiles, but there’s a sudden rigidity to it.

“Why is she checking up on you?”

“Well, after what happened at the last party …” I know immediately that this was the wrong thing to say.

“Right.” The smile fades off her lips.

We sit on the couch for an awkward moment that seems to stretch out forever.

Then she stands up abruptly.

“I should probably go. I’m sure Chyna is wondering where I’ve gotten off to.”

“Sure,” is all I can say as I watch her avoid my gaze.

I feel my heart sinking as she disappears out the door.

What just happened?





17

ON THE BUS HOME, I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT almost-kiss. It’s the late bus, which is always filled with people who are a bit too drunk and always smells faintly of cheap beer and piss. Tonight is no exception, but I barely notice as I take my seat.

I can’t stop replaying the party in my head: The feel of Flávia’s hands on my skin. The way she leaned forward. I’m pretty sure I’ve been smiling ear to ear from the moment I left the party.

I slip my phone out of my pocket and open up the text chain between me and Priti. There are a thousand things going through my head, everything rushing together to form a big mush of emotions.

I type, she almost kissed me!!!!!!!!!!! But once it’s on the phone screen, it feels odd. Like I’m revealing something too intimate. Like I want to keep this just to myself for a little while longer. So I erase the text, put my phone back in my pocket, and stare out the window with a grin pasted on my face. I can see my reflection in the dark tint of the glass, far clearer than the blurry city zooming past. My smile looks kind of manic, but I don’t care. I couldn’t wipe it off of my face if I tried.