The Henna Wars(47)

Well, that’s weird.

Even though Aaliyah, Emma and I aren’t exactly friends, we’ve always been on friendly terms. We smile at each other in the hallways and make small talk about classes, teachers, weekends. Aaliyah even invited me to her birthday party last year, though that might have been because her parents thought she should invite the only other Muslim girl in the class to her party.

Still—I have nothing against either of them. I didn’t think they had anything against me either. So why are they suddenly acting so odd?

I don’t have much time to dwell on it though, as the doors to the hall open and a group of girls flood in. Their giggles and chatter fill every corner of the hall, as do the sounds of their shuffling footsteps as they peer at the different stalls.

I stand with my shoulders straight and paste a bright smile on my lips. One by one the girls pass my table. Their eyes flit past me to the table next to me. Or they duck their heads and walk toward Flávia’s stall.

Within minutes, a queue forms at her stall. I wait, hoping some of them will grow impatient and come over to me. But none of them even look in my direction.

Everyone’s stall has people milling about. Except mine.

I bite down the tears threatening to fall. I have to be stronger than this. But how much longer can I tolerate it? How much longer do I have to stand here by myself, staring out into this hall crowded with people who obviously want nothing to do with me, and pretend it doesn’t bother me?

“Apujan?” Priti is suddenly right in front of me, staring at me with searching eyes. “Are you okay?”

I’m not, but I nod. I’m more confused by her presence than anything else.

“What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t respond. She’s just looking at me with wide, questioning eyes.

“Have you checked your phone?”

“Not … recently.”

She casts a quick glance around, like she’s only just realized where she is. That we’re surrounded by people. That I’m technically supposed to be working.

“Come with me.” She grabs my hand and pulls me out from behind the table.

“What about—”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “Nobody will touch it. Just come on.”

She tugs at my arm and leads me out of the hallway, which has descended into near silence as almost every head turns to watch us leave.

“What’s going on?” I ask. When I turn to face the students looking at me, they all turn their gazes away. Like catching my eye will spread some sort of a disease.

“Somebody sent an anonymous text to the whole school,” Priti says, when we’re outside in the deserted entrance hallway. “About … you.”

“What did it say?”

She takes a deep breath and ducks her head. For a moment I think she won’t answer, but after a minute she sighs and says, “That you’re a lesbian. Somebody sent around a text outing you, saying you’re dangerous, that the school shouldn’t have you here, that it’s against their Catholic ethos, that it’s not how an all-girls school should be run, that—”

“Stop.” I feel sick. Bile rises inside me. Who would write such hateful things about me? Who would out me like that? Who at this school even knew I was gay? I only ever told my sister and …

Flávia. She’s the only person who might have suspected the truth. But she wouldn’t tell anyone, would she? And if not her, who?

I feel like I’m going to throw up. Like something has been ripped from me that I can’t recover.

I slide down the wall behind me to the floor and bury my head in my hands. Everything suddenly clicks into place. The reason why nobody has been coming to my stall. Why everybody has been avoiding me like I’m the plague.

Priti sits down next to me. She snakes an arm around me until I’m cradled into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. I remember how it felt to come out for the first time. What it felt like to make that decision. Fear and anxiety all wrapped together. But there was something else, too. That inkling of hope. And the joy when Priti accepted me for who I am. When she wrapped me up in her arms and told me so.

Now it feels like I’ve been stripped of all of that. Like I’ve been stripped of my choice. Of my identity, even. Like I’ve become passive in my own life.

“You were right about her.” I sit up and blink back my tears. I rub at my eyes like that’ll somehow make all of this stop. “About … Flávia.” Her name is stuck in my throat but I somehow manage to get it out. “She was all … wrong for me. And now … this.”

Priti blinks at me with wide eyes, her gaze roaming my face. Like she’s trying to take this all in.

“This …?” she asks.

“The only people who knew my sexuality in this school were you and her.”

“You … told her?” Priti is looking down at the ground with wide eyes. Like she can’t quite believe her ears.

“No, but she knew. And she … she did this.” I gulp down the lump making its way up my throat once more. “She must have told … someone. Chyna … or … I don’t know.” It was clicking into place now. It had to have been Chyna. And Flávia had done nothing to stop her. Nothing to warn me when she found out.