The Henna Wars(51)

Jess and Chaewon nod simultaneously, pity written all over their faces. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. Then, Jess says, “So did you really try to make a move on Chyna at her birthday party? Because I thought you had better taste …”

“Jess!” Chaewon slaps her lightly on the shoulder and looks at me with concern. But Jess is smiling as she rubs her shoulder.

“I’m joking, relax. Obviously I know Nishat has better taste than that.”

I actually feel a laugh bubble up inside me. This is the Jess I know.

Chaewon rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but now she’s smiling too.

Jess steps forward and links her arm through mine. “We’ll be like your bodyguards today.”

“Yeah, you two are really scary. A skinny white gamer and a tiny East Asian protecting a tiny South Asian.” I roll my eyes.

Chaewon steps up and takes my other arm. “Three people are better than one.”

I have to admit that having them by my side does make me feel a little safer. Their presence beside me makes everything feel normal, like yesterday didn’t happen at all—even if for just a minute.

But yesterday did happen. It couldn’t be any more obvious as the three of us step into the school building, and the whispers start. The stares follow us. We’re a spectacle. I’m a spectacle.

And it doesn’t stop. All day—at my locker, in classes, at lunch—it feels like there’s a spotlight over me. In the classes that I share with Chaewon and Jess at least I can sit with them. But in the ones where they’re not there, the other girls avoid me like they’re afraid of me.

My despair turns into a boiling hot anger the longer the day progresses. It simmers and sifts inside me until I feel like I’m about to explode. In English class, I poke a hole through my notebook from pressing down on the paper too hard as I scribble. Mr. Jensen looks at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance. All I can think is, of course he knows too. Everybody knows. And if they’re not being blatantly homophobic, they’re looking at me with this pity, like I’m a kicked puppy. Like they can’t do something to help me.

By the end of the day, I am a mixture of emotions: relief that the day is finally over, and anger at having experienced it at all. When I get to my locker, I’m in a rush to leave this oppressive place behind. Sure, home isn’t exactly a safe haven, but at least Priti is there and she has my back.

As I’m stuffing books into my locker, I see Chyna and Flávia out of the corner of my eye. Chyna is waving her hands around in wild gestures as she speaks to the rest of her posse. Flávia has her back against a bunch of lockers, her eyes cast down low. Her expression is unreadable. But the sight of her, instead of filling me with the jittery excitement of a crush, reignites my simmering anger.

I guess Flávia can sense me too, because after a moment she looks up and catches my eye. All I can think of is the last time we were together—at the party on her couch. How she smelled. How she leaned forward. How I almost let her kiss me.

I turn away and slam my locker door shut, trying to bottle up the anger and despair battling inside me. Trying to ignore Flávia’s gaze boring through me.

“Nishat Ahsan?” It’s Ms. Grenham—the school guidance counselor and health teacher. She ushers me over from the end of the hallway with a frown on her lips.

“Um, yes. That’s me.” There’s a waver in my voice that I try to bite down.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Um, sure,” I say, even though the last thing I want to do is talk to Ms. Grenham about anything. And of course I have a feeling that I already know what it’s about.

“Please, follow me.”

She leads me into her office around the corner, where we take seats opposite each other with her cluttered desk between us.

I try to give her my best smile, hoping that will deter whatever conversation is about to come, but she just considers me with a frown on her face, like I’m a problem she can’t quite solve.

Ms. Grenham is not exactly everyone’s favorite teacher. For a guidance counselor, she often seems very unapproachable. She walks around with her eyebrows knit together, like she’s having the worst time of her life. I’ve never really dealt with her before though.

“So, Nishat,” she begins slowly, taking me in. I shift in my seat, and the chair creaks under my weight. I stare at the poster behind Ms. Grenham’s head—it says “The World is Your Oyster” and has a picture of an oyster smack bang in the middle. It’s only one of several motivational posters hung all over her office. They look especially odd against the bright orange walls, like the office is trying a little too hard to be happy. It just makes me feel out of place.

“Principal Murphy said you were having some trouble. Your parents brought it to her attention.” She leans forward. “I hope you know that the school has a zero tolerance policy. If someone is bothering you, they’ll be dealt with seriously.”

I already know what their zero tolerance policy is actually like. Everyone who’s spent the last few years being harassed by Chyna knows.

“I’m fine.”

“There was a message sent around about you. Do you know who sent it?” Ms. Grenham slips a phone out of her pocket and shows me the bright screen with a screenshot of a text on it. It’s exactly as Priti described it—the words dripping with a kind of hatred I never imagined someone could feel for me. For a moment, all I can wonder is, could the Flávia at the party really have sent this message?