The Henna Wars(52)

“It’s not important,” I mumble, ducking my head and not meeting Ms. Grenham’s eyes. “It was probably just a joke or something.”

“In ill taste,” she insists. “I can’t help you, Nishat, if you don’t help me.”

I can’t stand the way she says my name: Neesh-hat, like I’m a niche hat.

“I just think it’s better if we forget about it,” I say. “It’ll be yesterday’s news soon.” There will be somebody else to taunt soon enough. I know how the food chain here works. Plus, I already know that the most Ms. Grenham will do is give Chyna and Flávia a slap on the wrist. I’m pretty sure I can do better than that.

Ms. Grenham doesn’t seem particularly impressed by my decision, but she nods anyway. “If that’s how you feel.”

I take that as my cue to leave. I mutter a quick “thank you” and slip out of her office quickly. I’m turning the corner toward the main hallway when Priti almost runs into me. She shoots me a glare and I notice that she’s huffing like she’s been running.

“Where have you been?” Her voice has that high-pitched quality it always gets when she’s angry. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Sorry … Ms. Grenham wanted to talk to me.” I link my hand through hers and begin to lead us out of the school. The hallways are almost empty now—only the students participating in today’s after-school activity are left behind. “It was useless.”

“They didn’t find the person who did it?” Priti asks, her voice suddenly sounding grave.

“We know who did it,” I say. “And … I think I know how to get back at them.”

“Get back at them …?” she asks slowly. The plan is clicking together in my head slowly. I just need Priti to be on board.

“They outed me to the whole school because of this … henna competition. We can’t just let them get away with it.” The anger I’ve tried to suppress is still throbbing somewhere deep inside of me, growing bigger and bigger with the more weight I give it.

I’m the one who has to go into school every day and face rooms full of people who know something about me that I never told them. Something they had no right to know. Just because I had a crush on the wrong girl. Because I entered into a competition with someone who decided they could appropriate my culture and win.

I can’t let them win.

“Are you sure that it was Flávia?”

“If it wasn’t Flávia, it was Chyna because Flávia told her,” I say. “You can’t give Chyna that kind of information without her spilling it to the whole world. You know the kind of things Chyna does.”

Priti frowns, looking like she’s really considering it. “Does it really mean that much to you, getting back at them?” she asks.

“Why do they get to take away my right to come out, and win a competition with my culture on display?” I ask.

Priti sighs. “Okay … what’s your plan?”





21

THE NEXT MORNING PRITI AND I GET TO SCHOOL WAY earlier than usual, just as the doors are opened. Only a small number of people are in. Priti grumbles something incomprehensible before staggering off to her locker on the other side of the school. Rolling my eyes, I make my way to my own.

I stand in the hallway, fiddling with my phone as I wait for the rest of the school to file in. Flávia and Chyna are nowhere to be seen, and I have no idea when the two of them usually get to school. I don’t even know if they come together.

But about half an hour before the start of classes, Priti sends me a text that she just spotted Flávia and Chyna making their way over. I jump up and begin to dig into my messy locker full of books. Everyone else has decked their lockers out already; I know Chaewon has pictures of her favorite K-drama stars, along with her favorite boy bands. Jess has pictures of her favorite video game characters. But I’ve yet to put anything up in mine. Not because I don’t want to, but because it feels too much like exposing myself to my classmates. It’s announcing allegiance to something, or someone. It’s putting your identity on display for everyone to see—and judge.

I make a show of pulling my books out of my locker and stuffing them into my bag as Flávia strolls up and starts jiggling open her locker. I watch her heavy black lock out of the corner of my eye.

“53 … 2 … 12,” she whispers. I have to stop myself from grinning. She’s making this way too easy.

53. 2. 12.

It’s like Flávia wants me to break into her locker. She’s basically inviting me to do it.

“Do you have a problem?” When I tear my eyes away from Flávia, I notice Chyna standing right behind her. She has her arms folded over her chest and is glaring at me like I’m no better than the dirt beneath her shoes.

Yesterday, this would have made me burst into a fit of anger. But today, with Flávia’s locker combination in my head, I only feel a quiet glee.

“Nope.” I swing my door shut, shoot her the sweetest smile I can, and slip away to my first class.

By the time lunchtime rolls around, I’ve memorized the numbers.

53. 2. 12. I’ve been repeating it inside my head all morning, afraid to write it down in case it could somehow be used as evidence.