The Henna Wars(53)

I spot Chyna, her posse, and Flávia sitting in one corner of the lunchroom. They’re sitting in a circle, all eyes on Chyna as she talks about something or other. Flávia is picking at her lunch—a dry-looking sandwich, cut up into triangles—and seems to be more interested in the graffiti on the desk in front of her than whatever Chyna is saying.

Jess and Chaewon are at the front of the lunchroom. They wave me over, but I just give them a quick wave back before slipping out the door.

“You know, you’ve made me miss sleep and food today,” Priti grumbles to me when she meets me outside the room. “This better be worth it.”

“Just keep a lookout, okay?” I say. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go eat your lunch.”

“Okay, Apujan.” She sighs heavily, like this is a very stressful thing for her.

I slip through the almost empty corridors until I get to the one where my locker is located. Right next to Flávia’s.

I saw the henna tubes there this morning, stuffed into the top shelf, nearly toppling over. She doesn’t have even half as many as I do, but she has enough.

My heartbeat is suddenly faster than should be humanly possible. A scene of someone catching me in the act replays in my head as I open Flávia’s locker. Sure, Priti is keeping lookout, but there’s only so much she can do. And if I get caught, she’ll be in trouble too.

Grabbing a handful of the henna tubes, I drop them through the limited spaces between the books in my bag, until they’ve disappeared into the black depths of the bottom.

I’ve almost emptied out the locker when I hear a chorus of voices in the distance. My eyes dart toward the voices, but they’re far enough away, and Priti hasn’t sent me a warning text. Maybe they’re turning down another hallway, or going into an empty classroom.

I should be okay, I hope.

I take the last of the henna tubes and stuff them into my bag before zipping it up.

As the group of girls round the corner—a bunch of tall, gangly sixth years who look at me with frowns as they pass—I’m jiggling open my own locker door. When they disappear out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief.

But now I realize I have a different problem entirely. Do I have to go through the rest of the school day with these henna tubes in my bag? What if Flávia realizes they’re missing and reports it? Will they search the school? Lockers? Bags?

And what if my books mess up the henna tubes? What if the henna leaks all over my school bags? Then I would be caught red-handed. Literally.

“What are you planning to do with those?” I hear a familiar voice behind me as I swing my locker door shut. Chyna is staring at me with the smuggest smile I’ve ever seen.

“With what?” I blink back at her innocently, my voice far calmer than I feel. There are a million thoughts screaming in my head, most of them to the tune of when did she get here? And how much did she see? And where is Priti?

Her smile tells me she’s seen far more than I want her to. Her gaze travels down to the bag that I’m clutching in my arms. Hugging to me like it’s my lifeline.

“I won’t ask you to show me,” she says, like she’s doing me a favor. “I’m sure Principal Murphy will be more than happy to ask you to do that.”

I gulp, feeling my heart sink. For a moment, time seems to stop. All I can see is the way Chyna’s lips curve up into a malicious grin. It’s all too familiar. I’ve seen it too many times, paired with disparagement of me, my heritage, my culture.

There’s some irony in the fact that it’s the henna in my backpack that’s going to get me into trouble. What will the punishment be for theft? Detention? Suspension? Will Principal Murphy go easy on me because I’m a first time offender? Or does that not make any difference?

“There you are.” Flávia’s soft voice breaks me out of my thoughts. She’s walking around the corner with a frown on her lips. Her eyes flit from Chyna, to me, back to Chyna. “What’s going on?”

“I think your friend Nishat has something of yours.” Chyna says the word, “friend,” with so much venom that I’m sure she knows about what almost happened between us at the party.

Flávia’s eyes rest on me now. I can’t read her expression.

“Nishat?”

She’s staring at me with so much expectation. I open my mouth, but there’s nothing to say. Not really.

I pick up my bag instead, unzipping it and digging around to find the henna tubes.

“Here.” I reach out and hand them to her. She takes them wordlessly, her expression still unreadable.

I wish that she would get angry. That she would get upset. At least, with Chyna, I know she hates me. I know she’s taking pleasure in all of this.

“You can report me to Principal Murphy. Whatever,” I say, after all of the henna tubes are emptied out of my bag. Flávia looks at them, at me, at Chyna—who is growing smugger and smugger with each passing moment.

“Principal Murphy?” she asks.

“She stole from you. That’s not tolerated in this school. Come on.” Chyna waves her hand at me, motioning for me to follow her, but Flávia shakes her head.

“We’re not going to Principal Murphy.”

“What?” It’s Chyna’s turn to frown. “Why not? She stole from you.”