The Henna Wars(60)

Chyna doesn’t look like she’s completely buying it. Buying us, looking like we’ve been caught doing … what? I can’t imagine what Chyna is thinking.

Her eyes drift from a guilty-looking Flávia to me, and she says, “Nishat,” with a grim nod of her head.

“Chyna,” I mumble.

“I’ll be downstairs …” She toes the doorway like she’s waiting for an invitation to stay. “Auntie said I could come over for dinner….”

“Oh.” Flávia doesn’t say any more—doesn’t try to stop Chyna or anything. A moment later we hear Chyna’s footsteps on the stairs, the wood creaking underneath her weight.

Flávia brushes a lock of damp hair away from her eyes and heaves a sigh.

“Sorry.”

I’m not sure what exactly she’s apologizing for. For trying to kiss me again? For Chyna interrupting us?

I’m afraid to ask, so I just shrug and say, “It’s okay.”





24

CHYNA IS IN THE SITTING ROOM, WITH HER SHOES OFF AND her legs crossed on the couch. She’s watching a rerun of America’s Next Top Model like it’s the most interesting thing to ever exist.

It’s actually strange to see her like this—so domestic. It almost reminds me of back when we were friends. During the first few days of secondary school, Chyna had this nervous energy about her. Like she didn’t quite know where she fit in, or what her role was. I thought that all dissipated after Catherine McNamara’s birthday party, but watching her now, I think that maybe it didn’t really. Maybe Chyna just got really good at hiding it.

“Does she come here often?” I whisper to Flávia at the bottom of the stairs.

“Every once in a while.” Flávia’s lips are pressed in a thin line like she’s not very impressed with Chyna for being here. “I have to go talk to my mom, can you give me a minute?”

I can’t exactly say no, even though the last thing I want is to have to spend time alone with Chyna of all people, but I nod my head.

Flávia slips away toward the kitchen and I gingerly make my way into the sitting room. The episode of America’s Next Top Model is from a few years back—I remember the faces of most of the contestants, but I’ve forgotten their names.

“I can’t believe you still watch this,” I say, before my brain reminds me that engaging in conversation with Chyna is not something I want to do.

Chyna turns to look at me with her lips pressed together in a frown.

“I can’t believe you’re here, hanging out with my cousin.”

I roll my eyes and take a seat on the couch next to her. “You know, I knew Flávia way before I knew you.”

“Yeah, so she’s said. The world has a funny way about it, doesn’t it?”

Funny is definitely one way to put it. I shift around in my seat, watching the screen in front of me but not really taking anything in.

I can hear Flávia and her mom in the other room, but their words are barely audible—not that more volume would help, since I don’t speak a word of Portuguese, and as far as I know neither does Chyna.

“I hate it when Flá and Auntie talk in Portuguese,” Chyna mumbles, confirming my suspicions. “You know when someone is speaking in another language right near you and you’re paranoid they’re speaking about you?”

I have to smile at the irony of that, because Chyna doesn’t really have any qualms about speaking about other people in a language they most definitely understand.

“I don’t know. Sometimes, maybe. Flávia and your Auntie are probably just more comfortable speaking Portuguese than English with each other.” But also, Flávia probably is discussing Chyna with her mom. And Chyna probably knows that too.

“Why are you here?” Chyna turns to me with a frown on her lips. I’m surprised the question didn’t come sooner. “What are you doing with my cousin?”

“Chy, that’s kind of a rude question,” Flávia mumbles from the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen. “Nishat and I are friends, I was helping her with something.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this and I feel my stomach plummet.

“You had to help her with something in your unicorn onesie?” Chyna asks.

“I told you, I wanted to be comfy. Don’t act all high and mighty like you don’t have an ugly polka dot Minnie Mouse one. At least mine is cute.”

“You have a Minnie Mouse onesie?” I’m already trying to figure out how I can get a picture of that. I know Priti, Chaewon, and Jess would all appreciate it.

Chyna shoots me a glare and says, “Flávia bullied me into buying it.”

Flávia crosses her arms over her chest and scoffs, “As if.”

Chyna directs her glare to Flávia this time and says, “Shut up.”

Flávia, in turn, crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. I let out a giggle. Not just because it’s kind of adorable and reminds me of Priti, but because I would never have expected Flávia and Chyna to act like this when they’re alone together. They always seem so reserved and serious—especially Chyna. Even when Chyna and I were friends—brief as that relationship was—we never messed around like this.