The Henna Wars(64)

“Well, I’m very proud of you, Jannu,” Nanu says. “And of Priti. Your Ammu said she’s been helping you.”

“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “She’s been helping me come up with ideas.”

Priti must hear her name mentioned through the wall between our rooms—or because she’s been eavesdropping as always—because the door to my bedroom cracks open and she peers inside.

“Is that Nanu?” she asks in a small voice.

I nod, patting the space beside me for her to sit down. She comes over, hesitating in a way that she never has in my room before. But when she turns to the screen, her face breaks out into a grin.

“Assalam Alaikum, Nanu!” she says. I put an arm around her and bring her closer to me so we’re both on screen at the same time.

“We were just talking about how you’ve been helping me with the henna business,” I tell her. “How we’re both proud of you.”

Priti blinks at me with some confusion for a moment, but I give her shoulder a squeeze, hoping she understands what that means.

After Nanu finally hangs up, telling us very little about herself but saying, “Mashallah,” and “Alhamdulillah,” and “Insha’Allah,” about a hundred times in response to everything from the business competition to Priti’s exams, I turn to Priti.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” Priti says, in turn.

“Okay, I’m trying to apologize and it’s rude to take over someone else’s apology.”

Priti burrows her face into my hair and mumbles, “Okay, apologize away.”

“That was it.”

She looks up at me again, a frown settled on her lips.

“That was your apology?”

“I said sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being selfish?”

She blows out a breath and sits back, crossing her arms over her chest. “And …”

“Not … paying enough attention to you. You’re right. I’ve been so caught up with Flávia that I forgot to pay attention. What’s going on with you and Ali anyway?”

She shakes her head. “We’re still talking about you.”

“I’m just sorry, okay? You know I love you. I would never … I didn’t mean to … and I know that you …” I sigh. “Just … that. I love you.”

A smile tugs at her lips and she leans forward, wrapping her arms around me. “I was mean yesterday.”

“Very.”

“I made you cry.”

“You did.”

“After everything else that’s happened.”

I ruffle her hair and it’s like I can feel the anger and resentment slip out of my body with every breath. “It’s okay. I think I get it. Will you tell me about Ali?”

“She just hasn’t been the same this year. She has her new boyfriend and this new attitude about everything. I told her about you and I thought she would understand, she would listen, but … she was weird about it. I should have told you before.”

“She was weird, how?”

“Like … she kept asking me weird questions,” Priti says, furrowing her eyebrows together like she’s trying really hard to remember exactly what was said. “She asked if Ammu and Abbu would force you to marry a man. And like … if you would be killed in Bangladesh if you went there now.”

“Well, yeah. Everyone can smell the lesbian on me now,” I joke.

She smiles, but I know she’s still thinking about Ali. “I don’t know if Ali is a racist or a homophobe or both. But … she sent the text. She said it was because everybody deserved to know about you. You were deceiving them by keeping it a secret.”

“I’m against Catholic ethos, not how an all-girl school should be run.” I remember the words from the text that had been sent out, even though I wish I could forget them.

I suddenly remember the conversation I overheard in school between them last week. “Is that what you were talking to her about when you were supposed to help me steal the henna tubes?”

Priti nods. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought … I could just make it go away. But I made it worse.”

“You should have told me.”

“You were already dealing with Ammu and Abbu, and Chyna and Flávia, and then even Sunny Apu was being horrible to you. I thought you had enough on your plate.”

“So you were trying to protect me?” The irony of it makes me want to laugh. By protecting me, Priti hurt me more than she would have if she had just told me the truth from the start.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was helping.”

I press her closer to my chest and say, “Next time, leave the protective sister act to me, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes. But I already know that she won’t, and I’m okay with it.





26

ON SATURDAY I WAKE UP WITH BUTTERFLIES IN MY stomach. These butterflies are completely different from the ones I feel because of Flávia; around her, I feel anxious in a pleasant way. Like I’m going to throw up, but at least there’s a pretty girl in front of me. Now I just want to throw up.

When I get into Abbu’s car with all my things, Priti’s already there with her schoolbag full of books.