The Henna Wars(71)

“How did you know?” I know it’s the wrong question to ask, but it tumbles out before I can stop it.

“We got a text.”

“Abbu is coming too?”

She nods and finally meets my eyes. She parts her lips for a moment, as if she’s about to say something.

“Nishat, I’m …” she begins. Her eyes bore into mine and I don’t know what to expect. “… good luck today,” she finishes weakly.

I wish Priti were here, but she’s probably still asleep. My whole body shakes on the way to school. Ammu wished me luck, but that doesn’t mean anything. Even if it is the most she’s said to me in a long time.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to entertain my parents in school today. I don’t know how I’m supposed to face them in the same vicinity as Flávia and pretend they haven’t rejected me.

I gulp down my anxiety and look straight ahead at the rain splattering the windshield of the bus. I just have to find a way to power through this day.

At school, I hang Flávia’s banner up on my stall, admiring the way it fits the whole aesthetic of my business perfectly. The colors are exactly the ones that set into your skin after henna dries off.

Chaewon and Jess come around holding a box of supplies as I’m setting out my henna tubes and design book on the table in front of me.

“Whoa, nice banner,” Jess comments, nodding at it admiringly. “You did it yourself?”

“Please.” I roll my eyes, because Jess should definitely know better than that.

“Priti?” Chaewon asks, taking the banner in admiringly.

I wonder for a moment how Chaewon and Jess would take it if I told them it was Flávia. What exactly they would think of that. But I just shake my head and change the topic.

“Shouldn’t you two be at your stall, getting ready? It’s a big showcase. Are your parents coming?”

Chaewon nods her head excitedly, like she can’t wait for her parents to show up. “My mom is so excited that people at school like the stuff we’re selling. She says it’s big in Korea but she didn’t think kids here would like it too.” She grins so wide that I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt her lips.

“Anyway, we’re here to help you!” Jess dramatically sets down the box she’s carrying on the table. “We brought over some stuff to help you out with your stall.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jess shrugs. “I mean, you’re on your own here and …”

“… it’s kind of our fault,” Chaewon finishes with a sheepish smile.

“We had different creative visions,” is all I say, before digging into the box. It’s full of fairy lights and colorful crepe paper. “Thanks.”

Jess and Chaewon help me finish setting up, stringing up fairy lights, and spreading the crepe paper around until the booth looks a little magical.

The showcase starts off okay. Even though almost every other booth gets more attention than mine, a few stragglers stop over and let me paint their hands with my henna. It’s not a lot—but it’s the most business I’ve gotten since this whole thing started.

An hour into the showcase, Jess comes over, nodding at my table with approval. “We did a pretty good job.”

I roll my eyes. “You did. With yours too.” Their stall has had nonstop customers—mostly students and teachers, but even the early arriving parents have been drawn to it.

“Well, will you do my henna?” Jess asks, taking a seat. “The other side.” She holds up her empty palm.

“Sure.” I smile and show her my design book, getting everything ready as she makes her choice about what henna design to get.

Once she’s decided, she places her hand flat on the table in front of me and I hover my hand over hers, henna tube at the ready.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” The sudden outburst takes me out of my work. When I look up, she’s studying me with a frown. It’s the most serious I’ve ever seen her look.

“You’ve already apologized,” I say.

“Not really. Not for the real stuff,” Jess sighs. “Like … not believing you about Chyna. And leaving you out to dry instead of supporting your idea for the henna business.”

“It’s okay. You’re supporting me now.”

“How come …” She stops and takes a deep breath. “How come you never told us about you being gay?”

I can only shrug. Why didn’t I ever tell them? It wasn’t that I never thought about it, but after I told Ammu and Abbu it felt like a curtain fell over that part of me. A curtain I couldn’t part, no matter how hard I tried. Every time I thought about telling them, telling anyone, I only remembered what Ammu said about making choices. I know it’s not about making choices—rationally—but to tell other people would feel like confirming what Ammu was most afraid of: Me choosing to bring us shame. And I wasn’t sure if I could handle rejection and loss a second time.

Jess frowns, like she’s really thinking about it. I worry she’ll be angry and lash out. After all, she and I haven’t had the best track record lately. But she nods her head and stills her hand beneath me.

“I think I get it. I probably wouldn’t have told me either, if I were you. Especially … after everything.” I expect her to say more, to ask more questions. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me expectantly with her hand thrust out in front of her.