But how can I do all of that without telling them why? How can I convince them that right now, the business competition, the henna, the urge to win, is the only thing keeping me going? That it’s the only solid thing in my life right now? When everything else feels up in the air, out of control?
I can’t say any of those things. So at lunch I settle for approaching them with my brightest (fakest) smile and two of the finest chocolate bars you can purchase at the school’s tuck shop.
“Hey.” I sit down, offering them the bars. They accept, sharing a bewildered look but peeling the wrappers off and beginning to nibble at the ends anyway.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier.” I say. “I was just … upset.”
“Clearly,” Jess says. Chaewon looks at her chidingly, before leaning forward, her face softening.
“Look, we understand why you were upset. We do.” I’m not sure she does. “But right now, it does feel like we’re playing a very small part in all of this. And this project is supposed to be ours, you know?”
“And you’re bulldozing over us.”
“I’m not …” I begin a little too loudly. A little too angrily. I stop, take a deep breath, and begin again in a lower, hopefully calmer, voice. “I’m not trying to bulldoze over you guys. I’m sorry if I made decisions without really talking to you. But it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing.”
“How?” Jess scoffs.
“By trying to come up with the idea for the business with no input from me before? And secretly deciding between yourselves that you don’t really want to do this anymore? Talking about me behind my back?”
“Okay, first of all.” Jess’s voice rises a notch as she leans over the table between us. “You were part of the groupchat, and it’s not our fault you decided not to participate. And second, we weren’t talking behind your back.”
“Jess,” Chaewon’s voice is stern.
“We weren’t!”
“Maybe we were being a little unfair?” Chaewon asks, catching Jess’s eye. “We should hear Nishat out. She’s our friend and this is important to her.”
I love Chaewon so much at this moment that I could kiss her. It’s nice to know that she has my back a little bit.
Jess doesn’t look happy at being reprimanded, but she does shut up, giving me a chance to present my case. I’ve been practicing this all day, mostly in my head, but I also scribbled some notes into my phone when nobody was looking. I kind of wish I could whip them out now, but that would look weird.
“Chyna is racist,” I start.
Jess rolls her eyes, but Chaewon sits up straight in her chair. Like this is the declaration she was waiting for.
“You guys know she is. You know the things she says, about me and my sister. And … everyone else as well.”
“Yes, she says them about everyone.” Jess interrupts. “She’s not racist, she’s just a bitch. She’s a bad person but she isn’t specifically bad to you because of your race.”
I shake my head, hoping that Chaewon will cut in again to back me up on this, but she doesn’t. I know she agrees with me, though. I’m not the only victim of her racist rumors.
“Well, regardless, she’s said some stuff and now she’s going around with henna on her hands. That’s cultural appropriation.”
Jess rolls her eyes again, and it takes everything in me to not reach across the table and punch her. I do have to ball my hands into fists so tight under the desk that my nails dig into my skin painfully. It helps. A little.
“Claiming cultural appropriation is a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” Jess asks. Chaewon doesn’t say anything, but her lips turn down in a frown.
“It’s not ridiculous, that’s what it is. Chyna and Flávia are making a profit off of my culture, and my culture is important to me. Henna is important to me. I’m not just going to let them walk all over me, and sell my culture like it’s some kind of product.”
“But you can package and sell it like a product?”
“That’s different.”
“And how is it cultural appropriation when they have henna in Arab and African countries? Flávia is …” She pauses, like she’s thinking very hard about what words she should say next. “… African-American.”
This time, Chaewon does glance at me. I have to stifle a laugh and try to keep a straight face as I say, “Flávia is Brazilian and Irish.”
“Yeah, but she’s … you know.”
“Black?”
Jess shifts in her seat, like the word Black is something dirty or uncomfortable.
“Yeah. And they have henna in Africa.”
“But … Flávia isn’t African. It’s not a part of her culture.”
“And if she was African, if it was part of her culture, that would be different?”
“Obviously.”
Jess leans back in her chair. For a moment, I think maybe I’ve actually got through to her. That she’ll throw up her hands and say, “Let’s do it, then!”
Instead, she says, “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Actually, I’m not even sure there’s a molehill. You’re just making a huge deal out of something that’s not even there. Like, you can be annoyed at Flávia and Chyna stealing your idea without playing the race card.”
“The race card!” My voice has definitely risen now, if only because Jess is sounding more and more like Chyna, and less and less like a rational, sympathetic human being. But before I can say more, Chaewon is standing up and putting her hands out between us. It’s a little dramatic, because it’s not like Jess and I are about to attack each other. At least, not physically.
Yet.
“Maybe we should just call a truce for now. Sleep on this and come back,” Chaewon says.
“We can’t. We have to talk to Ms. Montgomery and finalize our plans in class today.” Jess points out. “And since this is a democracy, we should vote on what we want. So if you want to abandon the henna plan, raise your hand.”
She raises her own hand and turns expectantly to Chaewon. I will Chaewon not to raise her hand, even though I know that she’ll always choose Jess’s side over mine.
Surprisingly, though, Chaewon shakes her head. “I’m not choosing a side, and we’re not voting. I’m sure Ms. Montgomery will understand if we ask for an extension because we need more time. We’ll tell her that we’ll take a day or two to really think about it and get back to her ASAP. We can even explain the whole Flávia situation to her. The overlap of ideas.”
Theft of ideas, I want to point out, but I doubt Ms. Montgomery will see it that way either.
“If we push back starting our business, then Flávia and Chyna are going to swoop in and take all of our customers. It’ll be for nothing,” I say.
“Then the obvious thing to do is come up with a new idea. We already have some options brainstormed and—”
But this time I stand up. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor, nearly toppling over. Now that would have been dramatic. But even this has a few people in the room staring up at us, wondering what’s causing an outburst in our usually quiet, introverted group.