I stand with my shoulders straight and paste a bright smile on my lips. One by one the girls pass my table. Their eyes flit past me to the table next to me. Or they duck their heads and walk toward Flávia’s stall.
Within minutes, a queue forms at her stall. I wait, hoping some of them will grow impatient and come over to me. But none of them even look in my direction.
Everyone’s stall has people milling about. Except mine.
I bite down the tears threatening to fall. I have to be stronger than this. But how much longer can I tolerate it? How much longer do I have to stand here by myself, staring out into this hall crowded with people who obviously want nothing to do with me, and pretend it doesn’t bother me?
“Apujan?” Priti is suddenly right in front of me, staring at me with searching eyes. “Are you okay?”
I’m not, but I nod. I’m more confused by her presence than anything else.
“What are you doing here?”
She doesn’t respond. She’s just looking at me with wide, questioning eyes.
“Have you checked your phone?”
“Not … recently.”
She casts a quick glance around, like she’s only just realized where she is. That we’re surrounded by people. That I’m technically supposed to be working.
“Come with me.” She grabs my hand and pulls me out from behind the table.
“What about—”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “Nobody will touch it. Just come on.”
She tugs at my arm and leads me out of the hallway, which has descended into near silence as almost every head turns to watch us leave.
“What’s going on?” I ask. When I turn to face the students looking at me, they all turn their gazes away. Like catching my eye will spread some sort of a disease.
“Somebody sent an anonymous text to the whole school,” Priti says, when we’re outside in the deserted entrance hallway. “About … you.”
“What did it say?”
She takes a deep breath and ducks her head. For a moment I think she won’t answer, but after a minute she sighs and says, “That you’re a lesbian. Somebody sent around a text outing you, saying you’re dangerous, that the school shouldn’t have you here, that it’s against their Catholic ethos, that it’s not how an all-girls school should be run, that—”
“Stop.” I feel sick. Bile rises inside me. Who would write such hateful things about me? Who would out me like that? Who at this school even knew I was gay? I only ever told my sister and …
Flávia. She’s the only person who might have suspected the truth. But she wouldn’t tell anyone, would she? And if not her, who?
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Like something has been ripped from me that I can’t recover.
I slide down the wall behind me to the floor and bury my head in my hands. Everything suddenly clicks into place. The reason why nobody has been coming to my stall. Why everybody has been avoiding me like I’m the plague.
Priti sits down next to me. She snakes an arm around me until I’m cradled into her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. I remember how it felt to come out for the first time. What it felt like to make that decision. Fear and anxiety all wrapped together. But there was something else, too. That inkling of hope. And the joy when Priti accepted me for who I am. When she wrapped me up in her arms and told me so.
Now it feels like I’ve been stripped of all of that. Like I’ve been stripped of my choice. Of my identity, even. Like I’ve become passive in my own life.
“You were right about her.” I sit up and blink back my tears. I rub at my eyes like that’ll somehow make all of this stop. “About … Flávia.” Her name is stuck in my throat but I somehow manage to get it out. “She was all … wrong for me. And now … this.”
Priti blinks at me with wide eyes, her gaze roaming my face. Like she’s trying to take this all in.
“This …?” she asks.
“The only people who knew my sexuality in this school were you and her.”
“You … told her?” Priti is looking down at the ground with wide eyes. Like she can’t quite believe her ears.
“No, but she knew. And she … she did this.” I gulp down the lump making its way up my throat once more. “She must have told … someone. Chyna … or … I don’t know.” It was clicking into place now. It had to have been Chyna. And Flávia had done nothing to stop her. Nothing to warn me when she found out.
“Yes.” Priti is nodding her head frantically. “That makes sense. It must have been her. We should go to the principal. Tell her everything. I’ll show her the text and they’ll be suspended, probably. I mean, this is a hate crime!”
“No. That’s not going to make anything better.” The thought of telling someone about this feels almost as bad as the fact that it happened.
“Whoever did this deserves to be punished, Apujan,” Priti says in a grave voice.
I shake my head. It’s not that I don’t agree with her, but these kinds of things are rarely punished. It’s not as if the horrendous things said about me and Priti over the years were ever met with any consequences. The teachers couldn’t have failed to hear the whispers in the hallways, like horrid secrets the girls carried with them, spilling them with glee into each other’s ears. But nobody ever bothered to put a stop to it.
Telling the principal would just make everything worse. What if Ammu and Abbu got dragged into it? Would they even stick up for me? Or would they agree with whatever the text said? Would they be ashamed that so many people know now?
I can imagine their faces, red and blotchy from anger and tears—with the shame that has been brought onto our family. Shame that I have, ultimately, made the wrong choice.
I stand.
“You should go back to class,” I say.
“What are you going to do?” Priti stands up too.
“I’m going to go back in there and show them that I don’t care. That … I’m stronger than them.” I’m still blinking back tears. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep them at bay. But I want to stand there and look Flávia in the eye. I want to hold her accountable for everything. And I won’t give any of them the satisfaction of me going home. Of appearing weak.
“Are you sure?” Priti asks in a whisper, like speaking too loudly will break me. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got this.”
“I love you, Apujan,” she whispers. “And I’m so damn proud of you. I hope you know that.”
19
WHEN I WALK BACK INTO THE MAIN HALL, I DON’T THINK anybody expects it. They turn to stare, their eyes boring into my sides as I walk past with my head held high, telling my tears to keep back until I’m safe at home.
I slip inside my stall and behind the table. I can hear people whispering as time passes—too slowly. Girls shuffle by my stall, their gaze averted as if lesbianism is something they can catch. There are a few girls who make their way over throughout the afternoon to show their support. Frowns settle on their mouths as they take the seat opposite me and let me apply henna to their hands.