Priti frowns, looking like she’s really considering it. “Does it really mean that much to you, getting back at them?” she asks.
“Why do they get to take away my right to come out, and win a competition with my culture on display?” I ask.
Priti sighs. “Okay … what’s your plan?”
21
THE NEXT MORNING PRITI AND I GET TO SCHOOL WAY earlier than usual, just as the doors are opened. Only a small number of people are in. Priti grumbles something incomprehensible before staggering off to her locker on the other side of the school. Rolling my eyes, I make my way to my own.
I stand in the hallway, fiddling with my phone as I wait for the rest of the school to file in. Flávia and Chyna are nowhere to be seen, and I have no idea when the two of them usually get to school. I don’t even know if they come together.
But about half an hour before the start of classes, Priti sends me a text that she just spotted Flávia and Chyna making their way over. I jump up and begin to dig into my messy locker full of books. Everyone else has decked their lockers out already; I know Chaewon has pictures of her favorite K-drama stars, along with her favorite boy bands. Jess has pictures of her favorite video game characters. But I’ve yet to put anything up in mine. Not because I don’t want to, but because it feels too much like exposing myself to my classmates. It’s announcing allegiance to something, or someone. It’s putting your identity on display for everyone to see—and judge.
I make a show of pulling my books out of my locker and stuffing them into my bag as Flávia strolls up and starts jiggling open her locker. I watch her heavy black lock out of the corner of my eye.
“53 … 2 … 12,” she whispers. I have to stop myself from grinning. She’s making this way too easy.
53. 2. 12.
It’s like Flávia wants me to break into her locker. She’s basically inviting me to do it.
“Do you have a problem?” When I tear my eyes away from Flávia, I notice Chyna standing right behind her. She has her arms folded over her chest and is glaring at me like I’m no better than the dirt beneath her shoes.
Yesterday, this would have made me burst into a fit of anger. But today, with Flávia’s locker combination in my head, I only feel a quiet glee.
“Nope.” I swing my door shut, shoot her the sweetest smile I can, and slip away to my first class.
By the time lunchtime rolls around, I’ve memorized the numbers.
53. 2. 12. I’ve been repeating it inside my head all morning, afraid to write it down in case it could somehow be used as evidence.
I spot Chyna, her posse, and Flávia sitting in one corner of the lunchroom. They’re sitting in a circle, all eyes on Chyna as she talks about something or other. Flávia is picking at her lunch—a dry-looking sandwich, cut up into triangles—and seems to be more interested in the graffiti on the desk in front of her than whatever Chyna is saying.
Jess and Chaewon are at the front of the lunchroom. They wave me over, but I just give them a quick wave back before slipping out the door.
“You know, you’ve made me miss sleep and food today,” Priti grumbles to me when she meets me outside the room. “This better be worth it.”
“Just keep a lookout, okay?” I say. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go eat your lunch.”
“Okay, Apujan.” She sighs heavily, like this is a very stressful thing for her.
I slip through the almost empty corridors until I get to the one where my locker is located. Right next to Flávia’s.
I saw the henna tubes there this morning, stuffed into the top shelf, nearly toppling over. She doesn’t have even half as many as I do, but she has enough.
My heartbeat is suddenly faster than should be humanly possible. A scene of someone catching me in the act replays in my head as I open Flávia’s locker. Sure, Priti is keeping lookout, but there’s only so much she can do. And if I get caught, she’ll be in trouble too.
Grabbing a handful of the henna tubes, I drop them through the limited spaces between the books in my bag, until they’ve disappeared into the black depths of the bottom.
I’ve almost emptied out the locker when I hear a chorus of voices in the distance. My eyes dart toward the voices, but they’re far enough away, and Priti hasn’t sent me a warning text. Maybe they’re turning down another hallway, or going into an empty classroom.
I should be okay, I hope.
I take the last of the henna tubes and stuff them into my bag before zipping it up.
As the group of girls round the corner—a bunch of tall, gangly sixth years who look at me with frowns as they pass—I’m jiggling open my own locker door. When they disappear out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief.
But now I realize I have a different problem entirely. Do I have to go through the rest of the school day with these henna tubes in my bag? What if Flávia realizes they’re missing and reports it? Will they search the school? Lockers? Bags?
And what if my books mess up the henna tubes? What if the henna leaks all over my school bags? Then I would be caught red-handed. Literally.
“What are you planning to do with those?” I hear a familiar voice behind me as I swing my locker door shut. Chyna is staring at me with the smuggest smile I’ve ever seen.
“With what?” I blink back at her innocently, my voice far calmer than I feel. There are a million thoughts screaming in my head, most of them to the tune of when did she get here? And how much did she see? And where is Priti?
Her smile tells me she’s seen far more than I want her to. Her gaze travels down to the bag that I’m clutching in my arms. Hugging to me like it’s my lifeline.
“I won’t ask you to show me,” she says, like she’s doing me a favor. “I’m sure Principal Murphy will be more than happy to ask you to do that.”
I gulp, feeling my heart sink. For a moment, time seems to stop. All I can see is the way Chyna’s lips curve up into a malicious grin. It’s all too familiar. I’ve seen it too many times, paired with disparagement of me, my heritage, my culture.
There’s some irony in the fact that it’s the henna in my backpack that’s going to get me into trouble. What will the punishment be for theft? Detention? Suspension? Will Principal Murphy go easy on me because I’m a first time offender? Or does that not make any difference?
“There you are.” Flávia’s soft voice breaks me out of my thoughts. She’s walking around the corner with a frown on her lips. Her eyes flit from Chyna, to me, back to Chyna. “What’s going on?”
“I think your friend Nishat has something of yours.” Chyna says the word, “friend,” with so much venom that I’m sure she knows about what almost happened between us at the party.
Flávia’s eyes rest on me now. I can’t read her expression.
“Nishat?”
She’s staring at me with so much expectation. I open my mouth, but there’s nothing to say. Not really.
I pick up my bag instead, unzipping it and digging around to find the henna tubes.
“Here.” I reach out and hand them to her. She takes them wordlessly, her expression still unreadable.
I wish that she would get angry. That she would get upset. At least, with Chyna, I know she hates me. I know she’s taking pleasure in all of this.