“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.
“I’m not interested in new ideas. I’m not interested in a compromise. I’m interested in starting this henna business and beating Chyna and Flávia for stealing from me, from us.”
Jess parts her lips, probably to say something else that’ll make me see red, but I’m already turning around and heading out the door.
The last thing I hear is Jess telling Chaewon how unbelievably ridiculous I’m being. I don’t stop to hear if Chaewon will defend me. I already know she won’t.
I’m probably paranoid, but I feel like everybody in the school knows about my disagreement with Jess and Chaewon. Like everybody’s staring at me, judging. It’s not like I’m the most popular kid in school—far from it. But now I’ve alienated the only two people who actually put up with me. Who sit with me in class and lunch. Who occasionally text me on WhatsApp.
But how can they not get that this is important to me? And if I can’t trust them with this, how can I trust them with me?
I shuffle into the last class of the day—Business—with my head held as high as it can be. I’m pretty sure I’m giving myself a stiff neck, but I don’t care. I just want Chaewon and Jess to know they don’t bother me. That I don’t regret my decision, even though there’s a small part of me that keeps repeating what did you do, what did you do, what did you do in a berating mantra.
I take a seat at the very front of the class—where Chaewon would most definitely love to sit—and stare up ahead, waiting for Ms. Montgomery to make her appearance. The rest of the class shuffles in, some of them casting curious glances at me and then at Chaewon and Jess sitting at th
e back of the class, huddled together. Probably discussing me.
When Flávia walks in, glued to Chyna’s side as always, she glances at me. There’s a twinkle in her eye, and a smile tugging at her lips. My heart flutters at the sight of her even though I’m trying to tell it to shut up because we are rivals and she’s a culture thief! But then Flávia is looking away again, and she and Chyna push past my desk to find a seat by the window.
Ms. Montgomery bounds into the classroom a moment later with a flourish.
“Good afternoon, girls!” She exclaims like we’re about to set off on an exciting adventure and not a regular old business class that nobody really wants to be in.
“Good afternoon,” all of us mumble back in unison. Her smile is as bright as ever as she claps her hands and declares that she’s going to come around to talk to each of us about our business plans, to help us brainstorm further ideas.
“We’re going to have an opening day business showcase next Monday, if all goes to plan,” she says brightly, before dashing off to the first group of girls to discuss their plans. The class immediately erupts into chatter, about businesses and this upcoming showcase.
My stomach drops at the thought. Next Monday seems too close. Only one week to prepare everything, to be open for business and ready to beat Flávia.
When Ms. Montgomery comes around to me a few minutes later, there’s a frown on her lips.
“Nishat, I thought you were in a group of three with Chaewon and Jessica?” She takes the seat beside me and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I was, but … we had … creative differences?”
“Hm.” Her lips are pressed into a thin line. For a moment I think she’ll ask what happened and make me rehash everything in front of the whole class. But she shrugs and says, “Okay. So you’re going solo?”
I nod, thankful that she’s decided against asking any further questions.
“Well, do you have plans? Ideas? Enough to set you up by next Monday?”
“Yeah, I do!” I open up my book and take out all of the sketches and brainstorms that I’ve been working on. I hand them to Ms. Montgomery and watch anxiously as her eyes scan the pages. She sounds out the occasional hmms and ahhs as she reads, but nothing gives away her thoughts.
“You do know there is another group with a similar idea to yours?” She asks when she’s finally finished reading.
“I do.”
“And they’re a larger group, so it might be more difficult for you to compete against them.”
“I know.”
“But you still want to stick with this? Alone?” She doesn’t say it like she disapproves, or thinks that I should change my mind, but like she just wants to confirm that this is really what I want. That I won’t have regrets later.
“I do.” I give her the most confident smile that I can muster.
“Well, I’m excited to see what you can do.” She doesn’t say it with any malice, or hope. More like she is excited to see what I can achieve on my own with this idea.
She slips off to the next table. I let out a breath, running my fingers through my notes and sketches.
Monday.
One week. Barely.
I can do it. Especially now that I’ve successfully lost all of my friends.
15
“WHY DO YOU LOOK SO GRUMPY?” PRITI ASKS ME WHEN we’re on the bus on the way home.
“I’m not grumpy,” I contest, even though I don’t think I can pull my lips into a smile even if I try my hardest. “I just have a lot to do this week.”
“That’s not your stressed face, it’s your grumpy face.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Priti and I don’t keep secrets from each other. Ever since we were kids, we’ve stuck together and spilled our hearts to each other like nobody else mattered. Like there was nobody else to spill our hearts to.
The only secret I kept from her was my sexuality, and that only for a short time while anxiety gnawed away at me. I remember spending several nights restlessly tossing and turning because I was afraid of losing my sister. But like always, Priti came through for me.
She listened aptly while I mumbled the words about who I was, avoiding looking at her because I was afraid of who would be staring back. Even before I had finished, she was hugging me tight and telling me she loved me.
But the thought of telling Priti what happened with Chaewon and Jess makes me feel a little nauseous. How do I tell Priti that I might have lost my only friends to this competition? A competition that hasn’t even started yet? And what if she doesn’t understand how important it is, either?
So I stare out the window of the bus while Priti casts curious glances at me every once in a while. When my phone pings with a new message, we’re both startled out of our thoughts.
I frown before unlocking my phone. Priti’s already scooting closer, trying—unsubtly—to peer at the screen over my shoulder. I push her back, and shoot her a glare.
“What are you doing?”
“I just wanna see. Include me!”
I hold the phone away from her prying eyes. “Mind your business.”
She huffs but picks up her own phone and begins to scroll through her Instagram feed.
One new text, my phone’s notification center declares.
Flávia: just wanted to let you know your plan didn’t work
I frown before quickly typing back, what plan?
The three dots that indicate she’s typing appear almost instantly. I say to my heart, stop beating so loudly! We don’t like her! But as always, my heart refuses to listen, so I wait for her reply with an increased pulse.
Flávia: contacted the guy at the shop and there’ll be new henna tubes by the end of the week!! Will pick up first thing Monday and be ready for business
“Ugh.”
Priti looks over with a haughty smile that does nothing to make my mood better. “Trouble in paradise?”
“My plan didn’t work. Flávia says Raj Uncle will have the henna tubes in by the end of the week, and we’re supposed to be showcasing our businesses to the school for the first time next Monday.”
“She’s texting you?” Priti doesn’t sound too happy about that. “How does she have your phone number?”
“Chyna, I guess.” I shrug. “Anyway, the point is … I have to think of something else. She’s already got so much interest, and wherever Chyna goes a huge crowd of people follow, so …”
“So you need to find a way to delay the shipment.” Priti taps her chin, thoughtfully.
“I don’t think I have the means to do something that big. You need to think smaller.”
“Apujan.” Priti gasps dramatically. “Who, in the history of the world, has achieved greatness by saying that we need to think smaller?”
“Hopefully me,” I say, as I quickly type out a response to Flávia. There’s no way she’s going to have the last word. And there’s no way I’m going to let her think she’s won. Even if she has. So I write, great, super happy for you :) :) :), hoping that the sarcasm is obvious enough to bother her.
“You could buy out Raj Uncle again?” Priti offers when I look up from my phone.
“I can’t, unless I want to take a major loss.”
“You could steal the henna tubes from her!”
I don’t think Priti’s being serious, because she’s still tapping her chin thoughtfully, but that idea somehow seems totally perfect.
“I could do that,” I say. “I think …”
“What?” Priti turns to me with furrowed eyebrows.
“Steal the henna tubes.”
“That’s theft.”
“Only for a short while. Long enough for it to make a difference. Think of it as … borrowing, not stealing.”
“Apujan … I was just kidding. I’m pretty sure you’d get in trouble for that,” she says.
“Not if I don’t get caught.”
“You’ll get caught. You’re not exactly James Bond.”
“I won’t get caught if
you help me.”
“I’m not James Bond either!”
“Please, Priti. It’s kind of the exact right form of payback. She stole something from me, now I borrow something from her.”
Priti hesitates. “And you will give it back?”
I don’t have time to answer as the bus jerks to a stop.
“This is us!” I grab my bag and hurry down the stairs before the driver decides to shut the door and zoom off. Priti hurries after me. She must not be too bothered by the idea of me taking Flávia’s henna tubes because when we slip through the front door, she’s too busy glaring into her phone to repeat her question.
An hour before bed, my phone rings. It actually rings. The only people who have ever called me are Ammu and Abbu, and both of them are in the house with me. Not to mention I don’t think either of them particularly wants to speak to me at the moment. Or maybe ever again.
For a second, I just stare at my vibrating phone. There’s only a number flashing on my screen. I wait the ringing out, then go back to working on my henna designs.
But a moment later the phone begins to buzz again. One, two, three times. I let it ring out. It has to be a prank call.
When it rings a third time, though, curiosity gets the better of me.
“Finally. Where have you been?” I recognize Chaewon’s low, lilty voice in an instant. “I’ve been calling for ages.”
“You only called three times … whose phone are you calling from?”
“My mom’s. My phone is out of credit,” she says. “So … hey.”
“Hi.” Chaewon and I barely text, much less talk on the phone. We’re friends, or were friends, as a trio, and that was it. There’s a silence on the line between us, and all I can hear is Chaewon’s breathing, soft and slow. I want to ask why she’s calling, about what happened earlier today, about why she didn’t defend me to Jess. But before I can string the words together, she breaks the silence.
“So … what did Ms. Montgomery say when you told her you were going to do this on your own?”
I shrug, before realizing she can’t actually see me.
“She said it was fine. She didn’t seem too bothered about it.”
The Henna Wars Page 11