“Do you want something? I’m kind of busy.” I turn to my desk without waiting for her answer.
“I’ve been calling you down for breakfast for like the past fifteen minutes. What are you doing?”
The truth is that I never went to bed last night. I felt too wired, with too many thoughts running through my head. It was overwhelming. Instead of going to bed, I began to pour my heart and soul out in the form of henna patterns.
There’s something oddly relaxing about the repetitive patterns—the curved lines and circles and the knowledge that this is something that’s mine, something important.
All of that led to the worst realization of all.
Last night wasn’t about me and Flávia at all. That almost-kisshadto be about exactly this—getting me freaked out and anxious, and maybe even further infatuated. All so I’d decide to give up, or at the very least be distracted.
But I’m not going to feel ashamed and heartbroken because Flávia thinks I’m someone she can play with. I won’t give her the satisfaction. So I spent the rest of the night creating more designs for the Monday showcase.
“I just want to finish these designs. The showcase is getting close,” I say.
I’m in the middle of drawing a particularly intricate pattern when Priti leans down beside me.
“Your eyes are all bloodshot, Apujan. Are you okay? Did you get any sleep?”
“I’m fine, Priti,” I growl. “Can you just leave me alone and let me do this?”
She purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest before slipping out the door wordlessly, which is astonishing for Priti, whose favorite thing is annoying me with all her talking.
But as much as IknowI shouldn’t be taking my anger and frustration out on my sister—aka the only person in the world who seems to care about me lately—I can’t seem to help it. So instead of going down to breakfast, or making amends with Priti, I go back to my notebook. My only solace these days.
Priti and I barely talk the rest of the day on Saturday, but on Sunday morning I’m the one knocking on her door. Priti looks up from her math textbook with a frown on her lips—but she doesn’t look angry at me, really. Just angry at math.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry … about yesterday.”
Priti shrugs. “I guess the party wasn’t what you expected it to be?”
“It could have been better,” I say. I definitely don’t want to rehash how Flávia made a fool out of me to Priti. Not after all of her warnings.
“Whatever happened—”
“Isn’t important.” I cut her off and throw my arms around her. It feels good to be so close to somebody who actually loves and understands me.
“Ammu asked us to Skype Nanu, by the way,” she says when I finally let go of her. “She wants you to give her the good news about your results.”
“She called it good news?” I balk at the phrase, but Priti nods enthusiastically, a small giggle escaping her.
“You didwell,Apujan. Ammu and Abbu are proud of you.”
Even though all evidence points to that, it’s difficult to wrap my mind around it.
“Come on.” Priti slips her phone out of her pocket and clicks into Skype. It’s still early, so it should be late afternoon in Bangladesh. I hope we catch Nanu before her daily nap.
She picks up after the first ring, as if she has been waiting by the phone for this call. At first we can only see a close-up of her nostrils. Priti and I exchange a glance, trying to stifle our giggles.
“Nanu, you have to moveawayfrom the camera,” Priti says into the phone. “We can’t see your face.”
Her face gradually comes into focus as the camera moves farther away. It’s still at an angle, but I figure it’s the best we’re going to get.
“How are you, Jannu?” she asks, a smile wider than the River Shannon stretching across her lips.
“We’re good, Nanu!” Priti chirps happily. “Apujan isreallygood, she has good news for you.” Priti aims the phone toward me so that I’m in full view. Heat rises up my cheeks as I awkwardly wave my hands in front of me.
“Hi, Nanu, how are you?”
