Of course it’s pointless, because Flávia climbs up after me and she’s at least a few inches taller than I am. She towers over me.
“I promise I won’t show anyone!” I say again.
“I definitely don’t believe you!” She lunges for the phone. Both of us topple onto the bed. The phone slips out of my grasp, crashing onto the floor, but I barely register it because Flávia is on top of me. Her face is inches away from mine. Her hair brushes against my chest, still damp from the rainwater.
“S-sorry,” I mumble. She shakes her head. I can see every bounce of her curls. And when she stops, I can make out the flecks of gold in her eyes.
She inches closer until there’s barely any space between us.
“Hello?”
Chyna’s voice makes Flávia jump off of me as if I’m a house on fire. Chyna pushes the door fully open just as I manage to sit up. Flávia looks at her with wide eyes and a flush on her cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice comes out a little breathless.
Chyna seems to take us in for a moment, and I’m not sure what she sees. Her expression doesn’t change. She turns to Flávia and says, “Why are you wearing that?”
Flávia shifts uncomfortably, not looking Chyna in the eye. “My uniform got wet in the rain and I wanted to be comfy.”
Chyna doesn’t look like she’s completely buying it. Buying us, looking like we’ve been caught doing … what? I can’t imagine what Chyna is thinking.
Her eyes drift from a guilty-looking Flávia to me, and she says, “Nishat,” with a grim nod of her head.
“Chyna,” I mumble.
“I’ll be downstairs …” She toes the doorway like she’s waiting for an invitation to stay. “Auntie said I could come over for dinner….”
“Oh.” Flávia doesn’t say any more—doesn’t try to stop Chyna or anything. A moment later we hear Chyna’s footsteps on the stairs, the wood creaking underneath her weight.
Flávia brushes a lock of damp hair away from her eyes and heaves a sigh.
“Sorry.”
I’m not sure what exactly she’s apologizing for. For trying to kiss me again? For Chyna interrupting us?
I’m afraid to ask, so I just shrug and say, “It’s okay.”
24
CHYNA IS IN THE SITTING ROOM,WITH HER SHOES OFF ANDher legs crossed on the couch. She’s watching a rerun ofAmerica’s Next Top Modellike it’s the most interesting thing to ever exist.
It’s actually strange to see her like this—so domestic. It almost reminds me of back when we were friends. During the first few days of secondary school, Chyna had this nervous energy about her. Like she didn’t quite know where she fit in, or what her role was. I thought that all dissipated after Catherine McNamara’s birthday party, but watching her now, I think that maybe it didn’t really. Maybe Chyna just got really good at hiding it.
“Does she come here often?” I whisper to Flávia at the bottom of the stairs.
“Every once in a while.” Flávia’s lips are pressed in a thin line like she’s not very impressed with Chyna for being here. “I have to go talk to my mom, can you give me a minute?”
I can’t exactly say no, even though the last thing I want is to have to spend time alone with Chyna of all people, but I nod my head.
Flávia slips away toward the kitchen and I gingerly make my way into the sitting room. The episode ofAmerica’s Next Top Modelis from a few years back—I remember the faces of most of the contestants, but I’ve forgotten their names.
“I can’t believe you still watch this,” I say, before my brain reminds me that engaging in conversation with Chyna is not something I want to do.
Chyna turns to look at me with her lips pressed together in a frown.
“I can’t believe you’re here, hanging out with my cousin.”
I roll my eyes and take a seat on the couch next to her. “You know, I knew Flávia way before I knew you.”
