“Yeah, so she’s said. The world has a funny way about it, doesn’t it?”
Funny is definitely one way to put it. I shift around in my seat, watching the screen in front of me but not really taking anything in.
I can hear Flávia and her mom in the other room, but their words are barely audible—not that more volume would help, since I don’t speak a word of Portuguese, and as far as I know neither does Chyna.
“I hate it when Flá and Auntie talk in Portuguese,” Chyna mumbles, confirming my suspicions. “You know when someone is speaking in another language right near you and you’re paranoid they’re speaking about you?”
I have to smile at the irony of that, because Chyna doesn’t really have any qualms about speaking about other people in a language they most definitely understand.
“I don’t know. Sometimes, maybe. Flávia and your Auntie are probably just more comfortable speaking Portuguese than English with each other.” But also, Flávia probablyisdiscussing Chyna with her mom. And Chyna probably knows that too.
“Why are you here?” Chyna turns to me with a frown on her lips. I’m surprised the question didn’t come sooner. “What are you doing with my cousin?”
“Chy, that’s kind of a rude question,” Flávia mumbles from the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen. “Nishat and I are friends, I was helping her with something.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this and I feel my stomach plummet.
“You had to help her with something in your unicorn onesie?” Chyna asks.
“I told you, I wanted to be comfy. Don’t act all high and mighty like you don’t have an ugly polka dot Minnie Mouse one. At least mine is cute.”
“You have a Minnie Mouse onesie?” I’m already trying to figure out how I can get a picture of that. I know Priti, Chaewon, and Jess would all appreciate it.
Chyna shoots me a glare and says, “Flávia bullied me into buying it.”
Flávia crosses her arms over her chest and scoffs, “As if.”
Chyna directs her glare to Flávia this time and says, “Shut up.”
Flávia, in turn, crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. I let out a giggle. Not just because it’s kind of adorable and reminds me of Priti, but because I would never have expected Flávia and Chyna to act like this when they’re alone together. They always seem so reserved and serious—especially Chyna. Even when Chyna and I were friends—brief as that relationship was—we never messed around like this.
“Do you want to stay for dinner, Nishat?” Flávia asks.
My watch says it’s already seven o’clock. I asked Priti to tell Ammu and Abbu where I was going, but I’m sure they’re wondering about me. I don’t really want this strange evening to end, but I’m also not entirely sure that I want to sit through a dinner with Flávia, her mother, and Chyna.
“I should probably get going, actually.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Flávia offers. We walk out of the sitting room in silence. I’m keenly aware of her presence beside me; of our arms nearly touching, and the sound of her breathing. The sound of mine.
We swing by her bedroom, where she picks up my still-damp school uniform and slips it into a plastic bag for me.
“Will you be okay going home in that?”
“I don’t really have much of a choice.” I shrug.
“Maybe my mom can give you a lift? So you don’t have to get the bus all by yourself, I mean.”
“I don’t want to bother her at dinner time. Thanks, though.”
At the doorway, a heavy silence hangs between us. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say or do. I don’t know whether this will end like the party or not; whether I should be annoyed or elated.
Flávia clicks the door open but before I can slide out, she steps close. Her fingers tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, brushing against my skin and sending a jolt of electricity through me.
“You’ll text me when you get home?” she asks.
And the thing is, even though this is something that countless people have asked me to do—my sister, Chaewon, even Ammu—this feels different. Flávia’s voice is laced with so much concern, her eyes sparkling with something like hope, that even though it’s a familiar request everything about this moment feels brand new.
I gulp down the lump forming in my throat, and nod. She smiles and I slip out the door.
It’s only when I arrive home that I realize we never even worked on the decorations for my henna booth.
