“… it’s kind of our fault,” Chaewon finishes with a sheepish smile.
“We had different creative visions,” is all I say, before digging into the box. It’s full of fairy lights and colorful crepe paper. “Thanks.”
Jess and Chaewon help me finish setting up, stringing up fairy lights, and spreading the crepe paper around until the booth looks a little magical.
The showcase starts off okay. Even though almost every other booth gets more attention than mine, a few stragglers stop over and let me paint their hands with my henna. It’s not a lot—but it’s the most business I’ve gotten since this whole thing started.
An hour into the showcase, Jess comes over, nodding at my table with approval. “We did a pretty good job.”
I roll my eyes. “You did. With yours too.” Their stall has had nonstop customers—mostly students and teachers, but even the early arriving parents have been drawn to it.
“Well, will you do my henna?” Jess asks, taking a seat. “The other side.” She holds up her empty palm.
“Sure.” I smile and show her my design book, getting everything ready as she makes her choice about what henna design to get.
Once she’s decided, she places her hand flat on the table in front of me and I hover my hand over hers, henna tube at the ready.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” The sudden outburst takes me out of my work. When I look up, she’s studying me with a frown. It’s the most serious I’ve ever seen her look.
“You’ve already apologized,” I say.
“Not really. Not for the real stuff,” Jess sighs. “Like … not believing you about Chyna. And leaving you out to dry instead of supporting your idea for the henna business.”
“It’s okay. You’re supporting me now.”
“How come …” She stops and takes a deep breath. “How come you never told us about you being gay?”
I can only shrug. Why didn’t I ever tell them? It wasn’t that I never thought about it, but after I told Ammu and Abbu it felt like a curtain fell over that part of me. A curtain I couldn’t part, no matter how hard I tried. Every time I thought about telling them, telling anyone, I only remembered what Ammu said about making choices. I know it’s not about making choices—rationally—but to tell other people would feel like confirming what Ammu was most afraid of: Me choosing to bring us shame. And I wasn’t sure if I could handle rejection and loss a second time.
Jess frowns, like she’s really thinking about it. I worry she’ll be angry and lash out. After all, she and I haven’t had the best track record lately. But she nods her head and stills her hand beneath me.
“I think I get it. I probably wouldn’t have told me either, if I were you. Especially … after everything.” I expect her to say more, to ask more questions. But she doesn’t. She just looks at me expectantly with her hand thrust out in front of her.
Once I bend over to work on the henna design, it’s like I’ve left the loud, stuffy hallway of St. Catherine’s and entered a world of my own. A world where it’s only me and the henna and Jess’s hand. Not even Jess, just her hand—as if it’s dismembered and floating. I barely feel her presence as I work away, so when she leans forward and a strand of her brown hair brushes over my shoulder, I jump in surprise. A thin, dark line of henna makes it way down her forearm.
“Sorry!” Jess exclaims at the same time I do. I grab a tissue from my table and dab her arm.
“I was just trying to get a good look.” Her voice is higher than usual.
“It’s okay. Look.” There’s a pale, fading line where I smudged the henna, but it’s more or less invisible and should be gone in a few minutes.
“You’re so concentrated when you’re working,” Jess comments. I blush, because I’m not sure if this is a compliment or an insult.
“It takes concentration.”
“I know, I know. Just …” She takes a deep breath and sits back in her chair, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should have listened to you before. When you wanted the three of us to do this. I was … I didn’t really understand. And you’re … wow, you’re talented.” She’s looking at her own henna-clad arm now. I try not to smile because that would make me seem condescending, but I also kind of want to say, “Ha! Told you so!”
Instead, I say, “Thanks.”
Nobody else shows up to my booth until we break for lunch. It’s been mostly lower classes let out to venture into the hallway for the morning; I’m hoping that after lunch, when more adults show up, I’ll get a little more business. I try not to let the fact that there’s been a constant stream of people outside Flávia and Chyna’s booth bother me as I weave past them to join Chaewon and Jess for lunch.
“Youhaveto look at some of the other booths when you’re free,” Jess says excitedly, taking a bite of her sandwich and speaking with her mouth half open and half full. “There’s some really cool stuff. Did you see the stall full of handmade plushies? So cool!”
“There isn’t really anybody to watch my stall if I go strolling around.” I shrug. Jess clamps her mouth shut and glances at Chaewon with a guilty look. “That’s not supposed to be accusing you of something,” I add quickly. “I’m just saying.”
Jess and Chaewon don’t bring up the other stalls again during lunch, but I do text Priti to hurry up and help me with the stall when she can.
She texts back,YOU KNOW I HAVE THE JUNIOR CERT!!!!!!!!before immediately following that up with,I’ll be there after lunch.
