“Hey, Nishat,” a familiar voice mumbles from beside me. When I turn, Flávia is opening up the locker right beside mine.
I blink.
Did I fall asleep? Did I hit my head on my locker somehow? Did my heavy bag cut off the blood flow to my brain?
“Um. Hi. Why … are you here?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I can feel the heat rising up my cheeks. For once I’m glad for my dark skin, which somewhat obscures what would otherwise be a red face.
She smiles. The dimple makes an appearance.
My heartbeat escalates more than should be humanly possible.
“I just started here. Did I not mention that?”
No, she hadn’t mentioned it. If she had I’d have thought about it nonstop, I’m pretty sure.
“What … are …” I’m in the middle of blurting out another nonsensical question when the crackle of the intercom interrupts me. Principal Murphy’s nasally voice fills the hallway.
“Good morning. All students should proceed to the main hall for assembly. We’ll begin at eight-thirty sharp. Any latecomers will receive a late slip. Thank you.”
Short and sweet, that’s Principal Murphy’s style.
“We should probably …” Flávia gestures with a nod of her head. Except she’s nodding in exactly the opposite direction of the hall.
“Do you … know where the main hall is?”
It’s her turn to look flustered. I notice a bloom of pink in her dark cheeks and it sends goosebumps across my skin. She shakes her head.
“I thought maybe I could pretend not to be such a newbie.” She chuckles.
“It’s okay. Follow me.” I begin to lead the way, weaving through crowds of excited schoolgirls who are also shuffling toward the hall. My heart is still beating a little too fast and I’m trying to tell it to stop hammering, to stop getting its hopes up, to stop feeling … well, feelings.
When we enter the hall alongside a trickle of other girls, I spot Priti almost immediately. She’s in a deep conversation with Ali but looks up and catches my eyes as soon as I walk in. Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline at the sight of me. Or—probably—at the sight of Flávia by my side. I’m not looking forward to whatever she has to say later, but right now I don’t really care that much.
From the other side of the hall, Chaewon and Jess wave me over. I’m about to sidle over to them but Flávia’s voice stops me.
“I better go join my cousin over there,” she says. And, to my surprise, she points right at Chyna Quinn. Now, my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. How can Flávia, beautiful perfect Flávia, be related to Chyna Quinn of all people?
“Your cousin?”
“Yeah, you know her?”
I have a million anecdotes that I can offer her but I bite my tongue.
“Kind of. We’re in the same year, I mean.”
“Well, my mom said she would show me around today.” Flávia shrugs like she has no choice in the matter. “I’ll catch you later though?” And then she shoots me a smile that makes me go weak in the knees and forget all about Chyna Quinn. I nod, dumbfounded, and watch Flávia drift toward my mortal enemy.
“Who was that?” Chaewon asks when I join them, after my legs have finally solidified again.
“Flávia,” I say, a little more breathlessly than I should. I clear my throat, and repeat it again in a deeper voice that makes me sound a little like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. “Flávia.”
“That … doesn’t tell us anything,” says Jess.
“We used to go to school together. Way back when.”
“And now she’s here?”
Yes, she’s here and I think I’ve fallen in love with her. I smile and nod like my stomach isn’t doing continuous somersaults. Thankfully, our conversation is cut short by Principal Murphy tapping her microphone, sending a loud crackle throughout the hall. Slowly, everyone comes to attention. Heads turn to the front as all the chatter comes to a halt.
“Welcome to the new school year,” Principal Murphy begins with a tight-lipped smile. My gaze strays toward Flávia, standing side by side with Chyna Quinn, and I wonder what exactly this new school year will have in store for us.
6
CHYNA QUINN WASN’T ALWAYS MY MORTAL ENEMY. IN fact, once upon a time, we were friends. Kind of.
On our first day of secondary school, as we all flitted into this new place with butterflies in our stomachs, Chyna and I found each other. Fate—or the school administration—had decided to stick our lockers next to each other.
As we both got down on our knees to jerk open our lockers, murmuring our combinations to ourselves under our breaths, our eyes met. We exchanged a nervous smile.
She was braver than me, unsurprisingly. She stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Chyna!” in the brightest voice I’d ever heard.
“Nishat.” And that was how I survived my first day in secondary school without my little sister. I was navigating an uncharted sea, but with Chyna by my side, all of it felt easier. We developed an easy friendship that was confined to school grounds, but it blossomed like any new friendship does.
The problem was that we didn’t really have much in common, other than a shared anxiety of being friendless in a new school environment where we didn’t know a soul.
Our school also suffers from lack-of-diversity syndrome, which basically means that in First Year I could count on both hands the number of people in our entire school who weren’t white. To be accepted by Chyna—beautiful, porcelain-skinned, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Chyna—felt like starting secondary school off on the right foot.
“So I got invited to Catherine McNamara’s birthday sleepover,” Chyna told me during our second week. It wasn’t surprising, considering she’s always been more outgoing than me, more talkative, more charming, more everything positive. “And she was really exclusive about who she was inviting.” Chyna looked smug about it, like tween party invites were akin to winning Oscars.
“Oh, cool,” I said, trying not to sound deflated but definitely, one hundred percent sounding deflated.
“She said I could bring a friend.”
“Oh, cool!”
She grinned and I grinned and I felt like we were going to be friends forever and exchange friendship bracelets and, if we added two more people to our gang, do a Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants thing. Even if I had to be the token person of color. I was down to be the token POC.
But of course good things don’t last for long, and friendships built on shaky foundations tend to fizzle out quite fast. So before we got to the stage where we were wearing friendship bracelets and exchanging magic pants, we were at Catherine McNamara’s birthday party together.
It was my first secondary school party and only my second sleepover, because Ammu and Abbu are way overprotective and slow to trust white people.
I was all nerves and texted Chyna at least fifteen times before the party started.
What are you wearing?
What should I wear?
What are you bringing?
Do you think my gift is boring?
Did you tell Catherine that you’re bringing me?
Are you sure it’s okay for me to come?