“The only thing stopping you is you, you know? You just gotta see what you want in your mind, and then reach out and just, like, take it in your hands, and then like, pull it toward you,” I heard Grace declaring as I approached, and I tried to stifle an eye roll. But then she laid her hand flat against Shanti’s chest and started to pull Shanti toward her by her shirt. Shanti didn’t look like she was about to resist—Why doesn’t she ever stand up for herself?—so I moved faster, pulling off the sweaty clown nose and wig and stuffing them into my skate bag as I did. Somebody needed to cut this shit off, and that was definitely one thing I was good at.

“Heeeyyyy, Grace. Shanti doesn’t want you all up on her, okay?” I wrapped my hand around Grace’s grasping fist and pulled it—not so gently—away from Shanti’s shirt. Grace wobbled a little and just gazed at me like she was trying to remember who I was. Then she slipped into a meandering grin and wandered away.

Feeling like something had finally made me look good instead of ridiculous tonight, I turned to Shanti, expecting—hoping for—that warm smile I’d seen on her face when I’d entered the bar earlier. Hating that I wanted it but wanting it anyway. But it wasn’t there.

“You didn’t need to do that,” was all she said.

“Really? It seemed like you needed some help.”

She stared at me for a moment. “Daya…” Then looking away, she said, “I’m not like you.”

“Like me?”

Her eyes met mine again. They were full of disappointment. “I’m not tough like you. But that doesn’t mean I’m a pushover, either. I deal with things in my own way.”

“I never said you were a pushover.” But aren’t you? I glanced away so she couldn’t tell what I was really thinking, but she managed to see it anyway.

“No. You haven’t said it.”

She started to turn away, but I didn’t want her to go like this—I didn’t want to be the one to make her look this way, feel this way. My free hand impulsively reached out and caught hers. She stopped and looked back at my hand around hers. She frowned a little as she lifted her eyes to mine, expectant. Again, I knew I should say something—probably “sorry”—but all I could do was hang on to her hand. She came as close to me as she could, considering the damn cone bra was in the way. I stiffened but stayed still despite the urge to let go and leave now that she was so near.