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.

Priti is waiting in my bedroom, a math book open in her lap. She doesn’t look happy, though whether that’s because of me or math is hard to know.