“And you didn’t tell her that she shouldn’t? That the whole thing was offensive?” I know Chyna’s not really the type of person who listens to reason, or who does something because other people tell her to. But Flávia obviously means a lot to her. She backed off after she caught me with the henna tubes because of Flávia. And the way the two of them were with each other in Flávia’s house—casual and free. Chyna listens to her—more than she listens to anyone else, anyway.

Flávia scrunches up her face in concentration for a moment, like she’s thinking really hard about something. “She told me that if she couldn’t throw that party, then I couldn’t do henna. That they were the same thing.” Flávia takes a deep breath. It’s heavy, like the weight of the world is on her shoulders and she doesn’t know how to shake it off. “And she’s kind of right, isn’t she? I was the person who made her brave enough to think this is okay. I get it now. Why you were angry at me to begin with. I just … I wasn’t thinking straight, you know? I went to that wedding and I just … thought because I liked it, I could run with it. I didn’t really think about anything else. And … if I’m being honest, I kind of just wanted to have something to talk to you about when school started.”

“That’s … not true.” I frown. “Is it?”

“Yes, it’s true. I’ve never really done this before, Nishat.” She’s looking at me with wide eyes.

“This?”

She shakes her head and with a chuckle, says, “You’re kind of intimidating. I mean, you’re so self-assured and confident …”

“You think I’m self-assured?” My voice rises a notch. “You think I’m confident?”

“Nishat, come on. You’re the most self-assured person I know. You’re so … you have all of these things you believe in and you don’t bend from them just because it might not be cool or people might not like it about you. You always stand your ground and … you’re so into your culture.”

“That’s not self-assuredness.” I feel a warm flutter in my chest.

Flávia smiles like she doesn’t quite agree with me.

“I wish I could be like that. Sometimes, I feel like …”

“Feel like …?”

“Like … I don’t know. Like I don’t really feel Brazilian sometimes, you know? Especially around Chyna and her side of my family. It feels like they want me to be something else altogether, and it’s just easier to conform. I want them to like me. To accept me. But …”

I’m suddenly aware that there’s a sadness to Flávia. I didn’t notice it before, but maybe it’s always been there, underneath everything.