“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.

After lunch, we all shuffle into the near-empty hallway. Chaewon and Jess hurry over to their stall, and I follow, passing Flávia and Chyna. Flávia gives me a secret smile as I pass her, and I can’t help the jolt of electricity that momentary smile sends through me.

Chaewon and Jess’s stall is smack bang in the middle of everything. The absolute perfect spot. As soon as we get there, Chaewon begins to sort through things, ensuring everything is perfect. Jess watches her, a bemused expression on her face.

“I wish your stall was close by so we could help each other out,” Jess says.

I wish that too. I could really use a helping hand.

I shrug. “It’s okay. Priti’s going to come over to help me.”

I stroll over to my near isolated corner, and I stop in my tracks.

“Nice setup you have here.”

I turn to find Cáit O’Connell smirking at me, her eyes flitting from me to the table “setup” in front of me. It’s nothing like I left it earlier. The banner Flávia made me is ripped through the middle, with jagged edges where NISHAT’S MEHNDI had been. The fairy lights Jess and Chaewon had carefully strung around the entire table are stripped off and lying on the floor, the glass on most of them broken.

I rush toward the table, trying to push back the lump in my throat and the tears prickling behind my eyes. The henna tubes I had carefully placed on the table are slashed open, and the henna is staining the crepe paper and table, but I’m more concerned about my design book, which I had tucked away in a hidden corner.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally find it under the table. Whoever did this must have accidentally dropped it and not even noticed. The loose pages I had stuffed into it are spread across the dirty floor but it’s otherwise unharmed. I shove the pages back in and pull the book to my chest. I have never been happier to see a book before, and I’m often very happy to see them.

But there is still the matter of my stall being trashed.