“People would definitely be into this.” Chaewon begins to nod so fast that she looks a little like a bobblehead. “I mean, people love this stuff and you’re so good.”

“Thanks. Jess?”

Jess gives me a nervous smile that makes my stomach drop.

“Don’t get me wrong, your work is beautiful,” she starts.

“Stunning,” Chaewon adds.

“But … we don’t know how to do henna. What part would we play in this?”

“The business part? Like … pricing, advertisement, all of that good stuff.”

“Wouldn’t that be unfair to you? You have to do all of the hard work?” Chaewon says, but I suspect that’s not what she’s worried about.

“I don’t mind. No matter what we do, we’re all going to have our different roles, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s true.”

Chaewon and Jess exchange a look.

“I think we should do it,” Chaewon says finally with an encouraging smile toward Jess. “It’s unique. We might actually have a good shot of winning.”

I grin at Chaewon like she is my favorite person in the world. Right now, she is.

“Hey,” Flávia greets me with a smile during lunchtime, taking a seat opposite me. Chyna takes the empty seat beside her, looking unhappy about being seen with me. She shoots me a smile that resembles a grimace.

“You know my cousin, Chyna?” Flávia says.

“Hi, Chyna,” I say, like we haven’t been going to school together for the past three years. Like she hasn’t single-handedly spread rumors about half the girls in this school, ruining their lives like that was something to get pleasure from.

“I wanted to show you something.” Flávia extends her hands toward me on the table in front of us. For a moment, I think she’s going to take my hand, until I notice it. The red wrapped around her palms, weaving up and down her skin. “You inspired me at the wedding. Well, everything there did, really. And then Chyna told me about an Asian shop in town where we could probably get a tube of henna.”

Discomfort flutters around in my stomach that I don’t really understand. It’s how I feel when Priti comes into my room in the middle of the night and pushes into my bed and steals almost all of the duvet. Annoyance? But annoyance verging onto anger almost.

“How did you …?” I begin, not sure exactly what question I should be asking.

“I just wanted to try it, you know,” Flávia says, extending her palm out in front of her. She’s looking at her hand and not at me anymore. She isn’t even asking for my opinion, just admiring her own handiwork. “I think I did a pretty good job, what do you think?”

I frown. “I … I guess.”