“Maybe not good but at least it could be geographically and culturally accurate!”

Priti slips under the covers, curling up right next to me.

“Was it that bad?” I ask.

“It could have been better,” Priti mumbles against my shoulder. “They were saying all of these things about you and asking me ridiculous questions. Like had you really never seen a boy? Is it illegal? Are we going to be married off when we turn eighteen? Did we have to sneak out to even go to the party?”

“Did Ali stand up for you? She was there, right?”

“She was too busy being glued to her boyfriend’s face,” Priti says in a small voice. Guilt hits me like a punch in the gut. How could I have just left my sister there to deal with everything and everyone? Just because Flávia made me upset, I abandoned her.

“Priti …”

She shrugs, but she’s blinking her eyes a little too rapidly. I wrap my arm around her, and she presses her face into my shoulder harder. I try to ignore the feeling of dampness against my pajama top, and the sound of her whimpering sniffle.

“It’s … not … a big deal,” she says through choking sobs. Of course it’s a big deal though. How did I miss this, when I’m her older sister? When I’m supposed to always protect her? I’ve been so caught up with my own drama …

“It’s just because it’s her first boyfriend.” I try to reassure her even though I have no experience in this department. “She’ll come around. You’re her best friend. That’s way more important than some boy.”

She finally pulls away from me and begins to rub at her eyes.

“It’s fine. Really. I’m just … getting used to it.” I feel like there’s more to it, something she’s not telling me. But she gives me a watery smile and says, “So why did you leave? I mean, I know you’re a lesbian so boys aren’t exactly your cup of tea, but I’m pretty sure you don’t flee at the sight of one.”

I sigh. Even though most of my anger has subsided now that Priti is here, I still feel it simmering inside me.

“I spoke to Flávia.”

“Uh-oh.”

“She was just … I just … I tried to explain to her, you know? About the whole henna thing? But she just didn’t get it. And she was so … condescending about it as well.”

“What did she say?”

“Something about how art doesn’t have any arbitrary boundaries, so, because henna is art, she can do whatever she wants. She said that I’m just afraid of competing with her and—hey! She was there when they were saying all of that stuff about me, right? She knew why I left.”