I feel like someone has punched me in the gut. I was so caught up with what happened at the party, with Flávia and the henna stuff, that I somehow completely missed what was happening with my sister.

She spent most of her weekend in my room, which isn’t exactly unusual, but she was more excitable than usual. I chalked it up to her trying to make up for our last fight, or even for what happened at the party, though she didn’t know what actually happened.

I’m tempted to blame Chyna and Flávia for this, too. After all, if it wasn’t for them trying to sabotage me, to distract me, to take from my culture, I would be more focused on my sister. Or I hope I would, anyway. But I know that isn’t an excuse. Priti should always be my priority. And right now, I don’t even know how long she and Ali have been fighting. Or why.

If I go through with my idea to steal Flávia’s henna tubes, I’ll just be making things worse with Priti. I have to put that out of my mind. I have to swallow my pride and apologize to Priti.

The rest of the day goes by in a flurry. I don’t know if it’s just that I’m jittery and projecting it onto everyone else, but there’s a buzz of excitement in the air. This is the first time we’ve ever done something like this in our school, and it seems like everybody is excited about it. After all, they’ll all reap the benefits from our businesses during the last class of the day.

At lunchtime, there isn’t as much ruckus in the room as usual. Instead, hushed whispers travel through the air, like we’re all trying to keep our plans a secret from each other. Maybe we are. Maybe we should be. The last class of the day is Business, but instead of heading to room 23, our usual classroom, we all shuffle into the hall. Our hushed whispers suddenly spill into laughter and chatter as everyone begins to examine each other’s stalls.

I see Chaewon and Jess hurry over to theirs, digging fairy lights out of their bags and beginning to set it up. Chyna and Flávia’s stall is right beside theirs, with henna tubes spread out on the table in front of them. The two of them begin to hang up floral arrangements; pink, white, and purple blossoms will adorn their stall by the time they’re done. I have to laugh at the irony of them decorating their stall in sakura, while lifting from Bengali culture, like all Asian cultures are somehow interchangeable.