At my stall at the very end of the hallway, I tape up the bright orange banner I made and lay out my design book and henna tubes on the table in front of me. It’s not much, but it’ll do, I think, as I look around at everyone else in the main hall.

Emma Morrison and Aaliyah Abdi are selling handmade jewelry in the stand opposite mine. They’ve been making their own jewelry for forever. Emma catches my eye when I look over; she offers me a small smile that seems fake, then ducks to whisper something to Aaliyah. Aaliyah’s eyes open wide and she steals a furtive glance at me.

Well, that’s weird.

Even though Aaliyah, Emma and I aren’t exactly friends, we’ve always been on friendly terms. We smile at each other in the hallways and make small talk about classes, teachers, weekends. Aaliyah even invited me to her birthday party last year, though that might have been because her parents thought she should invite the only other Muslim girl in the class to her party.

Still—I have nothing against either of them. I didn’t think they had anything against me either. So why are they suddenly acting so odd?

I don’t have much time to dwell on it though, as the doors to the hall open and a group of girls flood in. Their giggles and chatter fill every corner of the hall, as do the sounds of their shuffling footsteps as they peer at the different stalls.

I stand with my shoulders straight and paste a bright smile on my lips. One by one the girls pass my table. Their eyes flit past me to the table next to me. Or they duck their heads and walk toward Flávia’s stall.

Within minutes, a queue forms at her stall. I wait, hoping some of them will grow impatient and come over to me. But none of them even look in my direction.

Everyone’s stall has people milling about. Except mine.

I bite down the tears threatening to fall. I have to be stronger than this. But how much longer can I tolerate it? How much longer do I have to stand here by myself, staring out into this hall crowded with people who obviously want nothing to do with me, and pretend it doesn’t bother me?

“Apujan?” Priti is suddenly right in front of me, staring at me with searching eyes. “Are you okay?”

I’m not, but I nod. I’m more confused by her presence than anything else.

“What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t respond. She’s just looking at me with wide, questioning eyes.

“Have you checked your phone?”

“Not … recently.”

She casts a quick glance around, like she’s only just realized where she is. That we’re surrounded by people. That I’m technically supposed to be working.